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It
w
THE
C ATHOL IC WORLD
MONTHLY MAGAZINE
or
General Literature and Science,
VOL. X.
OCTOBER, 1869, TO MARCH, 1870.
• • « * • ^#
• • • • ,
NEW YORK:
THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE.
126 Nassau Street.
1870.
4
C'Y- ''
660558
CONTENTS.
Aagda, 38, t6f, 99^ 471, 6ty.
Aa October Reverie, 1S6,
Bffhimh Premiers ill RelatUm to British Catholics, 6f 4,
Sa6.
Badh. Friedema&n, 805.
ContraiSctioo, An loMgiD^ryt t*
Cooncil of Trent, The, 34.
Christian Women, An Appeal to^ tx,
Charcb in Paris and France, 95.
Cathdbcity and Pantheism, 118. ,
Cooacil, The, and the Roman Congr^atioDi, 17a
ChaRh Music, 40a, 598, 743.
CtthoUc Church in New York, Early History of, 413,
Goondl, Matters Relating to^ 430.
Church Door, At the, 651.
aM9B,6S3.
Councai oC the Vaiicaa, The First CEcuacnlcal, 693,
841.
Civil and Political Liberty, 721,
Christ oT Auslddt, The, 774.
Devious WajB, Thnw^l^ sfx
Edqiee of August Seveoth» 1061
Fore^n Literary Notes, 135, 433, 705.
Father Faber, Life o£, 145.
Free Religion, 195.
Flbulk«% The Letter of E. S., 631.
Ganicanism, The True Origin d, 527.
Gordian Knots, Untying, 589^ 735*
(keek Schism, The, 758.
Bero^ or a Heroine f 233, 346, 497.
Becker, Father, Farewell Sermon ot, 289^
Harwuod's, Dr^ Price Lecture, 31a.
Haydn's Struggle and Triumph, 336.
History <^ the Catholic Church in New Y<Hrl^ 413^
5«5.
Horston Hall, 449,
Hints 00 Housekeeping, 619.
Irish Volunteers, A Sketch oC 376.
Immutability of the Species, ssa, 332, 656.
Irish Land Tenure, History of, 64U
Iron Mask, The, 754.
Lost and Found, 84.
Lift of Father Faber, 143.
Liberty, Civil and PolitioJ, 721.
Labor Movement, Views of the, 784.
Luci£er's Ear, 856.
Memento Mori, ao6.
Music and Love, Haydn*s First Lessons in, a6f.
Music, Church, 403, 598, 743.
Matters Relating to the Council, 430^
Miscellany, 564.
New York Gty, Sanitary T<^>ograpby ol^ 36X
Paganina, 13.
Priory, St Oren's, 56.
Prisons, Religion in, 114.
Presbyterian Reply to the Pope's Letter, si6.
Protestantism and Catholicity, The Future of^ 433, 577.
Putnam's Defence, 54a.
Polish Patriotic Hymn, A, 548.
Poland, Present Condition 0^ 799.
Rome, Morality of, 50.
Roman Congregations and the Cooncfl, 170.
Species, Immutability <^ 353, 333, 656.
Sermon, Father Hecker's Farewell, 389.
St. Peter, Basilica of, 374.
St Augustine, The Philosophical Doctrines of, com*
pared with the Ideology of the Modem Sdiools,
481.
Schism, The Greek, 758,
Seton, Mrs., 778.
Trent, The Council of, 24.
The Seven Bishops, 130.
' Vansleb, The Oriental SchoUr and Traveller, 499.
Vatican Council, Tte, 841.
Women, An Appeal to Young Christian, 71.
Wayside Reminiscence, 84.
POETRY.
Amhition, Sacred, isu
A Christmas Hymn, 5361.
A Convert's Prayer, 614.
December 8, 1869, 457.
In Memnriam of Rev. F. A. Baker, S9f»
•* It's Wrong," 835.
Lines on the Pontifical Hat, 134.
Matthew xxvii. 37.
My Christmas Gift, 496b
Nasareth, On a Picture of, 757.
I*niy«r. 33«.
Sacred Ambition, ix
St Peter Delivered fiom Priaoo, 824.
The Chapel, 655.
i
IV
Contents.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
AkoCt's Hospiul Sketdies, 143.
A Little Boy's Story, 4J6.
Aoerfa«cfa's German Tales, 4S7.
Almanac, Catholic Family, 574.
AnderKn's Improvisatore and Two BirObNMib $75*
Acta ex its Decerpta, etc, etc, jm^
Alexander. J. A., Life of, 836.
Ab American Family in Parts, 858.
Bayma*s Elements of M olecalar Medianica,
Bonaveoture's Parables and Stories, 575.
Bushaell's Woman's Suilirace, 715.
Cantarium IXjmvoiamr^rp
Caeseine, 431.
Cooley's Text-Book of Chemistiy, 43a.
Columbus, Lorgne's Life oC 574*
Curtis's Life of Webster, 714.
Creation a Recent Work of €odt 893.
Dioroede, 142.
Dorie, Henry, Life of, 144.
Evans's Antobiofrraphy of a Shaker, 143.
Emerald, l*be, 144.
Edgeworth's Tales and Ptoeot^s AasatanC, 49!
Elm Island Stories, 860.
Ffettlkes'f Letter, > CritiqM on, stfy.
Ffettlkes's Roman Indcs and its Latt Proceediogs,
709.
Formby's Life of Christ, 719.
Fair Harvard, 858.
Frontier Stories, 860.
Giles's Lectures and Essays on Irak Su^ecH^ ijl.
Gtlmour's Bibk History, 14s.
Galliuin*s Life and Chaiacter, 436^
Ga^iarini*s Attributes of Chr^ 857.
Henry Crabbe Robinson's Diary, ComapendeM*,
etc, 141.
Heady*s Seen and Heard, a8t.
Horace, lite Works oC a88.
HAdley's Elements of the Greek Lai««agt, a81
Hagenbach's Hbtory of the Church, 7(8.
Hefele*s Council of Constance, 719.
Hill's Titanta's Banquet, etc, 896.
Hedge's Primeval World of Hebrew Tradition, 858.
la Heaven We Know Our Own, xy^
Intelligence of Animals, a88.
Ireland, Patriot's History oC 43s>
Janus on the Pope and the Cduaci^ ysaw
Janr^s An 'ilKMighis, 717.
Kareey's First Claas Book ef History, 431.
KidUuun's Sally Cavanagh, yau.
Naal's Great Mysteries and Lktla Phgnet, 730.
Laage's Commentary on Romans^ 43a.
Lorimer's Among the Trees, 718.
Library of Good Examjrfe, 719.
Lange's Commentary on the Old TesUment, 857.
La Salle, Life of the Venerable J. B. de, 837.
L«ly FuBertonS Mis. Gerald's Niece, 859.
Marshall's Order aad Chaos, 138.
Mopsa and the Fairy, 140.
Madame Swetchine, Writinga td, 385.
Mangin's Mysteries of the Ocean, 428.
Meunier's Great Hunting-Groundsof the Worid, 418.
Mangin's Desert World, 438.
&f inor Chords, 431.
Manual of Third Order of St. Fraada, 431.
Maaniag's Pas^ioral oa the Council, 569.
Mtssale Romanum, 715.
Moromsen's History of Rome, 715.
McGee, Thomas D'Arcy, Poems td^ 854.
Naaipon's Catholic Doctrhie, at Defined bj Ae Coua-
cU of Trent. s86.
Nolaa'a Byrnea of Olengoulah, 730.
Patty Gray's Journal flwa Botton to BahinKMC, 14s.
^addtis on Education, 143.
Pptter's Pastor and People, 573.
PomfNeny's Across America and Asia, jxt,
Prentiss's Nidworth, 716.
Preston's Christ and tne Church, 718.
Particular F.xamen, 857.
Reiler's Ecdesiaafical Map of the U. 5., 142.
Ryder's Critique on Ffoulkes's Letter, aSy.
Robertson's Sermons, 43a.
Smith's PMtateuch, 419.
Sargent's Woman who Dur^ fft.
Spielhagen's Through Night to Light, 576.
Sadlier's Almanac and Directory, 7tlL
Sybaris and other Poems, 85^
Two Years before the Mast, t4o.
The Two Women, 144.
Thompson's Man in Genesis and Geology, a8f.
The Two Cottages, ift.
The Lost Rosary, S7^
The Life of Blessed Maigaret Mary, 576.
Tennyson's Holy Grail, 835*
thm Cabin 00 the Prairir, 86a
The Sunset Land, 860.
Upton's Letters of Peregrine Pfekfc. 8s9>
White's Elements of Astronomy, i4t.
Whipple's Literature of the Ag» of Fywkstii. lAy.
Wood's Bible Animals, 71&
White's Ecce Femina, 857.
Wiley's Ek)cution and Oratory, 839.
Wonden of Poaipeii, 86a
Lnoe«daire'sSketdiaftbtOritrafStDQmiai%4af. Yoo^'a Oftce of Vespcri, 144.
\
\
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
VOL. X., No. 55.— OCTOBER, 1869.
AN IMAGINARY CONTRADICTION.*
^We notice in this review the arti-
de <m the S/irU of Romanism for a
amgje point only, which it makes,
for as a whole it is not worth consi-
dering. Yaiher Hecker asserts in his
Aspira^otts of Nature^ that, "Endow-
ed with reason, man has no right to
surrender his judgment ; endowed with
free-will, man has no right to yield
up his hberty. Reason and free-will
constitute man a responsible being,
and he has no right to abdicate his
independence." To this and several
other extracts firom the same work
to the same effect, the Christian
Quarterly opposes what is conceded
by Father Hecker and held by every
Catholic, that every one is bound
to believe whatever the church be-
lieves and teaches. But boimd as a
Catholic to submit his reason and
will to the authority of the church,
how can one assert that he is free to
exercise his own reason, and has no
right to surrender it, or to abdicate
his own independence? Father
Hecker says, " Religion is a question
between the soul and God; no hu-
man authority has, therefore, any
right to enter its sacred sphere."
• Tk* Ckriaian QuarttHy. Cincinoati : Carroll ft
Ok July, 1869. ArtlV. Spirit of Row»ni«iv
VOL. X. — I
Yet he maintains that he is bound
to obey the authority of the church,
and has no right to believe or think
contrary to her teachings and defini-
tions. How can he maintain both
propositions ?
What Father Hecker asserts is
that man has reason and free-will,
and that he has no right to forego
the exercise of these faculties, or to
surrender them to any human autho-
rity whatever. Between this propo-
sition and that of the plenary autho-
rity of the church in all matters of
faith or pertaining to faith and sound
doctrine, as asserted by the Council
of Trent and Pius IX. in the Syllabus^
the Christian Quarterly thinks it sees
a glaring contradiction. Father
Hecker, it is to be presumed, sees
none, and we certainly see none.
Father Hecker maintains that no hu-
man authority has any right to enter
the sacred sphere of rdigion, that man
is accountable to no man or body
of men for his religion or his faith;
but he does not say that he is not
responsible to God for the use he
makes of his faculties, whether of rea-
son or fi:ee-will, or that God has no
right to enter the sacred sphere of re-
ligion, and tell him even authoritatively
An Imaginary Contradiction.
what is truth and what he is bound to
believe and do. When I believe and
obey a human authority m matters
of religion, I abdicate my own reason ;
but when I believe and obey God, I
preserve it, follow it, do precisely
what reason itself tells me I ought to
do. There is no contradiction, then,
between believing and obeying God,
and the free and full exercise of rea-
son and free-will. Our Cincinnati
contemporary seems to have over-
looked this very obvious fact, and
has therefore imagined a contradic-
tion where there is none at all, but
perfect logical consistency. Our
contemporary is no doubt very able,
a great logician, but he is here grap-
pling with a subject which he has not
studied, and of which he knows less
than nothing.
It is a very general impression
with rationalists and rationalizing Pro-
testants, that whoso asserts the free
exercise of reason denies the autho-
rity of the church, and that whoso
recognizes the authority of the church
necessarily denies reason and abdi-
cates his own manhood, which is as
much as to say that whoso asserts
man denies God, and whoso asserts
God denies man. These people
forget that the best of all possible
reasons for believing any thing is the
word, that is, the authority of God,
and that the highest possible exercise
of one's manhood is in humble and
willing obedience to the law or will
of God. All belief, as distinguished
from knowledge, is on authority of
some sort, and the only question to be
asked in any case is, Is the authority
sufficient ? I believe there were such
persons as Alexander the Great, Ju-
lius Cjesar, Charlemagne, Louis XIV.,
Robespierre, and George Washing-
ton, on the authority of history, the
last two, also, on the testimony of
eye-witnesses, or persons who have
4Lssured me that they had seen and
known them personally; yet in the
case of them ally my belief is belief
on authority. On authority, I be-
lieve the great events recorded in
sacred and profane history, the buDd-
ing of the Temple of Jerusalem in
the reign of Solomon, the captivity
of the Jews, their return to Judea
under the kings of Persia, the build-
ing of the second temple, the con-
quest of Jerusalem by Titus and the
Roman army, the invasion of the
Roman empire by the northern bar-
barians, who finally overthrew it, the
event called the reformation, the
thirty years* war, etc. Nothing is
more unreasonable or more insane
than to believe any thing on no autho-
rity ; that is, with no reason for believ-
ing it. To believe without authority
for believing is to believe without
reason, and practically a denial of
reason icself.
Catholics, in fact, are the only
people in the world who do, can, or
dare reason in matters of religion.
Indeed, they are the only people who
have a reasonable faith, and who
believe only what they have adequate
reasons for believing. They are also
the only p>eople who recognize no
human authority, not even one's own,
in matters of Christian faith and con-
science. Sectarians and rationalists
claim to be free, and to reason freely,
because, as they pretend, they are
bound by no human authority, and
recognize no authority in faith but
their own reason. Yet why should
my reason be for me or any one else
better authority for believing than
yours? My authority is as human
as yours, and if yours is not a suffi-
cient reason for my faith, how can
mv own suffice, which is no better,
perhaps not so good? As a fact,
no man is less free than he who has
for his faith no authority but his own
reason ; for he is, if he thinks at all,
necessarily always in doubt as to
X
An Imaginary Contradiction.
what he ought or ought not to be-
lieve ; and no man who is in doubt,
who is unable to detennine what he
is or is not required to believe in
order to believe the truth, is or can
be mentally free. From this doubf
only the Catholic is free; for he only
has the authority of God, who can
neither deceive nor be deceived, for
his faith.
It is a great mistake to suppose
that the Catholic believes what the
church believes and teaches on any
human authority. To assume it
begs the whole question. The act
of feith the Catholic makes is, " O my
God ! I believe all the sacred truths
the Holy Catholic Church believes
ind teaches, because thou hast reveal-
ed them, who canst neither deceive
nor be deceived." The church can
declare to be of faith only what
God has revealed, and her authority
in faith is the authority not of the
law-maker, but of the witness and
intapreter of the law. In faith we
believe the word of God, we believe
God on his word ; in the last analysis,
that God is true, Deus est verax.
Better authority than the word of
God there is not and cannot be, and
nothing is or can be more reasonable
than to believe that God is true, or
to believe God on his word, without
a voucher.
That the church is a competent
and credible witness in the case, or
an adequate authority for believing
that God has revealed what she be-
lieves and teaches as his word, can
be as conclusively proved as the
competency and credibility of a wit-
ness in any case in court whatever.
She was an eye and ear-witness of
Ae life, works, death, and resurrection
of our Lord, who is at once perfect
God and perfect man; she received
the divine word directly from him,
and is the contemporary and living
witness of what he taught and com-
manded. The church has never for
a moment ceased to exist, but has
continued from Christ to us as one
identical living body that suffers no
decay and knows no succession of
years ; with her nothing has been for-
gotten, for nothing has fallen into the
past. The whole revelation of God is
continually present to her mind and
heart. She is, then, a competent wit-
ness; for she knows all the facts to
which she is required to testify. She
is a credible witness ; for God himself
has appointed, commissioned, autho-
rized her to bear witness for him to
all nations and ages, even unto the
consummation of the world, and has
promised to be with her, and to send
to her assistance the Paraclete, the
Spirit of Truth, who should recall to
her mind whatsoever he had taught
her, and lead her into all truth. The
divine commission or authorization
to teach carries with it the pledge of
infallibility in teaching ; for God can-
not be the accomplice of a false
teacher, or one who is even liable to
err. What surrender is there of one's
reason, judgment, free-will, manhood,
in believing the testimony of a com-
petent and credible witness ?
In point of fact, the case is even
stronger than we put it. The church
is the body of Christ, and in her
dwelleth the Holy Ghost She is hu-
man in her members, no doubt ; but
she is divine as well as human in her
head. The human and divine na-
tures, though for ever distinct, are uni-
ted in one divine person by the hy-
postatic union. This one divine
Person, the Word that was made
flesh, or assumed flesh, for our re-
demption and glorification, is the per-
son of the church, who through him
lives a divine as well as a human life.
It is God who speaks in her voice as
it was God who spoke in the voice
of the Son of Mary, that died on the
cross, that rose from the dead, and
Ah Itnaginary Contradiction,
ascended into heaven, whence he shall
come again to judge the quick and
the dead. Hence, we have not only
the word of God as the authority for
believing his revelation, but his au-
thority in the witness to the fact that
it is his revelation or his word that
we believe. We may even go fur-
ther still, and state that the Holy
Ghost beareth witness within us with
our spirits in concurrence with the ex-
ternal witness to the same fact, so
that it may be strengthened by the
mouth of two witnesses. More am-
ple means of attesting the truth and
leaving the unbeliever without excuse
are not possible in the nature of
things.
It is not, then, the Catholic who
contradicts himself; for between the
free exercise of reason and complete
submission to the authority of the
church, as both are understood by
Catholics, there is no contradiction,
no contrariety even. Faith, by the
fact that it is faith, differs necessarily
from science. It is not intuitive or
discursive knowledge, but simply
analogical knowledge. But reason
in itself cannot go beyond what is in-
tuitively apprehended, or discursively
obtained, that is, obtained from intui-
tive data either by way of deduction
or induction. In either case, what
is apprehended or obtained is know-
ledge, not belief or faith. To believe
and to know are not one and the
same thing ; and whatever reason by
itself can judge of comes under the
head of science, not faith ; whence it
follows that reason can never judge
of the intrinsic truth or falsehood
of the matter of faith ; for if it could,
faith would be sight, and in no sense
faith. If we recognize such a thing
as faith at all, we must recognize
something which transcends or does
not fall under the direct cognizance
of reason ; and therefore that which
reason does not know, and can af-
firm only as accredited by some au-
thority distinct from reason. The
Catholic asserts faith on authority,
certainly, but on an authority which
reason herself holds to be sufficient
True, he does not submit the question
of its truth or falsehood to the judg-
ment of reason ; for that would im-
ply a contradiction — that faith is not
faith, but sight or knowledge. This
is the mistake of sectarians and ration-
alists, who deny authority in matters
of faith. They practically deny rea-
son, by demanding of it what exceeds
its powers ; and faith, by insisting on
submitting it to the judgment of rea-
son, and denying that we have or
can have any reason for believing
what transcends reason. It ill be-
comes them, therefore, to accuse
Catholics of contradicting themselves,
when they assert the rights of reason
in its own order, and the necessity
of authority in matters of faith, or
matters that transcend reason. They
themselves, according to their own
principles, have, and can have no au-
thority for believing ; and therefore, if
they believe at all, they do and must
believe without reason; and belief
without reason is simple fancy, caprice,
whim, prejudice, opinion, not faith.
But the Christian Quarterly is not
alone in imagining a contadictioo
between reason and authority. The
whole modem mind assumes it, and
imagines a contradiction wherever
it finds two extremes, or two oppo-
sites. It has lost the middle term
that brings them together and unites
them in a logical synthesis. To it,
natural and supernatural, nature and
grace, reason and faith, science and
revelation, liberty and authority,
church and state, heaven and earth,
God and man — are irreconciliable ex-
tremes; and not two extremes only,
but downright contradictions, which
necessarily exclude each other. It does
not, even if it accepts both terms, ac-
An Imaginary Contradiction,
oept thetn as reconciled, or united as
two parts of one whole; but each
as exclusive, and warring against the
other, and each doing its best to de-
stroy the other.
Hence the modem mind is, so
to speak, bisected by a painful dual-
ism, which weakens its power, low-
ers its character, and destroys the
unity and efficiency of intellectual
life. We meet every day men
who, on one side, assert supema-
tond faith, revelation, grace, authori-
ty, and, on the other, pure naturalism,
which excludes every thing supema-
taral or divine. On the one side of
their intelligence, nothing but God and
grace, and on the other, nothing but
man and nature. Indeed, the contra-
diction runs through nearly the whole
modem intellectual world, and is not
encountered among the heterodox
only. We 6nd even men who mean
to be orthodox, think they are ortho-
dox, and are sincerely devoted to the
interests of religion, who yet see no
real or logical connection between
their faith as Catholics and their
principles as statesmen, or their theo-
ries as scientists.
The two terms, or series of terms,
of course, must be accepted, and
neither can be denied without equally
denymg the other. The objection is
rK>t that both are asserted, but that they
are asserted as contradictories; for
no contradiction in the real world,
which is the world of truth, is admis-
aWc. The Creator of the world is
the Logos, is logic in itself, and
therefore, as the Scripture saith, makes
aH things by number, weight, and
measure. All his works are dialectic,
and form a self-consistent whole;
far, as St Tliomas says, he is the type
of an things — Deus est simiiitudo
nmm omnium. There must then
be, somewhere, the mediator, or mid-
Ae term which unites the two ex-
tKmes, and in which their apparent
contradiction is lost, and they are op-
posed only as two parts of one uni-
form whole. The defect of the mo-
dem mind is that it has lost this mid-
dle term, and men retain in their life
the dualism we have pointed out, be-
cause they do not see that the conflict-
ing elements are not harmonizable in
their intelligence ; or, because they
have lost the conception of reality,
and are false to the tme principle of
things.
In the early ages of the church, the
fathers had no occasion to take care
that reason and nature should be
preserved, for no one dreamed of
denying them. All their efforts were
needed to bring out and vindicate the
other series of terms, God, the super-
natural, revelation, grace, faith, which
was denied or perverted by the world
they had to war against. The ascetic
writers, again, having for their object
the right disciplining of human nature
through grace, which includes revela-
tion and faith, as well as the eleva-
tion and assistance of nature and
reason, had just as litde occasion to
assert reason and nature, for they
assumed them, and their very labors
implied them. Grace, or the super-
natiual, was rarely exaggerated or set
forth as exclusive. The danger came
chiefly fix>m the opposite quarter,
from Pelagianism, or the assertion of
the sufficiency of nature without
grace.
When, however, the reformers ap-
peared, the danger shifted sides. The
doctrines of the reformation, the doc-
trines of grace, as they are called by
evangelicals, were an exaggerated and
exclusive supematuralism. The re-
formers did not merely assert the in-
sufficiency of reason and nature, but
went further, and asserted their
total depravity, and utter worthless-
ness in the Christian life. They
made man not merely passive under
grace, but actively and necessarily
An Imaginary Cantradkium.
opposed to it, resisting it always with
all his might, and to be overcome
only by sovereign grace, the gratia
victrix of the Jansenists. The church
met this and its kindred errors in the
holy Council of Trent, and while
affirming the supernatural elem^it,
and defining the sphere and office of
grace, rescued nature and reaffirmed
its part in the work of life. But error
has no principle and is bound to no
consistency, and the Catholic has
ever since had to defend nature
against the exclusive supematuralists,
and grace against the exclusive na-
turalists; reason, iot instance, against
the traditionalists, and revelation and
authority against the rationalists. To
do this, it has been and still is neces-
sary to distinguish between the two
orders, nature and grace, natural
and supernatural, reason and faith.
But we find a very considerable
number of men who are not exclu-
ttvely supematuralists, nor exclusively
rationalists, but who are syncretists, or
both at once. They accept both or-
ders in their mutual exclusiveness,
and alternately, rather, simultaneous-
ly, assert exclusive supematuralism,
and exdu^ve rationalism. This is the
case with the great mass of Protes-
tants, who retain any reminiscences
of grace, and even with some Catho-
lics in countries where Jansenism
once had its stronghold, and where
traces of its influence may still be de-
tected with people who deny its for-
mally heretical propositions, and ac-
cept the papal constitutions condemn-
ing them. The two extremes are seen,
and both are accepted ; but the me-
diator between them, or the truth
which conciliates or harmonizes them,
seems to be overlooked or not im-
deratood. Of course, Catholic theo-
logy asserts it, and is in reality bas-
ed on it ; but, some how or other, the
age does not seize it, and the prevail-
ing philosophy does not recognize it
The problem for our age, it seems
to us, is to revive it, and diow
the conciliation of the two extremes.
The labor of theologians and philo-
sophers is not, indeed, to find a new
and imknown truth or medium of
reconciliation, as so many ]»retend,
but to bring out to the dull and en-
feebled understanding of our. times the
great truth, always asserted by Catho-
lic theology, which conciliates all ex-
tremes by presenting the real and
living synthesis of things. This Fa-
ther Hewit has attempted and in great
part achieved in his I^hlems of thi
Age,
There can be no question that the
dominant philosophy, especially with
the heterodox, does not present the
conditions of solving this problem, and
the scholastic philosophy, as taught
in Catholic schools, needs to be
somewhat differently developed and
expressed before the age can see in
it the solution demanded. Accord-
ing to the philosophy generally re-
ceived since Des Cartes, the natural
and supernatural are not only dis-
tinct, but separate orders, and rea-
son without any aid from revda-
tion is competent to construct from
her own materials a complete sci-
ence of the rational order. It sup-
poses the two orders to be indepen-
dent each of the other, and each
complete in itselfl Reason has noth-
ing to do with faith, and faith has
nothing to do with reason. The
church has no jurisdiction in philoso-
phy, the sciences, politics, or nattual
society ; philosophers, physicists,
statesmen, seculars, so long as they
keep in the rational order, are inde-
pendent of the spiritual authority,
are under no obligation to consult re-
vdation, or to conform to the teach>
ings of faith. Hence the dual life
men live, and the absurdity of main-
taining in one order what they con-
tradict in another.
An Imagittary Contradiction.
Hiis, we need not say, is all wrong.
The two orders are distinct, not sepa-
rate and mutually independent orders,
nor parallel orda:3 with no real or logi-
cal relation between them. They are,
in reality, only two parts of one and
die same whole. We do not under-
take to say what God could or
could not have done had he chosen.
If he could have created man and
left him in a state of pure nature, as
he has the animals, we know he has
Dot done so. He has created man
for a supernatural destiny, and placed
him under a supernatural or gracious
providence, so that, as a fact, man is
never in a state of pure nature. He
aspires to a supernatural reward, and
is liable to a supernatural punishment
His life is always above pure nature,
or bdow it The highest natural
virtue is imperfect, and no sin is sim-
ply a sin against the natural law. The
natural is not the supernatural, but
was never intended to subsist without
it The supernatural is not an inter-
polation in the divine plan of crea-
tion, nor something superinduced upon
it, but is a necessary complement of the
natural, which never is or can be
completed in the natural alone. In
the divine plan, the two orders are
coeval, always coexist, and operate
sknoltaneously to one and the same
end, as integral parts of one whole.
The natural, endowed with reason
and free-will, may resist the super-
natural, or refuse to co-operate with
it; but if it does so, it must remain
inchoate, incomplete, an existence
conunenced yet remaining for ever
Bnfolfilled, which is the condition of
^ reprobate. A true and adequate
fiolosophy explains man's origin,
medium, and end ; and no such phi-
bsc^hy can be constructed by reason
Ame ; for these are supernatural, and
He fiilly known only through a super-
Mttmal revelation.
The natural demands the super-
natural ; so also does the supernatural
demand the natural. I f there were no
natture, there could be nothing above
nature; there would be nothing for
grace to operate on, to assist, or com-
plete. If man had no reason, he
could receive no revelation ; if he had
no free-will, he could have no virtue,
no sanctity; if not generated, he
could not be regenerated; and if not
regenerated, he could not be glorified,
or attain to the end for which he is
intended. To deny nature is to deny
the creative act of God, and to fall
into pantheism — a sophism, for pan*
theism is denied in its very as-
sertion. Its assertion implies the
assertor, and therefore something
capable of acting, and therefore a
substantive existence, distinguishable
from God. The denial of God, as
creator, is the denial alike of man,
the natural, and the supernatural
To solve the problem, and remove
the dualism which bisects the modem
mind, it is necessary to study the
Creator's works in the light of the
Creator's plan, and as a whole, in the
whole course or itinerary of their ex-
istence, or in their procession from
him as first cause, to their return to
him as final cause, and not piecemeal,
as isolated or unrelated facts. If
we know not this plan, which no
study of the works themselves can
reveal to us, we can never get at
the meaning of a single the smallest
part, far less attain to any thing like
the science of the universe; for the
meaning of each part is in its relation
to the whole. What is the meaning
of this grain of sand on the sea-shore,
or this mosquito, this gnat, these
animalculse invisible to the naked
eye? Have they no meaning, no
piupose in the Creator's plan?
What can you, by reason, know of
that purpose or meaning, if you know
not that plan ? Your physical sciences,
without a knowledge of that plan, are
i
An Imaginary Contradiction.
no sciences at all, and give you no
more conception of the universe than
a specimen brick from its walls can
give you of the city of Babylon.
Though that plan is and can be
known only as revealed by God him-
self, yet when once known we may see
analogies and proofs of it in all the
Creator's works, and study with profit
the several parts of the universe, and
attain to real science of them ; for then
we can study them in their synthesis,
or their relation to the whole. We
may then have rational science, not
built on revelation, but constructed
by reason in the light of revelation.
We do not make revelation the basis
of the natural sciences. They are all
constructed by reason, acting with its
own power, but under the supervision,
so to speak, of faith, which reveals to
it the plan or purpose of creation, to
which it must conform in its deduc-
tions and inductions, if they are to
have any scientific value. If it ope-
rates in disregard of revelation, with-
out the light radiating from the
Creator's plan, reason can know
objects only in their isolation, as
separate and unrelated facts or phe-
nomena, and therefore never know
them, as they really are, or in their
real significance ; because nothing in
the universe exists in a state of isola-
tion, or by and for itself alone; but
every thing that exists, exists and is
significant only in its relation to the
whole. It is a mistake, then, to
assume that the church, the witness,
guardian, and interpreter of the faith
or revelation, has nothing to say to
philosophy, or to the physical sciences,
cosmogony, geology, physiology, his-
tory, or even political science. None
of them are or can be true sciences,
any further than they present the se-
veral classes of facts and phenomena
of which they treat in their respective
relations and subordination to the
divine plan of creation, known only
by the revelation committed to the
church.
The principle of the solution of
the problem, or the middle term that
unites the two extremes, or the nivtu-
ral and the supernatural, in a real and
living synthesis, or reconciles all op-
posites, is the creative act of Go<L
The supernatural is (jod himself, and
what he does immediately without
using any natural agencies; the na-
tural is what God creates with the
power to act as second cause, and
what he does only through second
causes, or so-called natural laws. No-
thing is natural that is not explicable
by natural laws, and nothing so ex-
plicable is properly supernatural,
though it may be superhuman. A
miracle is an effect of which God is
the immediate cause, and which can
be referred to no natural or second
cause ; a natural event is one of which
God is not the direct and immediate
cause, but only first cause — Causa
emimnSy or cause of its direct and
immediate cause. The copula or
nexus that unites the nattun^l and
supematiual in one dialectic whole, is
the creative act of the supernatural,
or God, which produces the natural
and holds it joined to its cause.
Creatures are not separable from their
Creator; for in him they live and
move and are, or have their being;
and were he to separate himself from
them, or siispend his creative act,
they would instantly drop into the
nothing they were before he produced
them. The relation between them
and him* is their relation of entire de-
pendence on him for all they are, all
they have, and all they can da
There is, then, no ground of antago-
nism between him and them. If
man aspires to act independently of
God, he simply aspires to be himsdf
God, and becomes — nothing.
But we have not exhausted die
creative act God creates all thingi
An Imaginary Contradiction.
for an end» and this end is himself;
not that he may gain something for
himself or increase his own beatitude,
which is eternally complete, and can
be neither augmented nor diminished,
but that he may communicate of his
beatitude to creatures which he has
called into, existence. Hence God is
fiist cause and final cause. We pro-
ceed fiom him as first cause, and re-
torn to him as final cause, as we have
diown again and again in the maga-
zine with all the necessary proofs.
Between God as final cause, and
his creatures, the mediator is the
Incarnate Word, or the man Christ
Jesus, the only mediator between
God and men. In Christ Jesus is
bypostatically united in one divine
person the divine nature and the
human, which, however, remain for
ever distinct, without intermixture or
confiision. This union is effected by
the creative act, which in it is car-
ried to its summit The hypostatic
miion completes the first cycle or pro-
cession of existences fix>m God as first
cause, and initiates their return to
him as final cause, as we have said
in otur remarks on Primeval Man.
It completes generation and initiates
die regeneration, or palingenesiac
order, whkh has its completion or
fiilfilment in glorification, the intui-
tive vision of God by the light of
^ory, (^, as say the schoolmen, ens
supenmiuraU.
Theologians imderstand usually, by
the supernatural order, the order
founded by the Incarnation or hypo-
static union, the regeneration propa-
gated by the election of grace, in-
stead of natural generation. But
between the natiual and the superna-
tural, in this sense, the nexus or mid-
dle term is the creative act effect-
ing the hypostatic union, or God
Umsdf mediatmg in his human na-
tore. The Incarnation unites God and
nan, without intermixture or confii-
sion, in one and the same divine Per-
son, and also the order of generation
with the order of regeneration, of
which glorification is the crown. But as
the two natures remain for ever dis-
tinct but inseparable in one person,
so, in the order of regeneration, the
natinal and the supernatural are each
preserved in its distinctive though in-
separable activity.
These three terms, generation, re-
generation, glorification, one in the
creative act of God, cover the entire
life of man, and in each the natiiral
and supernatural, distinct but insepa-
rable, remain and co-operate and act.
There is no dualism in the world of
reality, and none is apparent — except
the distinction between God and crea-
tiwe — ^when the Creator's works are
seen as a whole, in their real relation
and synthesis. The dualism results in
the mind fi-om studying the Creator's
works in their analytic divisions, instead
of their synthetic relations ; especially
firom taking the first cycle or order
of generation as an independent or-
der, complete in itself, demanding
nothing beyond itself, and constitut-
ing the whole life of man, instead of
taking it, as it really is, only as the
beginning, the initial, or the inchoate
stage of life, subordinated to the sec-
ond cycle, the teleological order, or
regeneration and glorification, in
which alone is its complement, per-
fection, ultimate end, for which it
has been created, and exists. Our
age falls into its heresies, unbeliefs,
and intellectual anarchy and confu-
sion, because it undertakes to sepa-
rate what God has joined together
— ^philosophy from theology, reason
firom faith, science fix)m revelation,
nature fix)m grace — and refuses to
study the works and providence of
God in their gmthetic relations, in
which alone is tiieir true meaning.
The Positivists imderstand very
well the anarchy that reigns in the
10
An Imaginary Contradiction.
modem intellectual world, and the
need of a doctrine which can unite
in one all the scattered and broken
rays of intelligence and command
the adhesion of all minds. The
church, they say, once had such a
doctrine, and for a thousand years led
the progress of science and society.
Protestants, they assert, have never
had, and never, as Protestants, can
have any doctrine of the sort, and
the church has it no longer. It is
nowhere set forth except in the writ-
ings of Auguste Comte, who obtains
it not from revelation, theology, or
metaphysics, but from the sciences,
or the positive facts of nature studied
in their synthetic relations. But un-
happily, though right in asserting the
necessity of a grand synthetic doc-
trine which shall embrace all the
knowable and all the real, they for-
get that facts cannot be studied in
their synthetic relations unless the
mind is previously in possession of
the grand synthetic doctrine which
embraces and explains them, while the
doctrine itself cannot be had till they
are^o studied. They must take the
end as the means of gaining the end !
This is a hard case, for till they get
the synthetic formula they can only
have unrelated facts, hypotheses, and
conjectures, with no means of verify-
ing them. They are not likely to
succeed. Starting from anarchy, they
can only arrive at anarchy. Only
God can move by his Spirit over
chaos, and bring order out of confu-
sion and light out of darkness.
Moreover, the Positivists do not
reconcile the conflicting elements;
for they suppress one of the two
series of terms, and relegate God,
the supernatural, principles, causes,
and supersensible relations into the
region of the unknowable, and include
in their grand synthesis only positive
sensible facts or phenomena and
their physical laws. They thus re-
strict man's existence to the first
cycle, and exclude the second or
palingenesiac order, in which alone
reigns the moral law. The first or
initial cycle does not contain the
word of the anigma. It does not
exist for itself, and therefore is not
and cannot be intelligible in or by
itself. If they could succeed in re-
moving the anarchy complained of,
they would do so by ignorance, not
science, and harmonize all intelli-
gences only by annihilating them.
Nor is it true that the church has
lost or abandoned her grand synthetic
doctrine, or that her synthesis has
ceased to be complete, or sufficient-
ly comprehensive. Her doctrine is
Christianity; and Christianity leaves
out no ancient or modem science;
has not been and cannot be outgrown
by any actual or possible progress of
intelligence; for it embraces at once
all the real and all the knowable, rcalt
omne ct scibile. If the church fails
to command the adhesion of all
minds, it is not because any minds
have advanced in science beyond her,
or have attained to any truth or vir-
tue she has not; but because they
have fallen below her, have become
too contracted and grovelling in their
views to grasp the elevation and uni-
versality of her doctrine. She still
leads the civilized world, and com-
mands the faith and love of the really
enlightened portion of mankind. The
reason why so many in oiu: age refuse
her their adhesion is not because
her doctrine or mode or manner of
presenting it are defective, but because
they are engrossed with the develop-
ment and application of the physi-
cal or na^ral laws, or with the first or
initial cycle, and exhaust themselves
in the production, exchange, and ac-
cumulation of physical goods, which,
however attractive to the inchoate or
physical man, are of no moral or re«
ligious value. The cause is not in
An Itnaginary Contradiction.
II
die church but in them ; in the fact
that their minds and hearts are set
on those things only after which the
heathen seek ; and they have no rel-
ish for any truth that pertains to the
teleological or moral order.
The church does not object to the
study of the natural or physical sci-
ences, nor to the accumulation of
material wealth ; but she does object
to making the initial order the teleo-
logical, and to the cultivation of the
sciences or study of the physical laws
for their Qwn sake ; for, with her, not
knowledge but wisdom is the princi-
pal thing* She requires the physical
and psychological sciences to be cul-
tivated for the sake of the ultimate end
of man, and in subordination to the
Christian law which that end pre-
scribes. So of material wealth ; she
does not censure its production, its
exchange, or its accumulation, if hon-
estly done, and in subordination to
the end for which man is created.
What she demands of us is that we
conform to the Creator's plan, and
esteem things according to their true
order and place in that plan. She
tolerates *no falsehood in thought,
word, or deed.
The natural is not suppressed or
injured by being subordinated to the
supematiual, for it can be fulfilled
only in the supernatural We find
the indications of this in natiure her-
self There are, indeed, theologians
who talk of a natural beatitude ; but
whether possible or not, God has not
so made us that we can find our beati-
tude in nature; that is, in the crea-
ture or a created good. He has
made us for himself, and the soul can
be satisfied with nothing less. This
is the great &ct elaborated by Father
Hecker in his Questions of the Soul^
and his Aspirations of Nature, In
the first work, he shows that the soul
asks questions which nature cannot
answer, but which are answered in
the supernatural; in the second, he
shows that nature desires, craves, as-
pires to, and has a capacity for, the
supernatural; that the soul is con-
scious of wants which only the su-
pernatural can fill. Man has, as St
Thomas teaches, a natural desire
to see God in the beatific vision;
that is, to see him as he is in him-
self; to be like him, to partake ot
his divine nature, to possess him, and
be filled with him. This alone can
satisfy the soul, and hence holy Job
says, " I shall be satisfied when I
awake in thy likeness."
There can be no real antagonism
between the natural and the super-
natural; for there can be none be-
tween nature and its Creator, and
equally none between it and its ful-
filment, or supreme good. There is
none, we have shown, between rea-
son and faith, any more than there
is between the eye and the telescope,
which extends its range of vision,
and enables it to see what it could
not see without it. There can ht
none between science and revelation ;
when the science is real science and
is cultivated not for itself alone, but
as a means to the true end of man ;
and there can be none between earth
and heaven, when the earth is re-
garded solely as a medium and not
confounded with the end. There
can be none between liberty and au-
thority ; for man can be man, possess
himself, be himself, and free only by
living in conformity to the law of his
existence, or according to the plan of
the Creator ; and finally there can be
none between church and state, if
the state remembers that it is in the
teleological order, and under the mo-
ral law, therefore subordinated to the
spiritual order.
We have passed over a great num-
ber of important questions, several
of which, on starting, we intended to
consider, and some of which we may
12
Sacred Ambitiofu
take up hereafter; but we have given,
we think, the principle that solves the
problem of the age, and shows that
the dualism which runs through and
disturbs so many minds has no foun-
dation either in the teaching of the
church or in the real order. The
Creator's works all hang together, are
all parts of one uniform plan, and
the realization ad extra of one divine
thought, of which the archetype is in
his own infinite, eternal, and ineffable
essence. The trouble with men is,
that many of them do not see that
the church is catholic, even when
professing to believe it; because their
own minds are not catholic. They
often suppose they are broader than
the church, because they are too
narrow to see her breadth. Thqr
also fancy that there are fields of
science which they may cultivate
which lie beyond her catholicity, and
concerning which they are under no
obligation to consult her. This
shows that they imderstand neither
her catholicity nor the nature, condi-
tions, and end of science. They
contract the church to their own
narrow dimensions.
We conclude by saying that the
men who imdertake to criticise the
church, and to unchurch her, are
men who want breadth, depth, and
elevation. They are mole-eyed, and
have slender claims to be regarded
as really enlightened, large-minded,
large-hearted men.
SACRED AMBITION.
Hast thou indeed
Sacred ambition.
In word and deed
Based on contrition ?
Pray low and long,
Sowing and weeping ;
Promises strong
Pledge thee thy reapmg.
Thus hast thou prayed ?
Wait then contented;
Blessings delayed
Are blessings augmented
Every thing proves
Holy ambition
Is what God loves
Next to contrition.
PagaHtHa,
'3
TVANSLAimD PSOM LB OOMOSPONOANT.
PAGANINA.
XVIII.
We must not conclude that Master
Swibert gave only a musical educa-
tion to his child. His instruction
was solid, and intended, beyond eve-
ry thing, to develop in her a religious
sentiment
For metaphysics he had a love that
years had not lessened. His philo^
sophy was very simple; a few lines
could comprise it — only what he
took a liking to ; and he never pre-
tended to have invented it
His soul exercised itself in applying
every creature as a connection with
the Infinite. He said summarily that
if a thinker could not so comprehend
things, he retarded his progress and
lost his end.
Paganina could not always under-
stand her father, bift this did not dis-
tress him. Like the good laborer, he
sowed thickly the land he had pre-
pared, knowing well that much would
be lost; but knowing, too, that he
would come, some day, and find the
luxuriant verdure that would repay
his pains.
The young girl adopted with eager-
ness all that could elevate character
and ennoble life. Happy to repose
in the artistic emotions that shook
her so deeply, she relaxed into the
serene contemplation of the truth to-
ward which her father conducted her.
XIX.
Such, in its principal characteris-
tics, is the life Paganina led until she
was twenty-two years of age. Her
beauty had developed radiantly. She
held her head aloft, as one who looks
on high ; and her eyes so sought the
distance that she won the name of
proud fi'om the good women who
met her in their daily walks.
She never was without her father,
and the contrast between the two
was painful. He was an old man —
more firom the eflfect of sickness than
old age; and although he appeared
active, it was easy to see that, under-
mined by an inward malady, he would
soon be completely wrecked.
He felt it himself, and employed
all his strength to instruct and en-
lighten his daughter.
Without saddening her in advance,
by announcing his approaching ma-
lady, he endeavored to accustom her
to a future separation, but she could
not comprehend it. The last thing
in which youth can believe is the rup-
ture of holy affections. It never
learns that such love can be interrupt-
ed.
One day. Master Swibert and his
daughter were seated at the turn of
the road, where they generally rested
in their daily walk. The organist
retmmed to the subject with which his
mind was always preoccupied — that
future. in which he had no part — and
finished by saying, "My daughter,
your cousin loves you. What he felt
for you here he has not lost by sepa-
ration; his heart is devotedly yours.
You are all in all to him, and I have
long understood his affection for you.
I should feel happy to know you re-
tiuned his love."
Paganina, surprised, replied, "I
love but you, my father; must you
14
Pagafdna.
leave me ?" The organist replied by
this veree of St. Paul, " InsipUns : tu
quod semincLSy non vtvificatur^ nisi
prius moriatur^^ and Paganina, who
did not know Latin, began to weep.
From this day, Master Swibert de-
clined rapidly. He made what he
called his wUl; his last instructions,
only to arm his daughter for the
struggles of life. He urged her to
see, through him, the immortality of
the soul ; so especially visible in the
early Christians, in the mournful hour
when, their bodies, falling to ruin, be-
trayed the interior flame that disen-
gaged them from earth, to shine for
ever among the stars in unfading lus-
tre.
After several days of agony, the
good musician foun.d his peroration.
He died.
It was morning. He had talked a
long time with his daughter, and the
peace he enjoyed announced the end
of the struggle. His large, troubled
eyes looked once more toward the
mountain, on her, and on his crucifix,
then closed for ever.
XX.
The world— even the best of it —
don't like to be entertained with the
sufferings of others ; so I will not stop
to relate those of Paganina. I will
pause longer on the chapter of her
consolations. She drew these from
two sources, her memories and her
labors.
Her memories were realities. She
felt that her father had never left her;
and lived in his presence, meditating
on and practising his lessons. Her
ardor for the study of her art redou-
bled. Often in the silence of the
night, at a late hour, her voice was
heard by an admiring crowd beneath
her window. The young artist, with-
out knowing or desiring it, became
popular.
She had other joys, too, which
helped her to live her isolated life.
It is not of those of love I speaL
Paganina did not know the passion.
She lived apart from the world, and
her character became half legendary.
Fancy held play where love was ex-
cluded; and in the regions of the
ideal grew her immortal works, and
their imperishable beauty, to be shed
on humanity.
Perhaps the memory of such things
should only be intruded on the very
few; for it is said that often a ray
from on high illuminated the cham-
ber where the young girl sat, and in
that moment she felt a new worid
tremble in her heart.
XXI.
Happiness is not the guest of earth.
The miserable and deceptive pleasure
that pretends to this glorious name
is a bait rather than a food, and
never nourishes any body. There-
fore such moments as we have spo-
ken of are fugitive, and are mostiy
followed by exhaustion and bitter dis-
gust, which would be a good price
for them, could such moments be
paid for. Paganina experienced the
common law. She could not live on
ecstasy. Her days, therefore, were
mingled and diverse.
I must relate the crisis of her life ;
but I turn with regret to the chamber
that sheltered her genius and her in-
nocence. I see in spirit — shut in
this place^ — a treasure that no one
was permitted to contemplate; for
Paganina bloomed in the shade, and
reserved for her solitude her beauty
and the perfume of her loveliness.
Sometimes, only when debauch
slept and idleness prolonged its use-
less repose, the beautiful young girl
appeared before her opened window.
Robed with the reflection of the au-
rora, she saluted the growing day;
IS
and, as the and qa e statoe,
divine hanBooy by
carikst laysw
die exhaled
with its
xxin.
the G«3>«^ ^
«rSc««»bcr. I
, the aolh
Having, not withoiit sooccss, ter~
minitcd his moskal studies, Andr^
qmtted Naples. His aJfecdon lor his
cousin had greatly increased. Love
sang in his heart ; for, if we may bcH--
row such an e xp ression from the poe-
tical vocabulary, it assuredly belongs
to a musician.
From the day he was free, he had
hat one desire — to see Paganina. He
set out with this intention, and rest-
less regarding his reception. Indeed,
his future depended upon it.
During the journey, his thoughts
went ahead, and heaped up every
imaginable supposition on the man-
ner in which his cousin would receive
him ; but she did not receive him at
all He entered a deserted man-
sion.
He wandered among the deserted
places, where every thing recalled the
days of his childhood. Death had
passed by, and left, perhaps, some un-
known scourge. In his poignant dis-
tress, he imagined the worst.
Perhaps he did not deceive him-
self. Paganina was to appear the
next day at the theatre of Milan.
I must add that she was always
worthy of her father, in the strictest
sense of the word ; though for three
months, it is true, in order to prepare
herself for the stage, she had mixed
in the world of the theatres, and,
what is far worse, in the world of pa-
rasites, insinuating themselves by eve-
ry means and with every end. She
breathed a poisoned air in the incense
of impure flatteries. Her bitter con-
tempt prevented its injuring her; but
as soon as she was free, she ran to
conceal her wounds in a retreat where
no one could discover her.
** Her hxhcx was Gemun, ber moUier
aa Italian ; ber £uber belonged to the
cfatirch, ber motber to the theatre. Both
were superior musicians^ Such a tnrtb
coold prumtse ber a more than common
destiny, and tbis birth bad a singular
predestination. She was bom in tbe side*
scenes of tbe tbeatre during a soif^^tht
memory of wbicb is still fresb among us.
Her first cries were drowned in tbe pas*
sionate strains of tbe violin of Paganini,
and tbe bursts of admiration from bis audi>
tory. Tbe little creature, as if in reply to
the powerful invocation of tbe master, ap-
peared before tbe hour fixed by nature.
•* Tbb is all ber history. From that hour
she disappeared. Without doubt, tbe new>
bom vestal sought tbe retreat of tbe sacred
fire.
** To-day she returns to tbe place of ber
birth. The words are literally true ; we will
bear her this evening in La Scala.
*' I have desired to announce this /Ht,
Let no one £ul to be there, for I predict it
will be an event
"My task is finished. I would like to
describe this cantatrice, but she belongs to
no formula. It would require two to ex-
press the dualism of which ber person and
character bear the imprint
** She seems to have received from her
parents two natures which by turns inspire
lier. Even now we hear her pure and
original voice mount to heaven ; no breath
of human passion seems to agitate it We
listen enchanted, lifted far above ourselves,
and share the serenity, the peace she in>
spires ; suddenly the air changes, the color
mounts to her cheeks, passion absorbs her,
and she bursts out in its most marvellous
tones. I could see tbe spectre of the old
Paganini grimacing by the side of his beau-
tiful god-child, and goading on ber enchain-
ed genius.**
XXIV.
The result was as predicted. The
young cantatrice excited immense en-
thusiasm.
The Italians are quickly roused,
and never sell the evidences of
their admiration. To show more
than ordinary emotion, they invent
unheard-of and extravagant expres-
sions.
i6
When Paganina could withdraw
fitwn these ovations, the night was
for advanced; she took refuge in
solitude.
I^ us follow her. It will be curi-
ous to observe in her the intoxication
of applause, and see how she bore
her first triumph — die who had eUcit-
ed such flattering testimony of love
and admiration.
She wept, but not with happy
Pagamna.
*• My fitthcr," she cried, «* my fa-
^her, vim *w already revenged. To
pooish me, you have fulfilled my de-
5jj^ I w^hed for the clatter of
Apt^taase, for the tumult of bravos.
I am satisfied ah«ady. Is it for this,
CTtAl Goii that I have deserted thy
«i\^? Is it for such fiigitive plea-
«ir^ mhose bittemess I have known
K«K« <^« I have tasted it ? O
Kv.vi^>^^^^^^^^^*^' indfeWe femily
v^x ^ horc hax^ vxMi fled ?
' ■^X-ssi' » h.^ ha\^ just applauded
»»v . , V Irv^w the iacvpressible sad-
*svx ,^*; ^^xviw^n^ Tne, For a mo-
-s^'s AxA^;T .'^^v-• t^a:^ ^> ray eyes.
.-%> ^^^^vN « ;>^ :r.u:nj^h of my
s; v^r thoo. my Uther;
^^ .. Sxxi — a:x1 the
^ N
*k \
»\ V
• ^ ■A
x.^;x^^rx\l
\s
\ "* N
*>n
» >
\
\\
-n \S^
\
w
w
\
V\
cursed place; to fly with you so far
that you may forget this fatal even-
ing, and again become obedient to
the voice of your father. Come, I
will be your protector, your guards,
your slave— until the day," he added
in a lower voice, " when I dare
breathe to you my secret, and tell
you that I love you."
" Andr^, listen to me. I will speak
to you sincerely. I wish to love you.
I swear to you I wish it To quit
this country, fly with you, go into
Germany and inhabit Uie house of
my father, and there raise a fsunily,
would be my happiness; but \i can
never be."
"The love I bear you, Paganina,
has taken deep root. Near you alone
am I happy; but if it must be so,
speak ! If you have given your h^
to a man worthy of you, tell me, and
destroy in me all hope for ever. For
you I can bear any thing. But if it
is not so, do not answer me yet
Wait; my humility may disarm you,
and some day my patience may end
in moving your heart"
"No! my heart is but ashes; no
aflection blooms nor will bloom with-
in it It is too late."
« Do not speak so, I beg of you.
You do not know what the future
has in store for you, nor see the Pro-
\Tdence that watches over you. It
h,is sent me to you, arid with ine the
ttinembrance of happy years and the
|vrsence of )X)ur father."
** The angel itself is not yet arrest-
<n1 in its ^ Go! let me hang
^;^v'Jvn^k\i between the heaven that
>x N^\:t Aga:nst me, and the abyss
¥ KvA^ vu; :hs I seek."
SV t ;u>4 into teaiSL Andr6, after
A V o;s\\ A:^rrv\iv^hed her.
y NN s \ xv^s-^ ; soc : the dawn already
\K X vx r . N '^ I-^ ^ God of
iv. »*... >v vN^' "^^ >'^^' Thewind
\'\
^agmtkta.
t?
]four fbrdie^ in ks breath, and re-
spire with its penetrating odors the
forgetfttlness of your sufferings. To-
day, peihaps, will bring us back peace
and happiness."
*'No, to-day will be fatal. The
beauty of the morning moves me no
longer ; for me the evening fires, the
flames of the foot-lights, the idaf of
triumph. I will go from J?/^ toftte^
firom ovation to ovation. I want the
whirlpool of the worid to seize and
carry me until I lose my health — ^and
forget every thing. Immediately I
set out for the Chiteau Sarrasin."
"Ah! this, then," cried Andr^
with a sudden explosion of passion,
" this, then, is the secret of your re-
sistance and the avowal of your
shame. The public cry that brought
me here had already warned me. I
refused to listen to it. Well, go;
but fear every thing. You have rous-
ed in me a monster that I knew not
o£"
And raising his hands to heaven,
the unhappy one fled.
XXVI.
Paganina was calumniated by her
cousin; she was pure, though it is
true she slid on a fatal declivity.
Already appearances were against
her reputation. Andr^ was deceived ;
but he was not the only one ; and
fiom thence the reports to which he
had made allusion, and the pretext
of which will be explained.
The Count Ludovic, proprietor of
the Chateau Sarrasin and actual head
of the house of the Ligonieri, in-
scribed in the golden book of Eiu*o-
pean aristocracy, was a man of proud
appearances, endowed with mascu-
line beauty quite in accordance with
his character ; for he was superior to
his race, and possessed many noble
qualities.
His life was not without stain ; but
even his feults bore that chivalrous
vol.. X, — 2
character that renders them hononi-
ble in* the eyes of the world. We
well know that the code of the worid
is not that of the saints.
And the Count Ludovic, who will-
ingly mingled with the people of the
theatre, had known Paganina while
she was preparing for her dihut At
the first glance he had ri^tly judged
the soul of the young artist, and saw
her superior to her companions.
His heart was touched. Penetrat*
ed with sincere sentiments, he pie-
served in her presence an attitude of
reserve and respect, and his influence
was secretly employed to isolate and
protect her. His manner toward
her was observed; for it was not his-
usual way of adding to the conquests
for which he was famous. It might
have been believed a mutual admira*
tion ; but it is not well to credit the
judgments of one's neighbors.
The Count Ludovic wished to
celebrate the dSdut of Paganina by
one of those /BUs that an ostentar
tious tradition had preserved in his
family. He made important prepa-
rations at the Chiteau Sarrasin and
sent out his invitations.
The delicate point was to gain for
his project her who was the soul of it ;
so he proposed it to her at the mo-
ment when she received her first ap-
plause, trusting, no doubt, to her ex-
citement and wish for fiiture con-
quests. He knew his auditory
would be of the first distinction ; he
knew his motive — ^but no matter.
The young girl, warned as if by in-
stinct, feeling herself at the fatal point
of her destiny, made him no reply.
The next day, under the influence of
her bad angel, she consented.
XXVII.
They set out alone in an open
chariot. The Count Ludovic had
proposed for himself a gallant /9f/^-
iiU^ without, however, the desired
IH
PagmwmK
success; ibr all day long FagamQa^
apdce not a word Her wandering
Iboks were on the horizon, peiiiaps
there to discover the mysterious and
a?eiigmg power with which she be-
lieved herself menaced.
Toward evening they arrived at
AAst* The young cantatrice was
recognized and applauded; but she
appeared totally unconscious of
sight <^ sound, and maintained ho:
obstinate silence. The count had
long since renoimced all effort at
conversation. He rather liked the
oddity of the adventiu-e, and dream-
ed of the legend where the paladin
carried away his bride and wondered
she was pale — so pale that she was
dead.
Meanwhile, the carriage labored
on the declivity of the road to Grer-
many. The heat was excessive, not
a breath stirred the air; but a dull
and heavy mumuuing announced
that the midday wind was pent up
in the higher mountain regions.
The setting sun was red as blood.
At a turn of the road, Paganina
shuddered, for she saw Andr6 on a
rock above them; she could never
explain by what energy of passion he
had reached this point.
When the carriage neared him he
seixed the branch of a tree, and,
throwing it before the horses' feet,
cried out, "Paganina, stop! or, by
the soul of thy fother, be cursed for
ever I" The Count Ludovic had
some difficulty in managing his
friglitened horses; he did not observe
that hb companion was as pale as
the bride of the paladin.
A litde fiuther on, in returning, he
saw the same man in the same place,
illuminated by the burning sky, and
pointing with the laugh of a madman
to the Uack mass of the Cb&teau
Sarrasin.
The adventure was becoming
iitioct and more singular. The count
wondeied what part this sum tocdi ta
this luiheard-of drama.
He was too much the gendeman
to betray any surprise ; but he profited
by the incident to renew his eft>its at
conversation. " Do you know," he
said to Paganina, "that these slight
accidents might have had a tragical
ending ? The horses we drive have
already caused the death of a maii|
and, like those of the fable, may be
said to feed their ferocity on human
blood. The whip has never touched
them. If it had not been my pride
to place at your disposal the most
beautiful equipage in the world, I
should have hesitated to trust you to
them."
Still she did not reply. But the
moment was approaching when she
would speak, and in terrible words
reveal her anguish.
The carriage entered the road that
ended at the Chiteau Sarra^n. As
we said before, this road descends by
a steep and dangerous declivity, and
on the very edge of the precipice.
The horses walked quietly. Seizing
the whip, Paganina struck them vio-
lently, crying out,
" Go on, then ! Is it not said that
you can lead to death ?"
"To death, indeed!" cried the
count, surprised and alarmed. " In
this road, and at this hour, a miracle
only can save us."
ITie horses, breathing fire, made
frightful bounds, leaving starry tracks
behind thera. The stones rolled
heavily into the abyss. The few in-
habitants of these solitudes, stopping
on the borders of the road, looked on
pale and as in a dream, to see this
fantastic chariot drawn by such fu-
rious horses, while a young gid,
standing, and her hair flying in the
wind, lashed them on to desperation.
If it needed a miracle to save them,
this miracle took place. The team
stopped; upset the carriage on the
^^W>yCT^^K^wr»
^
steps 4^ Ihe chateau. One of the
hois€9 was idlled, tiie carriage broken
topieces. The count ^)zang up safe
and sound, his first inquiry for Paga-
nina.
"I am here," she replied; "the
hand of God has led us hither."
With her intention, such words
were blasphemy; but she spoke in
deliiittnL
XXVIII.
Faganina, leaning on the arm <^
the count, promenades with him the
highest terrace. The guests, in
groups at a distance, regard them
wAi hungry eyes.
A hot and violent wind agitates
the lu^stripped trees. The clouds
tav^se the sky hurriedly and quick-
ly, and their moving shadows rest on
die mountains. The moon, disen-
gaging itself here and there, throws
iti pure Hght on the white form of
the young girl. She seems to grow
in the estimation of the admirers who
seek her.
The Count Ludovic is strangely
moved. His sincere sentiments are
rekindled by the newness of the situa-
tion, and the strangeness of the ad-
venture. He thanks hb companion
kt having, at one stroke, played with
their two lives. Exalted and ner-
vous, enervated with the perfume of
die life that she had so nearly lost
oidy a few moments before, Paganina
itplies to him. The observers of the
scene listen attentively. Detached
fium the murmur of the distant
storm, their words are heard for a
moment, but the tempest again arises
and carries them away in its roar.
Yes, ardent and mysterious breath,
bear away these words of irony, of
itTok, and of despair — ^bear afar the
hitter laugh that accompanies them.
For a long time, O powerful
voice! have men listened to your
paiaftil harmony. Long have you
roamed the earth, picking up &e
notes of grief, the cries of the new*
bom, the sobs of mothers, the sigha
of the dying, and the groaning of the
crowds who groan and groan on.
But never, never have you borne
away any thing more sad or desohue
than the laugh of this imhaj^y child.
XXIX.
The night advances. Ahready the
moon has commaiced to decline.
Some of the invited ones have re-
tired ; others, grouped here and there^
seated or half-extended, are sleeping
in the hot breath of the storm.
TTiere are two powers that watch—
Paganina and the tempest, and the
thunder rolb and shakes the moun-
tains.
Silent and isolated, Paganina looks
at the shadow of the Chateau Sarra-
sin. She sees it advance and recede.
She thinks of the legend of this
cursed place— so fatal to the honor
of women. And yet fate has led her
there — ^the gulf is yawning for her.
Sh'e advances; she will enter never
there.
A cry is heard ; the sleepers, wa-
kened suddenly, run to and fro, pale
and frightened. They find Paganina
hunting and covered with blood. A
deep wound is found in her throat
The count sustains her, and in a voice
thundering above the tempest orders
his people to seize the assassin.
The assassin was Andr^ 1
When they wished to carry the
wounded one into the Chftteau Sar-
rasin, she could not speak, but be»
trayed, in signs of such mortal terror,
her repugnance to enter, that they
were obliged to relinquish the idea.
She said since, at the moment that
the doors opened to make way for her,
she again saw the scene which, seve-
ral years before, had so forcibly strudc
her. Nothing was wanting; the
brightness of the light, or the hixury
M(
p0fimifU$.
of the dress. All the actors were
there, all-^but they were hideous
skeletons; they still made gestures of
applause, while above diem, the wo*
man with the green diamond showed
a livid face, the eyes extinct, and an
open mouth, horn which no sound
proceeded.
Paganina was laid on a litter and
carried to Arise.
Andr^ followed her, chained, and
guarded from sight. They arrived
next morning.
It is said the infuriated crowd
rushed upon the assassin and his
guard, and obliged them to fly for
dieir lives. Paganina had him
brought to her, took him by the
hand, and so passed through the
moved and disarmed assemblage.
XXX.
For a long time her life was de-
spaired of. A burning fever consum-
ed her. Her sufferings were such as
belonged to her thirsty nature. She
experienced the most terrible of earth-
ly tortures; and prayed in her deliri-
um for a stream of water to flow into
her parched lips.
Her moral sufferings were still
greater. Every evening she became
the prey to a terrible hallucination,
that she regarded as the punishment
of her wish for popularity; she saw
herself raised far above an immense
crowd, and this crowd becoming by
turns insulting and mocking. Its
waves of fury flowed and reflowed at
the feet of their victim, and covered
her with their froth. Paganina, in
despair, would have thrown herself
into this shoreless tide ; but in vain ;
she felt hereelf enchained to her
height, and obliged to wait for tfie
rays of morning to dissipate her
phantoms.
These two features suffice to cha-
racteri^ her malady, which was moral
as wd as physical. Its intensity
lasted during the winter mctath& In
the spring only she appeared to be
restored to health, but the blow had
been a severe one, and the rest of
her life was merely a prolonged coa-
valescence.
XXXI.
But suffering in silence accomplish*
ed its work. Her long confinement
had curbed if not wholly subdued
her ardent nature, and those who
thought to find the revived Paganina
on the declivity where they had \A
her, were gready mistaken.
Their surprise was greater, too, as
no indication had prepared them for
the change. The work in her soul
was well and firmly done, and she re*
mained calmly impenetrable to her
friends, until diere escaped firom her,
in spite of herself a jet of revealing
flame.
The Count Ludovic had never
ceased his attentions during her ill*
ness. His passion, far fix)m weakei>-
ing, had grown stronger during his
separation. When he could be ad-
mitted to her presence, he expressed
his sentiments, perhaps, too tenderly ;
he who knew her, knew of what sud-
den movements and prompt returns
she was capabfe, strove with all his
energy, but remained confounded.
Not without reason, for so Paganina
answered him :
" Since the day when I first heard
all you have just repeated to roe, I
have stood on the borders of eternity.
New lights have been shed on all
things since then ; do not be siupris-
ed that my language is no longer the
same.
"It must be true that you place
yourself in very high and me in very
low esteem ! Do you consider my
honor a worthy prey for yoar
vanity ? Do you not think that a ffcw
days of pleasure might be too wdl
paid for by my past and my fittwpe^
Pagnnmm,
Ji
What, then, do jov trish ? You ask
that I abjure the past, that I sacrifice
to you my whole fiiture, and even
more! My itninortal soul is what
you would wish to debase. And in
a few days you would give me, in
exchange, your contempt, to run,
freer and more honored than ever,
into new pleasures. This is what
you wish, and yet you say you love
me.
"Good God! what might I have
been to-day, if heaven had not ar-
rested me^ — and what am I now ?
" Ah ! forgive me ; I have lost the
right to be severe. Words of blame
or bitterness should not come from
my lips. No, it is myself I despise;
and this contempt, to which I am con-
secrated, plunges into my heart a
poisoned iron. It oppresses, it stifles
me, and leaves for my punishment
the life I hate.
** Count Ludovic, you are the son
of chevaliers. I know at the bottom
of your heart is the nobility of your
ancestors. Adieu; we have met for
die last time."
And the count, retiring on this
command, lost his reputation for a
man of gallantry.
XXXII.
It was Easter-Sunday, the feast of
eternal life. The sun shed through
the clouds its humid rays, the trees—
clothed in new verdure and brightly
agitated — sent forth their sweet and
subde perfumes.
Paganina, still weak, was placed
by the open, window; she turned
toward the church her eyes, grown
larger in suffering, and listened to the
notes of Uie feast, weakened by the
&tance. When Faust heard such
songs the poisoned cup fell from his
hands. In his desperation he believ-
ed no longer in God. The earth had
itdaimed him. Heaven was going
to xtconqticr Paganina.
The angels, approaching he^
brought back a world of innocent
and gentle memories ; she wq)t
At this moment the bells, pealiqj
their joyous notes, announced tbe
end of the ceremony.
The virgins, clothed in white, quo-
ted the church in sSent swarms. Pa-
ganina saw them pass before her in a
vision, for they appeared in groups oT
such supernatural beauty that she
was thrown into an ecstasy.
She saw them leave the second
banquet — some retiring sweedy with-
in themselves, as slender stalks bend-
ing under the weight of the heavenly
dew ; others, pale, with foreheads hi^
and open, and eyes pure and axdenl
They crossed their arms oft their
breasts, the better to guard their trea-
sure. All wore the trace of that fite
which for eighteen hundred years has
marked the victory of the virgins and
the martyrs. The ray of divine beau-
ty which fell on these figures was re-
flected back on Paganina; her soul
was transfixed and vanquished for
ever.
She rose, and standing, pale as
her long white vestments, she pray-
ed:
" Thou seekest me again, my God;
behold ! I come. To thee I return,
and with the fnghtfid experience oF
the darkness of oblivion, and pene-
trated with the horror of those places
where thou art not.
"Thou art witness that, before I
abandoned the heights where thott
residest, I sustained an infernal strug^
gle. That day my vision was loweiv
ed, the dragon of the abyss mounted
toward me, to drag me to its depths.
. . . Thy angels have fallen, my
God ! But while they are lost for ever,
why, why am I reclaimed ?
" I come trembling in thy light
Do not reject thy victim; acknow-
ledge the Mood-stain with which thou
hast marked me to save me, I hope;
a2
W^'P^^W^^rW*
let me again contemplate thy eternal
beauty. Thy beauj^, my Lord^ I
must see. I thirst for it ; one of its
bright rays has «hone before me,, and
the world has nothing more to oiOfer.
'* My last hoiu: will be the hour of
my de^verance; I wait for it Ac-
cept the offering of a broken life,
whose failing forces will be employed
to repair the evil I have done. And
tiiou, my lather, I Uess thee, because
I may yet sleep again in thy bo-
som.
>i
XXXIIL
The day fixed for the trial of Andrtf
having arrived, a great mass of peo-
ple pressed around the court of jus-
tice» In the memory of man, no
celebrated cause had ever attracted
so g^eat a multitude. At every hour,
the waves of the crowd mounted
higher and higher against the walls
of the palace. When it was known
that Paganina would appear to give
her testimony, such tumult and agita-
tion arose that the judges were oblig-
ed to suspend proceedings. Calm being
^mewhat reestablished, the president
called Paganina to testify against the
assassin. Then, without raising her
eyes, in a low and trembling voice,
which ran shuddering through the
crowd, she answered, " He saved
my hoaor!" Twice she said it, and
when the president, renewing his inter-
rogation, menaced her with the pen-
alties of the law if she refused her
testimony, she fixed upon him a
steady gaze and repeated in a strong
voice,
" He saved my honor I"
At these words there was a shout
of enthusiasm. Men threw their caps
into the air, and cried, << Hurrah T
Women wept and were agitated ; and
Andrtf, sobbing aloud, held out to
her his trembling hands.
It is easily known he was acquit*
Soon after, a strange, unheard-of
rumor was afloat They said the
Count Ludovic asked Paganina in
marriage. The Count Ludovic!
This flower of nobility, this last of an
antique chivalry, condescend to pro-
pose to an actress, and tarnish his
escutcheon! It was not to be be-
lieved. But the evidence was excel-
lent He said so himself, and even
rudely, to the unlucky flatterers who
tiiought to make capital out of the
enormity of the story.
We can conceive the emotion was
great, and spread rapidly.
Things stood so, when two other
pieces of news, following closely on
this, caused it to be forgotten.
And these were, first, that the de-
mand of the Count Ludovic was not
acceded to ; the second, that his pre-
ferred rival was Andr^, an obscure
musician with a weak brain; and,
even worse than that, that all his
merit rested in his attempt at the
assassination of the object of his pas-
sion.
I give the facts in their entire sim-
plicity. Truth is worth more than
its resemblance; so any extenuation,
any covering of phrases, would be
useless, and neither make them ac-
cepted nor understood by practical
people — those who judge every thing
from their own stand-point, and name
it so well " common sense."
Paganina wished to repair the evil
of which she was the cause. She
found " at her hand " the sacrifice slie
desired.
From the terrible night passed at
the Chateau Sarrasin, Andri had ne-
ver resimied the complete use of his
reason. To have the right to devote
herself to him, his cousin married
him; surrounded him with twery
care, and watched over the flame of
his vacillating intelligence with a love
PagtottsuL
45
mom maternal than coiyugaL In our
existence, many things are strange*
She never seemed the wife of Andr^.
Sie lived with him as a sister. And
can you imagine what was her life,
UU-i-tiie with an idiot? Calculate
the energy to sustain, and the pa*
tience to calm him.
When the spectres of madness ap*
proached the poor invalid, warned by
bis odes of terror, Pagamna ran to
hinL Her presence, and the sound
of her voice, dispelled the phantoms*
Delivered from his terrors, he threw
himself at her feet, covered her hands
with kisses and tears, and invoked
her as his angel, swearing to her in-
violable obedience.
Since King David's time, we all
know the power of music to dispel
the spirits of darkness. Paganma
made use of it, and found consolation
in the mingled studies that brought
her cousin such relief. So even they
bad hours of happiness.
The genius, too, of Paganina was
not entirely lost to her contempora-
ries, ^e was heard once in Milan,
in a religious ceremony; and once
again in Germany, where she had
gone, nearly two years afler her mar-
liage, to make, with Andr^, a pilgri-
mage to the house of her father.
For her it was the song of the swan,
fsn her exhausted and uncertain life
went out soon afterward.
This song of songs will reveal her
last thoughts and conclude her his-
tory.
XXXV.
In one of those festivals which are
tfie noble pleasure and the glory of
Germany, an oratorio was to be given
for die first time, the expectation of
winch excited a passionate impatience.
This compo^tion, called The An*
fgH Faii^ is due to a musician whose
name wiH descend to the latest pos«
ttfity, carried onwisfd by the fiywere
his genius has evoked. xas
The part of the ardiangd Lu(
was awarded to Paganina. Th(
phlegmatic <jennans, when they giv*
themselves to enthusiasm, lose an
bounds; and Paganina might hav6
been satisfied could she have knowA
her success; but her soul Was dse^
where. ;
This oratorio was divided Into
three parts. The first expressed hea^
ven. If there is any thing in thift
worid that can make man see what
his eyes cannot, and understand it^M
his ears have never heard, it is mu-
sic ; for the true musician knows that
such harmony, quitting earth, mounts
to the vaults of paradise, where it
wakens the echoes that have nothing
of earth, and falls again on us — ^the
messenger of hope and consolation.
Paganina's rdle, in this part, was
less important than in that which fol-
lowed. Her voice was rarely detach-
ed fix)m the whole; but now and
then two or three dazzlbg notes
rose through the harmony, and the
transported auditors believed they
saw the fluttering wings of the arch-
angel already hovering on the eternal
heights.
I will say nothing of the second
part, although several fotmd it supe-
rior to the two others, on account of
the sombre energy, the terrible power
with which is rendered the insurrec-
tion of the rebel angels.
Paganina should have been perfect-
ly at her ease, to display here the
richness of her voice — ^this voice
which, in other parts, rang as a trum-
pet of gold and brass. But these ac-
cents of revolt choked her, and here
she was unequal. She would soon
surpass herself in the last air.
The composer, by one of those
happy mistakes fi-om which the best
works grow, forgot the tradition. His
angels were not thunder-strudc iti
let
1
3
I
^ Commit of Tnnt.
^nd cho-
mt 9re heard «ltemately> and the
vokx of the archangel rises once
ligain. At this moment, Paganina
laog her last air on earth with an
■rtensityoriove and grief flial cannot
be described.
No, Pagamnat one who can sd
weep has not lost heaven.
11x)se who saw her then will nerer
fi>rget her. In this high-vaulted
room, lofty as a church, she stood
above the others, in a long black robe
covered with stars. Her beauty was
that of an archangel.
As she fmished, a ray of sunli^t,
streaming through the red glass, and
sparkling as the flaming sword that
forbade the entrance into Eden, rest-
ed a moment at her feet and expired.
THE COUNCIL OF TRENT.
Now that the attention of the Ca-
tholic world is directed to the coming
Ecumenical Council, and various
questions are asked about the nature
and the probable effects of such a
meeting, one's eyes naturally turn to
the latest general synod of the church*
The history of the Council of Trent
is> indeed, of great interest '' Than
it," says its accomplished historian,
Fallavicini, '<no preceding council
was more distinguished for length of
duration, for the definition of impor-
tant dogmas, for the efficient reforma-
tion of manners and laws ; none hinder-
ed by greater obstacles, none more pa-
tient and accurate in discussion, none
more hi^y praised by fiiends, or more
bitterly censured by opponents." • A
review of the history of this great
•council, its work, and its results, will
not be out of place, at this time and
in these pages.
The so-called Reformation was dif-
ierent from any other heresy that had
•Palkvkml Hist^rU C^nc. Trid, A^pmrahu,
Cbtpw t, 1 4. We quote from the Lstim
^t, QiMtiM, &J.
attacked the church of God in this,
that it impugned the vital princi]^
of church authority. Other heresi-
archs had denied one or another dog-
ma; Luther and his followers denied
the existence of any authority to de-
fine dogmas. Other schismatists had
rebelled against the governing power,
but, even in their rebellion, had ad-
mitted its existence, though they
might wish to curtail its powers, or to
dilute its legitimate possession ; the
reformers declared that there was no
external authority appointed of God
to govern the spiritual af&irs of men.
"The combat," says D'Aubign^
"was to be to the death. It was
not the abuses of the pontiff's authori-
ty Luther had attacked. At his bid-
ding, the pope was required to de-
scend meekly from his throne, and
become again a simple pastor or
bishop on the banks of the Tiber.*^
And his pastoral or episcopal charge
was not to be recognised as dele-
gated from God, but given to him by
the consent of the faithful Real
church authority was utterly denied |
Th& Council ^ Trent.
^5
it was not its exodse, but its veiy
exigence that was brought into ques-
tion. As Dr. Ewer puts it, " This was
die meanest mode of attack" to Chris-
tianitf. ^ Protestantism made an al-
Ijr of the Bible, and with it flew at the
diiiich to destroy her. Satan . . .
pcked his men. . . Protestantism, ma-
king an ally of the Bible, succeeded
not in reforming the church, but in
attacking and destroying her in many
bads."* Against such a rebellion
the church had to put on her strong-
est annor. No mere outworks were
attacked; the strongest citadel, the
key to the whole position, was the
object of deadly assault. The lines
of attack were twofold. It was said
that the church, under the guidance
of the pontiff of Rome, had fallen
away from the true £aith, and propos-
ed superstitious errors and mere hu-
man inventions to the belief of her
dttldren. It was furthermore charged
that she had become horribly deform-
ed in morals, a very sink of iniquity,
instead <^ that spotless and stainless
bnde whom Christ had laved in his
bkx)d. The intricate and difficult
questions of original sin, its nature, its
efiiects, its remedy — the justification
of the sinner — ^were again opened
and discussed with force and acrimo-
ny, if not with discretion and candor.
"Die whole sacramental system was
piactically denied; the altar and the
priesthood removed ; and the church,
as it is seen by the eyes of men, re-
duced to a mere voluntary associa-
tion of believers, for which indefecti-
bffity, infallibility, or authority could
Bot by any means be claimed. The
Bible was appealed to in support of
these novel statements, and to each
one's private judgment was gene-
iMsly granted the privilege of secure-
ly interpreting the sacred page. The
oev doctrine flattered the vanity of
the human intellect ; and there were
found many not unwilling to sit as
judges where they had before stood as
hearers; to leave the humble bench
of the scholar for the magisterial
chair of the religious teacher. The
constant attacks on real or pretended
abuses added greatly to the tempora-
ry success of the reformers. Against
these (to borrow an expression from
Hallam) " Luther bellowed in bad
Latin." That there was much to be
reformed, the numerous decrees of
the Council of Trent leave us no
room to doubt. It is also clear that
It would have been well for the
church had prompter remedies taken
away in advance the specious pretext
of the turbulent Augustinian. But it
pleased her Divine Head to permit
that the wrong should continue to
thrive, and, when the time of trial came,
many gave as an excuse for their fall-
ing off, the scandals which they al-
leged could no longer be endured.
A glance at the history of the times
will, however, show how flimsy was
such a pretext. The scandals of the
lives of the seceders and their imme-
diate followers contrast darkly with
the honest reforms of Trent, and the
dissoluteness which was the imme-
diate result, of the revolution, taken
in connection with the acknowledged
improvement inside of the church,
would lead one to suppose that the
authors and abettors of the real abu-
ses had abandoned the ancient fold,
and betaken themselves to freer and
more congenial pastures. Of his
own party, Luther, as quoted by Bol-
linger, said !
"Our evangelicals are now sevenfold
more wicked than they were before. In
proportion as we hear the Gospel, we steal,
lie, cheat, gorge, swill, and commit every
crime. If one devil has been driven out of
us, seven worse ones have taken their place,
to judge from the oondact of princes, lord^
nobles, burgesses, and peasants, their ntter^'
•^
Th0 Council pf Trent
\f shameUts 4Cts, and Uieir diucgird of
God and of his menaces"
Of tiie old churdiy Henry Haltam
•ays:
**The decrees of the Council of Trent
were received by the spiritual princes, of
the empire in 1566, * and from this moment,'
•ays the excellent historian who has thrown
iMost li^t on this subject, * began a new life
(or the Ca;tholic Church in Germany.' ....
Every method was adopted to revive an at-
tachment to the ancient religion, insupera-
ble by the love of novelty or the force of ar-
gument A stricter discipline and subordi-
nation was introduced among the dergy;
they were early trained in seminaries, apart
from the sentiments and habits, the vices
and the virtues of the world. The monas-
tic orders resumed their rigid obser-
Tanccs."*
Luther, anticipating his condemna-
tion by Pope Leo X., appealed in
15 18 to a general council, a course,
we may remark, frequently taken by
heretics, if for nothing else, at least
to gain time to enroll followers, and
thus increase in importance, before
the final condemnation. The diet of
Nuremberg, in 1522, in answer to the
conciliatory and truly apostolic com-
munication of Pope Adrian VI.,
through his nuncio, Cheregat, request-
ed his holiness to call a council in
some city of Germany, with the
double object of a thorough reforma-
tion, and of devbing means of resis-
tance to the menacing advances of
the Turkish power. Adrian died be-
fore he could take any action on the
subject, and the new pontiflf, Cement
VII., did not receive the proposal
with favor. According to Pallavicini,
he feared that under the actual cir-
cumstances the council would only
aggravate the evil, especially if the
Others should revive the pretensions of
their predecessors of Constance and
Basle, an apprehension very prevalent
at tha^ time at Rome, and, it must be
• Itroa. to Tki L iUimimn ^ Brnn^, F«rtiL
admitted) not altogether grouociesi;
besides, the war then raging betweem
Charles V. and Francis I., from
whose dominions most of tiie bishofia
were to come, rendered tke posribB^
of a successful convocatios abnodl
Jiopeless; and, lastly, the demand
was for a council which would satisfy
Luther and his paity ; namely, one in
which any one that might choosey
even laymen, should be allowed to
take part, and the pontiff should kj
aside his high prerogatives, and sit as
a simple bishop. He consequently
instructed his legate, Campeggi, that
it was impossible to call a coimcil m>-
til the conclusion of peace between
the two great princes of Europe, of**
lering, at the same time, to cairy
out the measures of reform decreed
by the council of Lateran, held not
long before by Leo X., and to provide
by his own authority proper remedies
on other points. The mifortimate war
in which Clement became afterward
involved with Charies V. delayed (or
some time all question of holding a
council ; but, with the return of peace^
the negotiations were resumed, and
at a consultation held in Bologna, in
i533> between the pontiff and the
emperor, the former agreed to con'>
voke the council within six months
from the acceptation of certain veiy
equitable conditions by all interested
But the Protestant princes of Germa*
ny, in a meeting at Smalcald, (i533»)
refused to accept the two first condi-
tions, " that the council should be
free, and be held after the manner of
the ancient general councils; and
that those who wished to take pait
in it should promise beforehand to
obey its decrees;" a refusal which
justified, m part at least, the fears of
the pontiffl He did not, however,
desist, and was engaged in negotia-
tions on the subject until his deaths
(September 25th, 1534.) His suc-
cessor, Paul III., had never sharad
XJhe CwuncU rf Trent
V
Us fearg, and, soon after his devatioin,
seat Quodos to the various princes to
promote the ^)eedy convocation of
the council In point of fact, he did
convoke it, appointing Mantua, which
had been agreed on by the emperor
and the Catholic princes of Germany,
as the place, and the 23d day of
May, 1537, as the time, of the meet-
ing. It is useless minutely to detail
the obstacles placed in the way of
the great event by the Duke of Man-
toa and others, the selection of Vi*
cen^a, the suspension of the council,
and the bootless legation of Contari-
ni to the diet of Ratisbon. At last,
as the pontiff himself says, in his bull
c^ convocation :
•• While we awaited the hidden time, the
time of thy good pleasure, O God I we were
OMBpeiled to say that when we take counsel
coficerning things sacred, and pertaining to
Christian piety, every time is pleasing to
God. Wherefore, seeing, to our great
• O T PO w , that the condition of Christendom
was every day becoming worse, Hungary op-
pressed by the Turks, the Germans them*
selves in danger, and all the rest of Europe
seized with fear and sadness — we determin-
ed BO longer to wait on the consent of any
prinoBg but to regard solely the will of
Almighty God and the good of the Christian
commonwealth.**
To satisfy the Germans, he selected
Trent as the place of meeting, though
he himself would have preferred
some city of Italy nearer Rome. But
new obstacles arose, and the council,
though convoked for the feast of All
Saints, (November ist, 1542,) was
not opened until December 13th,
1545. Even then, it was necessary
to commence with a very small at-
tendance of prelates. At the fhst
sesaon there were present, besides
the legates of the apostolic see and
the Cardinal Bishop of Trent, only
four »chb^hops, twenty bishops, and
int general superiors of religious
orders.* But it was thought better
•PaUvr. Xib.v;cs7«fS.
to make a beghming, even though
the number of fathers was lamentably
small, e^>ecially since, according to
ancient ecclesiastical usage, a council,
legitimately convoked by the aposto-
lic see, legitimately celebrated under
its presidency, and approved by its
authority, is ecumenical, even though
many of the bishops called to it were
either unable or unwilling to take
part in its deliberations.
Bishops in greater number gradu-
ally found their way to the assembly,
and seven sessions were held in suc-
cession, the last on March 3d, 1547,
so diat the deliberations of this period
of the council lasted over fourteen
months. The work of reformation was
commenced, together with the dogmat-
ical definitions, and the same plan was
followed throughout On March nth,
the eighth session was held; but the
only business transacted was the
passing of a decree transferring the
council to Bologna, the reason assign-
ed being an epidemic, the existence
of which in Trent was declared to be
a matter of notoriety, and which had
already caused some prelates to leave
that city, others to protest against a
further sojourn. Many Others obey-
ed the decree, and the congregations
were held regularly in Bologna. The
Emperor Charles V. did not, however,
relish this transfer from a city of his
dominions to one under the temporal
jurisdiction of the pope, and he de-
tained at Trent the prelates from his
states. The result was that, after two
formal sessions, the synod was pro-
rogued, <' at the pleasure of the Sacred
Council," on September 14th, 1547,
and the remainder of the pontificate
of Paul III. was spent in firuidess ne-
gotiations for its resun^tion. Paul
died on November xoth, 1549, of
whom Pallavicini says: "By his in-
ordinate afiection iU his Ikmily, be
showed himself to be only a man;
for the rest, he has deserved in the
jHj
The Council of Trmt.
church the name of hero."* His sac-
cessor was Julias III., who as Cardi-
nal del Monte had presided over the
council in the quality of first legate
apostolic. His first care was to
reopen the sacred synod, and he im-
mediately sent nuncios to the em-
peror and the French king, to bring
about this desired result. The stand
taken by Charles for Trent made it
advisable again to select that city, and
Julius was enabled, on December ist,
iS5^> *^ publish a bull appointing
the first day of May of the ensuing
year for the reassembling of the coun-
cil. The first session (eleventh of the
whole series) was accordingly held on
that day, but, to give time to the
Germans to arrive, no business was
transacted, September ist being ap-
pointed for the next session. Mean-
while, the preparatory work went on,
and on the appointed day, the arch-
bishop, electors of Mayence and
Treves, and many other prelates being
present, another session was held, in
which it was determined to wait until
October nth, for other bishops of Ger-
many and other nations, who were
known to be on their way. The thir-
teenth session was celebrated on this
day, and it was followed by three others,
in all of which important canons and
decrees were pas^. But civil war
had broken out in Germany, and
Maurice of Saxony, at the head of a
Protestant army, in league with the
French king, had occupied Augsburg
and menaced Innspruch, where
Charles held his court, and whence
he soon afterward retired. It was
not to be wondered at that the
fathers in the neighboring city of
Trent should wish to shun a danger
before which even the great emperor
was obliged to retreat, and, in the
sixteenth session, held on April 28th,
1552, a decree was passed suspending
the cdebrarion of the cotmcfl for tWb
years, providing, however, that in case
of a speedy return of peace it might
be resumed sooner. Pressed by hfa
enemies, Charles agreed to the pacifi-
cation of Passau, which promulgated
a kind of toleraticm of both the old
and the new religion. It also pro-
vided for a diet of the empire, in
which the question was to be discuss-
ed whether an ecumenical council,
or a national synod, or a conference,
or an imperial diet, afforded the
swest method of settling the existing
religious differences. This, of course,
put off" the council again. Meanwh3e,
Julius III. died on March 23d, 1555.
His former colleague in ^e apostc^ic
legation to the council under Paul
III., Cardinal Cervini, succeeded him
in the pontificate ; but death summon-
ed him on the twenty-second day of his
reign. The austere, zealous, but hy
no means prudent Cardinid Caiaffii
was the next choice of the Sacred
College. The career of Paul IV,
affords a singular example of the falla-
cy of human expectations. Before his
election, he was a subject of die
emperor, (he was a Neapolitan by
birth ;) in the pontificate, he waged
war against Charles, son and success-
or; himself pure and above all sospt-
cion, his reign was disgraced by the
worst form of nepotism, so that, under
his successor, his nephews, one of
them a cardinal, died the death of
malefactors ; a great and really zeal-
ous promoter of reform, he took no
steps to reassemble the council. Nor
indeed could he. He was for the
greater part of his reign at war with
Philip II., successor of Charles V., in
the latter's hereditary dominions, woA
he would never recognize Ferdinand
as Charles's legitimate successor in the
empire, on account of the part taken
by that prince in the pocifioatioii of
Passau. Yet so opposed was he to
heresy, that he had recalled fix>m Eng-
7i# ComcU ^ Tr0ft.
^
hatd ^bt gende and prudent Caidinal
Pole^ and wso'iebout to summon him
to Rome to purge himsdf of the sus*
pidon of heresy, and he actually im-
prisoned, on a similar suspicion, Cardi*
nal Moione, who was destined to be
the moving spirit, as he was the actual
president of the last sessions of the
gieat council. Paul died on August
i&h, 1559. He was an excellent
ecclesiastic, conspicuous for learning
and virtue, and in less troubled times
would have been a successful, as he
was a holy pondff. But, to quote
Pallavicini, ^ he was braver in punish-
ing crime, no matter how high the
criminal, than prudent in preventing
it He took the amplitude of his
sacred power as the proper measure
<rf its exercise."* He waged war,
however, on abuses, and was a se-
vere ecclesiastical disciplinarian. His
whole pontificate is a proof of the
ttselessness, not to say positive evil,
in persons in high position, of deter-
mination, zeal, vigor, imless tempered
by discretion, prudence, and meek-
ness. His successor. Cardinal Medi-
ci, who took the name of Pius IV.,
a learned and virtuous prelate, though
not so remarkable for natural parts
or austere asceticism, accomplished
much more for the glory of God and
the good of Holy Church.
The new pontiff immediately turn-
ed his attention to the council. He
had three princes of first class to deal
with — the Emperor Ferdinand, and
the kings of France and Spain. This
kst and the emperor desired the
council to be reassembled at Trent;
but the French sovereign objected
to this place on account of its
want of accommodations and un-
healthy air, but especially because the
Protestants had already commenced
to hate the name, and proposed Con-
stance. But at last the pontiff ob-
tained the unanimous consent of all
the Catholic princes of Europe for
Trent, and on November 29th, 1560,
issued a bull appointing Easter Sun-
day of the coming year for the re-
opening of the council. He sent his
legates to Trent, and many prelates
soon arrived ; the congregations and
other preparatory meetings were held ;
but the troubles in France, on the
succession of Charles IX., prevented
the arrival of the French bishops.
At last, on January x8th, 1562, was
held, with unusual solemnity, the first
session under Pius IV., (seventeenth
of the whole series,) at which there
were present, besides the apostolic
legates and the Cardinal of Trent,
one hundred and six bishops, four
mitred abbots, and four generals of
religious orders. From this happy
day, the council went on with its ap-
pointed work without any interfe-
rence. There were grave discussions,
sometimes warm and prolonged, but
always ending in peace and harmony.
The French bishops arrived, before
the end of the year, under the leader-
ship of the illustrious Charles of
Guise, Cardinal of Lorraine. At last,
to use the words of Jerome Ragazzoni,
Bishop of Nazianzen, and coadjutor
of Famagosta, orator at the last
session, "the day arrived which
Paul III. and Julius III. had
yearned for, but which it was not*
given to them to see — a gladness re-
served to Pius IV. — on which the
Council of Trent, commenced long
before, often interrupted, and some-
times transferred, was at last, thanks
to God's great mercy, happily ended,
to the great and unspeakai)le joy of
all classes of men." The twenty-fifth
and last session was held on Decem-
ber 3d and 4th, 1563. There were
present at it four cardinal legates of
the apostolic see, two other cardinals,
those of Trent and Lorraine, three
patriarchs, twenty-five archbishops,
30
Th0 Cotmcit tf Trmt.
one hundred and sixty-eight bishops,
thirty-nine procurators of prelates
legitimately absent, seven abbots,
and seven generals of religious
orders — making, in all, two hundred
and fifty-five prelates, whose signa-
tures are attached to the decrees.
Amid the festive acclamations, com-
posed and intoned by the Cardinal of
Lorraine, tears of joy testified the
gladness of all hearts; opponents
embraced one another, no longer
rivals, but brethren; the Te Deum
was sung with feelings of the deepest
gratitude; and as the first legate,
Morone, having given his solemn
blessing to the fathers, bade them, in
the name of the supreme pontiff, go
in peace, the last solemn act of the
great council was performed. The
whole time, from the first session
under Paul III. to the last under
Pius IV., was within a few days of
eighteen years; but that actually
occupied by the council was four
years and about eight months. The
canons and decrees, both in faith and
discipline, were solemnly approved,
at the request of the fathers, by " the
most blessed Roman pontiff," Pius
IV., as the council styled him, on
January 25th, 1564 ; and, by a subse-
quent bull, they were declared obliga-
tory on the whole church, from the
f rst day oi May of the same year.
This historical sketch will serve to
give some idea of the difticulties the
work of the council had to encounter.
Whatever may be said in the abstract
of the union of church and state, their
relations in the sixteenth century
were very unsatisfactory. Popes
Paul III., Julius, and Pius wanted a
general council ; but it was very diffi-
cult so to arrange matters as to obtain
the necessary consent of all the Catho-
lic powers, and this difficulty always
afforded an excuse for delay when
delay was really desired. Then there
were courtieis at Rome <'to whose
ears the word reform sotmded lunliy''
as Pdiavicini says; and who wcfe
suddenly animated by the most
ardent zeal in defbnce of the preroga*
tives of the holy see, which, Aey
alleged, would be unduly curtailed
by the council But the firmness of
the pontiflfe, under the grace of God,
which never abandons his churdi»
brought these machinations to
nought. They refused to interfere to
save their dependents fix>m a tho*
rough reform; and Pius IV., espe-
cially, declared that he left full liberty
to the fathers in the matter. And in
a discourse in the Consistory of Car-
dinals, on December 30th, 1563, he
expressly thanked the fathers **for
the religious zeal and resolute firee*
dom with which they had spared no
labor, no care, to remove all heresies
and corruptions." " We are also," he
continued, " not a little indebted to
them for having been so moderate
and indulgent in the work of reftmna-
tion, in regard to our own affairs, (that
is, the papal court,) that, had we pre-
ferred to take this duty on ourselves,
and not commit it to their discretion,
we should certainly have been more
severe. Wherefore, as salutary mea-
sures have been adopted, it is our
firm determination forthwith to carry
the reform into effect by the obser-
vance of the decrees of the sacred
synod. We shall rather, when neces-
sary, make up by cur own diligence
for the moderation and leniency of
the fathers ; so far are we firom wish-
ing to neglect or diminish one iota," •
And he appointed Cardinals Morone
and Simonetta, both legates to the
council, to see that nothing was done
by any of the papal officials in con-
travention of the so lately approved
decrees. The courtiers had to sub-
mit, and the court of Rome since
that day has given litde or no occa*
* Nk^ lib. Bsiv. c 9^ f ft
Tki Council of Tretik
it
BOO bs serious con^int, and cer-
tainly no pretext for a schism under
the iiame of reform. Another difii*
diJty arose from the multitude of
oounseliors, and the Uberty left in dis-
cussion. Now that the council has
passed into history, it is pleasant to
see that such ample freedom was
allowed; but it must have been
somedraes a sore task for the legates
to keep order. They well deserved
the oicomium of Ragazzoni, **You
have been our excellent leaders and
directors in action. You have used
incredible patience and diligence in
guarding against any violation of our
lib^ty, either in speaking or in legis-
lating. You have spared no bodily
labor, no mental exertion, to bring
the undertaking to its desired end."
But the principal difficulty arose from
the Protestants themselves. They
had asked for the council, but when
it was assembled they would have
nothing to do with it Three differ-
ent safe conducts were issued for
them — one under Paul III., another
under Julius III., and the last under
Pius IV. — all of them as ample as
could be desired ; but to no purpose.
They did not really want a council,
but an ecclesiastical mob without a
head; in other words, they wanted
the main question of church authority
to be decided in advance in their
liivor. Their course was substantially
that of all former heretics; first, to
iq>peal to the council, to gain time
and cause trouble; then, after their
condemnation, to abuse the council
as much as they had formerly abused
the pope. It would be difficult to
determine which is to-day the greater
bugbear of the average Protestant,
the Council of Trent or the holy see.
Few, if any, assemblages have re*
oeived such praise for learning, mode-
ntion« and zeal— ^ not only from
friends, but from candid opponents^
as that of Trent We will give as a
samj^ the judgment of Hallam, him-
self not at all well disposed toward
Catholic dogma. His testimony is
the more valuable that he acknow-
ledges to have taken his facts from
the disingenuous account of the more
than half Protestant, Fra Paolo Sarpi ,•
and never to have read the able and
exhaustive history of Pallavicini:
" It is usual for Protestant writers to in*
veigh against the Tridentine fathers. I do
not assent to their decisions, which is not to
the purpose, nor vindicate the intrigues of
the papsU party. But I must presume to say
that, reading their proceedings in the pages
of that very able and not very lenient histo*
rian to whom we have generally recourse,
an adversary as decided as any that could
have come from the reformed churches, I
find proofe of much ability, considering the
embarrassments with which they had to
struggle, and of an honest desire of refor*
mation, among a large body, as to those
matters which, in their judgment, ought to
be reformed." t
Again :
" It will appear, by reading the accounts
of the sessions of the council, either In
Father Piaul, or in any more favorable histo-
rian, that, even in certain points, such as
justification, which had not been clearly laid
down before, the Tridentine decrees were
mostly conformable with the sense of the nui-
jonty of those doctors who had obtained the
highest reputation ; and that upon what are
* W« append the eetimate which Halbni himsclt
forms of the Catholicity of this unfortonate firiar:
** Dupin observes that the lonj; list of ennors imputed
by Pallavicini, which ate chiefly in dates aiul such
trifling matters, make little or no difference as to the
substance of Sarpi's history ; but that its author ia
more blamable for a malicious disposition to impute
political motives to the members of the council, and
idle reasonings which they did not emfrfoy. Ranke,
who has }(iven this a more minute scrutiny than
Dupio could have done, comes nearly to the same
result Sarpi is not a <air» but be is, for those times,
a tolerably exact histnrlin. . . . Much has been dis*
puted about the religious tenets of Father Paul : it
appears tome quite out of doubt, both by the tenor of
his history, and still more unequivocally, if possible,
by some of his letters that he was entirely hostUe to
the church, in the usual sense, as well as to the court
of Rome : symiHithising in affection, and concarring
generally in opinion, with the reformed denomina-
tion." {Lil. ofEuropt, Part iii. th. a, I 3 ) "Thia
confirms the (n-incipal points in Pallavicini*s main
charge, diat Sarpi was hottile to the church, and sub-
stituted his own malidoos CQiqeaarct for the truth of
history." (See AppartUm^ ch. i.)
t Liitrnttttv ^ Kur, YvX i. ch. 6| | ai^
31
n^ CotmcU pf TrmU
more usually reckoned the dtstiactiye cha*
racteristics of the Church of Rosie, namely*
transubstantiation, purgatory, and invoca-
tion of the saints and the Virgin, they assert
nothing but what had been so engrafted into
the foith of this part of Europe as to have
been rejected by no one without suspicion
or imputation of heresy. Perhaps Erasmus
would not have acquiesced with good-will
in all the decrees of the council ; but was
Erasmus deemed orthodox ? . . . No gene-
ral council ever contained so many persons
of eminent learning and ability as that of
Trent ; nor is there ground for believing
that any other ever investigated the ques-
tions before it with so much patience, acute-
ness, temper, and desire of truth. The
early councils, unless they are greatly belied,
Would not bear comparison in these cha-
racteristics. Impartiality and freedom from
prejudice, no Protestant will attribute to the
fathers of Trent ; but where will he produce
these qualities in an ecclesiastical synod?
But it may be said that they had only one
leading prejudice, that of determining theo-
logical faith according to the tradition of
the Catholic Church, as handed down to
their age. This one point of authority con-
ceded, I am not aware that they can be
proved to have decided wrong, or at least
against all reasonable evidence. Let those
who have imbibed a different opinion ask
themselves whether they have read Sarpi
through with any attention, especially as to
those sessions of the Tridentine Council
which preceded its suspension in 1549.*' *
To the praise of ability, industry,
and fairness, all of the highest order
from a natural point. of view, Hallam
imconsciously adds a still greater, in
the eyes of any true Catholic, namely,
that the council, on controverted dog-
matic points, adhered to the tradition
of the Catholic Church. And this on
the authority of the carping Sarpi!
What more could the greatest ad-
mirer say? Right in its view of
dogma from the traditional — the true
Catholic-^stand-point, honest and un-
swerving in reforming abuses, patient
in discussion, diligent in research, calm
in decision — such is the substantial
verdict of a Protestant writer, in the
nineteenth century, on the great coun-
cil of the sixteenth.
If we consider the variety of mat-
ters treated of in the council, its work
will appear immense. The following
accurate synopsis is taken from the
oration of Ragazzoni, at the last ses-
sion, which we have quoted before.
In matters of faith, after the adoptioa
of the venerable creed sanctioned by
antiquity, the council drew up a cata-
logue of the inspired books of the Old
and New Testament, and approved
the old received Latin version of the
Hebrew and Greek originals. It then
passed to decide the questions that
had been raised concerning the fell
of man. Next, with admirable wis-
dom and order, it laid down the true
Catholic doctrine on justification. The
sacraments then claimed attention, and
their number, their life-giving power
through grace, and the nature of each
one were accurately defined. The
great dogma of the blessed eucharist
was fully laid down ; the real dignity
of the Christian altar and sacrifice
was vindicated ; and the moot ques-
tion of communion under one or two
kinds settled both in tlieory and
practice. Lastly, the false accusations
of opponents were dispelled, and
Catliolic consciences gladdened by
the enunciations on indulgences, pur-
gatory, the invocation and veneration
of saints, and the respect to be paid
to their relics and images. The deci-
sion on so many important and diffi-
cult questions was no light task, and
of the utmost importance. A " hard
and fast line" was drawn between
heresy and truth ; and if the wayward
were not all converted, the litde ones
of Christ were saved from the danger
of being led astray. In her greatest
trial, the church gave no uncertain
sound Nations might rage, and the
rulers of the earth meditate rash
things; but the truth of God did not
abandon her, and she feariessly pro-
claimed it in her council. In regard
to some abuses in practical matters,
The Council of Trent.
33
dependent on dogma, from which the
innovatois had seuted a pretext to im*
pugn the true faith, a thorough reform
vras decreed. Measures were taken
to prevent any impropriety or irreve-
rence in the celebration of the divme
sacrifice, whether from supersti-
tious observances, greed of filthy
lucre, unworthy celebrants, pro*
frme places, or worldly concomi-
tants. The different orders of eccle-
nasties were accurately distinguished,
and the exclusive rights and duties of
each one clearly defined ; some impe-
diments of matrimony,which had been
productive of evil rather than good,
were removed, and most stringent
regulations adopted to prevent the
oying wrongs to which confiding
innocence and virtue had been sub-
jected under the pretext of clandes-
tine marriages. All the abuses con-
nected with indulgences, the venera-
tion of the saints, and intercession for
the souls of purgatory, were fully and
finally extirpated. Nor was less care
taken in regard to purely disciplinary
matters. Measiures were taken to in-
sure, as far at least as human frailty
would permit, the elevation of only
worthy persons to ecclesiastical dig-
nities ; and stated times were appoint-
ed for the frequent and efficient
preaching of the word of God, too
much hitherto neglected, the necessity
of which was insisted on with earnest-
ness and practical force. The sacred
duty of residence among their flocks
was impressed on bishops and all in-
feriors having the care of souls ; pro-
per provision was made for the sup-
port of needy clergymen, and all privi-
leges which might protect heresy
or crime were swept away. To pre-
vent all suspicion of avarice in the
house of God, the gratuitous adminis-
tration of the sacraments was made
compulsory ; and measures were taken
to put an effectual stop to the career of
the questor, by abolishing the office.
VOL. X. — ^3
Young men destined for the priest-
hood were to be trained in ecclesiasti-
cal seminaries; provincial synods were
restored, and regular diocesan visita-
tions ordered ; many new and extend-
ed faculties were granted to the local
authorities, for the sake of better order
and prompter decision; the sacred
duty of hospitality was inculca-
ted in all clerics; wise regulatioi^
w^e passed to secure proper pro-
motions to eccle^astical benefices;
all hereditary possession of God's
sanctuary prohibited ; moderation
prescribed in the use of the power of
excommunication; luxury, cupidity,
and license, as far as possible, exiled
from the sanctuary; most holy and
wise provisions adopted for the bet-
ter regulation of the religious of both
sexes, who were judiciously shorn of
many of their privileges, to the proper
development of episcopal authority;
the great ones of the world were
warned of their duties and responsibi-
lities. These, and many other similai:
measures, were the salutary, efficient,
and lasting reforms with which God,
at last taking mercy on his people, in-
^ired the fathers of Trent, legitimately
congregated under the [residency and
guidance of the apostolic see. Suclt
was the great work done by the coun*
cil — so great that even this summary
review makes our wonder at the length
of its duration cease. One remark
seems worthy of special notice. The
usual complaint of Protestants against
the council was, and is, that it was too
much under papal influence. Now,
one of the nK>st notable features of
its legislation is the great increase of
the power of bishops. Not only was
their ordinary authority confirmed
and extended, but they were made in
many cases, some of them of no little
importance, perpetual delegates of the
apostolic see, so that Philip II. of
Spain is reported to have said of his
bishops, that "they went to Trent
34
The Council of Trent.
as parish priests, and returned like so
many popes." • So groundless is the
statement that the papal Jealousy of
episcopal power prevented any really
salutary reforms.
Such was the great work of the
Council of Trent. But a tree is best
judged by its fruits, and this test will
give us even a better idea of its im-
portance and magnitude. Perhaps
the best encomium of the council is
that the Catholic of to-day reads with
astonishment of abuses and measures
of reform in the sixteenth century*
The prophecy of Ragazzoni, in his
often-quoted oration, has been literal-
ly fulfilled — the names of many of
the evils of that period have been
forgotten. Thank God! to under-
stand the work of Trent, we have to
study the internal troubles of the
church of those days in the pages of
history, for we do not find them in
our own time. They have utterly
disappeared. We have already quot-
ed Hallam on the revival of faith
and piety in the church that was the
immediate effect of the council. All
historians agree that the triumphs of
Protestantism closed with the first
fifty years of its existence. After
ithat it gradually declined. ** We
see," says Macaulay in his famous
Edinburgh Revifw article on the
papacy, "that during two hundred
rand fifty years Protcstanrism has
made no conquests worth speaking
•of. Nay, we believe that as far as
there has been a change, that change
has been in favor of the Church of
Rome." Hallam has noticed the
tame fact, and assigneil its real
•causes; we shall give his words, as,
with a few obvious exceptions, they
might have been written by a Calho-
lir J '* The prmligious increase of the
Prt^tt^tant i>nrty in KurojKr, after the
mitUUc of the (sixteenth) century, did
not continue more dian a few yean.
It was checked and fell back, not
quite so rapidly or completely as it
came on, but so as to leave the an-
tagonist church in perfect security."
He goes on to give the causes of ^c
reaction. The influence of the Coun-
cil of Trent in its reform of the clergy,
both secular and regular, (we have
already given his words,) is mention-
ed as the principal cause ; and, " fisar
above all the rest," he says, « the
Jesuits were the instruments of re-
gaining France and Germany to the
church they served." "They con-
quered us," says Ranke, " on our own
ground, in our own homes, and strip-
ped us of a part of our country.**
The following passages will give some
idea of the extent and causes of the
change :
" Protestantism, as late as 1578, might
be deemed preponderant in all the Austrian
dominions, except the Tyrol. In the Po-
lish diets, the dissidents, as they were call-
ed, met their opponents with vigor and suc-
cess. The ecclesiastical principalities were
full of Protestants ; and even in the chap-
ters some of them might be found. But
the contention was unequal, from the differ-
ent characters of the parties ; religious zeal
and devotion, which, fifty years before, had
overthrown the ancient rites in northern
Germany, were now more invigorating sen-
timents in those who rescued them finom
further innovation. In religious struggles,
where there is any thing like an equality of
forces, the question soon comes to be, which
party will make the greatest sacrifice for its
own faith ? And, while the Catholic self-
devotion had grown for stronger, there was
much more secular cupidity, lukewarmness,
and formality in the Lutheran Church. In
a very few years the effects of this were
distinctly seen. The Protestants of the
Catholic principalities went back into the
ho%pm of Rome. In tlie bishopric of
WurUburg alone, sixty-two thousand con-
verts are said to ha\'e been received in the
year 1586. The Emperor Rod^lph and his
brother archdukes, hy a long series of per-
secutiv)n and banishmeat, finally, though
not within this century, almost outrooted
rnnestAHiism from the hereditary provinces
of Au'itTia. It is true that these violent
mtMures were the proziiiiate cause of 90
The Council of Trent.
35
■any cc m v c rsiona ; but if the refonned had
been ardent and united, they were much too
strong to be thus subdued. In Bohemia,
accordingly, and in Hungary, where there
was a more steady spirit, they kept their
ground. The reaction was not less conspi-
cuous in other countries. It is asserted that
the Huguenots had already lost more than
two thirds of their number in 1580 ; * com*
paratively, I presume, with twenty years be-
ibre ; and the change in their relative posi-
tion is manifest from all the histories of this
period. In the Netherlands, though the
seTeo united provinces were slowly winning
their dvil and religious liberties at the
sword*s point, yet West Flanders, once in
great measure Protestant, became Catholic
befere ttie end of the century; while the
Walloon provinces were kept from swerving
by some bishops of great eloquence and
excellent lives, as well as by the influence
of the Jesuits planted at St Omer and
Dooay. At the dose of t^is period of fifty
years, the mischief done to the old church
in its first decennium was very nearly re-
paired ; the proportion of the two religions
in Germany coindded with those which had
existed at the padfication of Passau. The
Jesuits, however, had begun to encroach a
little on the proper domain of the Lutheran
diurcb.
*• This great revival of the papal religion,
after die shock it had sustained in the first
part of the sixteenth century, ought for ever
to restrain that temerity of prediction so
frequent in our ears. ... In the year
iS6o, every Protestant in Europe doubtless
antidpated the overthrow of popery ; the
Catholics could have found ]it§e else to
warrant hope than their trust in heaven.
The late rush of many nations toward de-
mocratical opinions has not been so rapid
and so general as the change of religion
about that period. It is important and in-
teresting to inquire what stemmed this cur-
rent We readily acknowledge the pru-
dence, firmness, and unity of purpose that
for the most part distinguished the court of
Rome, the obedience of its hierarchy, the
severity of intolerant laws, and the search-
ing rigor of the Inquisition, the resolute
idberenoe of great princes to the Catholic
£uth, the influence of the Jesuits over edu-
cation ; but these either existed before, or
would at least not have been suflident to
withstand an overwhelming force of opinion.
It must be acknowledged that there was a
prindple of vitality in that religion, inde-
pendent of its external strength. By the
tide of its secular pomp, its relaxation of
morality, there had always been an in-
tense flame olzeal and devotion. Supersti-
tion, it might be, in the many, fanatidsm in
a few ; but both of these imply the quali-
ties which, while they subsist, render a reli-
gion indestructible. That revival of an ar-
dent zeal, through which the Franciscans
had, in the thirteenth century, with some
good and much more evil efiect, spread a
popular enthusiasm over Europe, was once
more displayed in counteraction of those
new doctrines that themselves had drawn
their life from a similar development of
moral emotion." ♦
In the Council of Trent were again
fulfilled the words of the prophet
concerning the Messiah: ''Behold,
he cometh. . . like a refining fire, and
Hke the fuller's herb; and he shall sit
refining and cleansmg the silver: and
he shall purify the sons of Levi, and
shall refine them as gold, and as sil*
ver; and they shall offer sacrifices to
the Lord in justice; and the sacri-
fice shall please the Lord, as in the
days of old, and in the ancient
years." t
The zeal of the fathers did not, it
is true, succeed in bringing back all
the Protestants; but neither did the
Council of Nice succeed with the
Arians, or that of Ephesus with the
Nestorians, or that of Chalcedon
with the followers of Eutyches. But
they kept the Catholic faith pure;
they sternly applied the pruning-hook
to the numerous excrescences which
had been allowed to accumulate.
God blessed their work ; and the tree
of life, planted by running waters,
again produced new flowers and
fi"uits of holiness.
Though from the moment the de-
crees were solemnly approved by the
holy see, with the exception of that
on clandestine marriages, for which
special provision had been made,
they commenced to be obligatory on
the whole church ; yet it was thought
* la a Mte, qnodag Rnke as authority, he adds, ^ * Lit, of Euro^, Part il c; a^ f f 14. xS>
** Tbc Bmnber ia rather atartUnc." t MaL liL a-4.
36
The Council of Trent
well to obtain a special promulgation
in the diflferent Catholic countries of
Europe. The republic of Venice
and the king of P^tugal first gave
the example ; Philip II. of Spain fol-
lowed, and was imitated, after some
litde delay in the hope of reconciling
the Protestants, by the German em-
peror. France, then governed by
Catharine of Medici, alone, of Catho-
lic countries, refused. The excuse
given was, principally, the turbulence
of the Huguenots; the real reason,
the desire to preserve certain royal
prerogatives in church matters,* with
which the reforms of the council in-
terfered. So, in the name of Gallican
liberties and royal privileges, the dis-
ciplinary portion was not published
in France. Most of the measures
were actually adopted by the bishops
in provincial councils; but the seed
of great evils was sown. These same
liberties, so called, rendered possible
the chicanery by which the Jansen-
ists subsequently sought to elude the
solemn condemnations of the holy
see; and at the revolution gave the
idea of the civil constitution of the
clergy, rather than accept which so
many noble bishops and priests glad-
ly met death. But the French Church
has tired of them ; a terrible experience
has taught her that the only true safe-
guard of her liberty is, in a close
union with the see of him to whom
Christ confided the duty of strength-
ening his brethren. In regard to the
decrees on faith, there was never any
hesitancy in France; and we owe
* One of theM was the power of ipviog regular
benefices m e^mmtndnm^ that is, conferring the style,
title, rank, and revenues of abbot, or other religious
mperior, on some one not a member of the religious
eommuoity, who enjoyed the advantages but never
peribrroed the duties of his office. Two evils follow-
ed : t. An ecdesiastJcal benefice was a mere matter
of political patronage, and liab'e to be conferred on
unworthy persona « Owing to the absence of the chief
•uparior. discipline became very relaxed in religious
oonunonities so aflUaed. At least one regular con-
gregatioq, iq France, entirely died out on this ac-
count.
some of our very best apologetic or
controversial works against Protest-
antism to zealous and learned writers
of that nation.
One remarkable consequence of
the council was a great outpouring
of the spirit of sanctity. St Charles
Borromeo, as prime minister of his
uncle, Pius IV., contributed greatly
to its successful terminarion. After-
ward, as archbbhop of Milan, he set
an example of enforcing its decrees
which has ever since served as a rule
for zealous bishops. He changed
the face of affairs in Lombardy, and
may be said to have led the way in
practically carrying the reforms into
effect. Numbers of holy bishops aid-
ed him, or imitated his example ; and
before he died the new discipline was
well established. At Rome, St Phi-
lip Neri excited in a wonderful way
the spirit of zeal in the clergy, and of
piety in the laity ; and his work and
example remain to this day. It is
impossible not to be struck with the
new spirit that had seized the papal
court The popes themselves were
men not only of blameless lives, but
zealous and active for the good of
religion. A glance at Ranke's history
— especiilly the notes at the end-
will satisfy the reader of this ; while
Catholic works abound in edifying
accounts. Such men as Baronius
and Bellarmine were ornaments of
the Sacred College, not only for their
learning, but for their solid, extraor-
dinary piety, which has barely failed
of obtaining the honors of the altar.
The Society of Jesus, and other reli-
gious orders, were seminaries of vir-
tues, of zeal, of missionary spirit ; and
the heralds of the cross went to the
very ends of the earth to bring the
glad tidings of salvation to those sit-
ting in darkness. Every state and
condition of life has its saints of this
period. St Mary Magdalen di Pazzi,
the nun ; St. Francis Borgia, the rich
Matthew XXVI L
37
man who gave up all for Christ; St
Fdix of Cantalice, the unlettered lay
brotho^; St Aloysius, the pattern of
youth ; St Francis Xavier, the apos-
de; St Charles, the model bishop ; St
Philip Neri, the perfect secular priest ;
St Pius v., the pope who added to
his triple crown the fourth, and great-
est, of sanctity; and many others,
whose names are not so well known
to the world. It was emphatically
the age of saints: war always pro-
duces heroes.
ThCTc have been shortcomings since
Trent, because the church has her
human as well as her divine element,
and heresies and scandals, it was fore-
told by her divine Founder, must
come; but, by far, not so many as be-
fore it The contrast between the
ease with which Pius IX. convokes a
general council and the difficulties
with which his predecessors had to
contend in the sixteenth century, is
so plain as to require no comment,
and, at the same time, affords strik-
ing evidence of the efficacy of the
work done at Trent. It was a great
work, in every sense of the word. It
met from the beginning with great
difficulties, which were overcome by
equal constancy ; it was devised and
executed by men great in learning,
prudence, and zeal ; it effected a reac-
tion in favor of Catholicity than which
there never occurred "one on a
larger scale in the annals of man-
kind;"* it thoroughly purified the
church from wretched and inveterate
abuses ; it revived a spirit of sanctity
that emulated the palmiest days of
the church ; and it has handed down
to us the boon of pure faith and strict
observance which our unfortunate op-
ponents cannot but admire, even
though they attempt to decry it While
Protestantism was pulling down, the
council built up on a sure founda-
tion ; and its work has been lasting.
Through the lapse of three centu-
ries the grateful church has ever re-
echoed, as she re-echoes at this day,
the acclamation of the Cardinal of
Lorraine, "The sacred ecumenical
Council of Trent — ^let us profess its
faith; let us always observe its de-
crees. Semper confiteamur^ semper
servemus.
II
MATTHEW XXVII.
And He answered them nothing.**
O MIGHTY Nothing! unto thee,
Nothing, we owe all things that be.
God spake once when He all things made,
He saved all when He nothing said.
The world was made of nothing then ;
Tis made by nothing now again.
Crashaw.
• HiOlam. LU, ^Eur. Part u. ch. a, § 6.
38
Angela.
TKAMSLATSD FIOM THE GKKMAN OP OKntAD VON BOTJUIOElf.
ANGELA.
CHAPTER IV.
THE BUREAUCRAT AND THB SWALLOWS.
Herr Frank returned to the city.
Before he went he took advantage of
the absence of Richard, who had gone
out about nine o'clock, to converse
with Klingenberg about matters of
importance. They sat in the doctor's
studio, the window of which was
open. Frank closed it before he be-
gan the conversation.
" Dear friend, I must speak to you
about a very distressing peculiarity of
my son. I do so because I know
your influence over him, and I hope
much from it."
Klingenberg listened with surprise,
for Herr Frank had begun in great
earnestness and seemed greatly de-
pressed.
" On our journey from the city, I
discovered in Richard, to my great
surprise, a deep-seated antipathy, al-
most an abhorrence of women. He
is determined never to marry. He
considers marriage a misfortune, in-
asmuch as it binds a man to the
whims and caprices of a wife. If I
had many sons, Richard's idiosyncrasy
would be of little consequence ; but as
he is my only son and very stubborn
in hb preconceived opinions, you
will see how very distressing it must
be to me."
" What is the cause of this antipa-
thy of your son to women ?"
Herr Frank related Richard's ac-
count of his meeting with Isabella
and his knowledge of the unhappy
marriage of his friend Emil.
" Do you not think that experi-
ences of this kind must repel a noble-
minded young man ?" said the doc*
tor.
''Admitted! But Isabella and Laura
are exceptions, and exceptions by no
means justify my son's perverted judg-
ment of women. I told him this.
But he still declared that Isabella
and Laura were the rule and not the
exception; that the women of the
present day follow a perverted taste;
and that the wearing of crinoline, a
costume he detests, proves this."
" I know," said the doctor, " that
Richard abominates crinoline. Last
year he expressed his opinion about
it, and I had to agree with him."
" My God I" said the father, aston-
ished, "you certainly would not en-
courage my son in his perverted opin-
ion ?"
" No,*' returned the doctor quietly;
" but you must not expect me to con-
demn sound opinions. His judg-
ment of woman is prejudiced — grant-
ed. But observe well, my dear FranL
This judgment is at the same time a
protest of a noble nature against the age
of crinoline. Your son expects much
of women. Superficiality, vanity,
passion for dress, fickleness, and so
forth, do not satisfy his sense of
propriety. Marriage, to him, is an
earnest, holy union. He would
unite himself to a well-disposed wo-
man, to a noble soul who would love
her husband and her duties, but not
to a degenerate specimen of woman-
kind. Such I conceive to have been
the reasons which have produced in
your son this antipathy."
" I believe you judge rightly," an-
swered Frank. " But it must appear
dear to Richard that his views are
Angela,
39
unjust, and that there are always wo-
men who would realise his expecta-
tions."
The doctor thought for a moment,
and a significant smile piayed over
his features.
'* This must become clear to him
—yes, and it will become clear to
him sooner, perhaps, than you ex-
pect," said the doctor.
'*! do not understand you, doc-
tor."
" Yesterday we met Angela," said
Elingenberg. ''This Angela is an
extraordinary being of dazzling
beauty ; almost the incarnation of
Richard's ideal. I told him of her
fine qualities, which he was inclined
to question. But happily I was able
to establish these qualities by facts.
Now, as Angela lives but a mile fi'om
here and as the simple customs of
the country render access to the fa^
tiily easy, I have not understood the
du^cter of your son if he does not
take advantage of this opportunity
to become more intimately acquaint-
ed with Angela, even if his object
were only to confirm his former opin-
ions of women. If he knew Angela
more intimately, it is my firm convic-
tion that his aversion would soon
change into the most ardent affec-
tion."
" Who is this Angela ?"
" The daughter of your neighbor,
Segwart"
Frank looked at the doctor with
open mouth and staring eyes,
" Siegwart's daughter !" he gasped.
" No, I will never consent to such a
connection."
« Why not ?"
*• Wett — because the Siegwart fitm-
ly are not agreeable to me."
^That is no reason. Siegwart is
an excellent man, rich, upright, and
xe^>ected by the whole neighbor-
hood. Why does he happen to ap-
pear so un&Torably in your eyes ?"
Frank was perplexed. He mig^
have reasons and yet be ashamed to
give them.
"Ah I" said the doctor, smiling,
"it is now for you to lay aside preju-
dice."
"An explanation is not possible,"
said Frank. " But my son will rather
die a bachelor than marry Siegwart's
daughter."
Klingenberg shrugged his shoul-
ders. There was a long pause.
" I renew my request, my friend,"
urged Frank. " Convince my son
of his errors."
" I will try to meet your wishes,"
returned Klingenberg. " Perhaps
this daughter of Siegwart will afford
efiicient aid."
"My son's liberty will not be re-
stricted. He nmy visit the Siegwart
fiunily when he wishes. But in mat-
ters where the mature mind of
the father has to decide, I shaU al-
ways act according to my better
judgment."
The doctor again shrugged his
shoulders. They shook hands, and
in ten minutes after Herr Frank was
off for the train. Richard had left
Frankenhohe two hours before. He
passed quickly through the vineyard.
A secret power seemed to impel
the young man. He glanced often
at Siegwart's handsome dwelling, and
hopeful suspense agitated his counte-
nance. When he reached the lawn,
he slackened his pace. He would
reflect, and imderstand dearly the
object of his visit. He came to ob-
serve Angela, whose character had
made such a strong impression on
him and who threatened to compel
him to throw his present opinions of
women to the winds* He would at
the same time reflect on the conse-
quences of this possible change to
his peace and Uboty.
" Angela is beautiful, very beauti-
ful, far more so than a hundred
40
Angela,
others who are beautiful but wear
crinoline." He had written in his
diary:
" Of what value is corporal beauty that
fades when it is disfigured by bad customs
and caprices ? I admit that I have never
yet met any woman so graceful and charm-
ing as Angela ; but this very circumstance
warns me to be careful that my judgment
may not be dazzled. If it turns out that
Angela sets herself up as a religious co-
quette or a Pharisee, her fine figure is only
a deceitful mask of falsehood, and my opin-
ion would again be verified. I must make
observations with great care.*'
Frank reviewed these resolutions
as he passed slowly over the lawn,
where some servants were employed,
who greeted him respectfully as he
passed. In the hall he heard a man's
voice that came from the same room
he had entered on his first visit
The door was open, and the voice
spoke briddy and warmly.
Frank stopped for a moment and
heard the voice say,
" Miss Angela is as lovely as ever."
These words vibrated disagreeably
in Richard's soul, and urged him to
know the man from whom they
came.
Herr Segwart went to meet the
visitor and offered him his hand.
The other gentleman remained sit-
ting, and looked at Frank with state-
ly indifference.
" Herr Frank, my esteemed neigh-
bor of Frankenhohe," said Siegwart,
introducing Frank.
The gentleman rose and made a
stiff bow.
" The Assessor von Hamra," con-
tinued the proprietor.
Frank made an equally stiff and
iXHnewhat colder bow.
The three sat down.
"While Siegwart rang the bell,
jRichard cast a searching glance at
fthe assessor who had said, " An-
•Ifcla is as lovely as ever."
The assessor had a pale, studious
color, regular features in which there
was an expression of official impor-
tance. Frank, who was a fine ob-
server, thought he had never seen
such a perfect and sharply defined
specimen of the bureaucratic type.
Every wrinkle in the assessor's fore-
head told of arrogance and absolu*
tism. The red ribbon in the button-
hole of Herr von Hamm excited
Frank's astonishment. He thought
it remarkable that a young man of
four or five and twenty could have
merited the ribbon of an order. He
might infer from this that decorations
and merit do not necessarily go to-
gether.
" How glad I am that you have
kept your word!" said Siegwart to
Frank complacentiy. " How is your
father ?"
" Very well ; he goes this morning
to the city, where business calls him.^*
" I have often admired your father's
attentions to Dr. Klingenberg," said
Siegwart after a short pause. " He
has for years had Frankenhohe pre-
pared for the accommodation of the
doctor. You are Klingenberg's con-
stant companion, and I do not doubt
but such is the wish of your father.
And your father tears himself from
his business and comes frequently
from the city to see that the doctor's
least wish is realized. I have observ-
ed this these last eight years, and I
have often thought that the doctor is
to be envied, on account of this no-
ble friendship."
" You know, I suppose, that the
doctor saved my father when his life
was despaired of?"
" I know; but there are many phy-
sicians who have saved lives and
who do not find such a noble return."
These words of acknowledgment
had something in them very offensive
to the assessor. He opened and
shut his eyes and mouth, and cast &
grudging, envious look at Richard.
Angela.
41
The servant brought a glass.
"Try this wine," said Siegwart;
"my own growth," he added with
some pride.
They touched glasses. Hamm put
his glass to his lips, without drinking;
Frank tasted the noble liquor with
the air of a connoisseur; while Sieg-
wart*s smiling gaze rested on him.
"Excellent! I do not remember
to have drank better Burgundy."
"Real Burgundy, neighbor — real
Btrrgundy. I brought the vines from
France."
" Do you not think the vines de-
generate with us ?" said Frank.
"They have not degenerated yet.
Besides, proper care and attention
make up for the unsuitableness of
our soil and climate.
"You would oblige me, Herr Sieg-
wart, if you would preserve me some
shoots when you next trim them."
"With pleasure. I had them set
last year ; they shot forth fine roots,
and I can let you have any number
of shoots.**
" Is it not too late to plant them ?"
" Just the right time. Our vine-
growers generally set them too early.
It should be done in May, and not
in April Shall I send them over ?"
" You are too kind, Herr Siegwart.
My request must certainly destroy
your plan in regard to those shoots."
" Not at all ; I have all I can use.
j It gives me great pleasure to be able
I ft) accommodate a neighbor. J t*s set-
I fled; ril send over the Burgundies
this evening."
It was dear to Hamm that Sieg-
wart desired to be agreeable to the
wealthy Frank. The assessor opened
<&d shut his eyes and mouth, and
fidgeted about in his chair. While he
iiwardly boiled and fretted, he very
I pioperly concluded that he must con-
I Oder himself offended. From the
I moment of Frank's arrival, the pro-
He was about to leave, in order not
to expose his nerves to further ex-
citement, when chance afforded him
an opportimity to give vent to his
ill-humor.
Two boys came running into the
room. They directed their bright
eyes to Siegwart, and their childish,
joyful faces, seemed to say,
"Here we are again; you know
very well what we want."
One of them carried a tin box in
his hand ; there was a lock on the box,
and a small opening in the top— evi-
dently a money-box.
" Gelobt sei Jesus Christus," said
the children, and remained standing
near the door.
" In Ewigkeit," returned Siegwart
" Are you there again, my little ones ?
That's right; come here, Edward."
And Siegwart took out his purse and
dropped a few pennies into the
box.
"A savings-box? Who gave the
permission ?" said the assessor in a
tone that frightened the children, as-
tonished Richard, and caused Sieg-
wart to look with embarrassment at
the questioner.
" For the pope, Herr von Hamm,"
said Siegwart
The official air of the assessor be-
came more severe.
" The ordinances make no excep-
tions," retorted Hamm. ** The ordi-
nances forbid all collections that are
not officially permitted." And he
eyed the box as if he had a notion to
confiscate it
Perhaps the lads noticed this, for
they moved backward to the door
and suddenly disappeared from the
room.
"I beg pardon, Herr Assessor,"
said Siegwart. " The Peter-pence is
collected in the whole Catholic world,
and the Catholics of Salingen thought
they ought to assist the head of their
church, who is so sorely pressed, and
42
Angela.
who has been robbed of his posses-
sions."
" I answer — the ordinances make
no exceptions ; the Peter-pence comes
under the ordinances. I find myself
compelled to interpose against this
trespass."
" But the Peter-pence is collected in
the whole country, Herr von Hamm I
Why, even in the public journals we
read the results of this collection,
and I have never heard that the gov-
ernment forbade the Peter-pence."
" Leave the government out of the
question. I stand on my instructions.
The government forbids all collections
unless permission is granted. You
must not expect an official to connive
at an open breach of the ordinances.
I will do my duty and remind the
burgomaster of Salingen that he has
not done his."
The occurrence was very annoy-
ing to Siegwart ; this could be seen
in his troubled countenance. He
thought of the reproof of the timid
burgomaster, and feared that the
collection might in future be stop-
ped.
"You have the authority, Herr
Assessor, to permit it; I beg you will
do so."
" The request must be made in
written official form," said Hamm.
" You know, Herr Siegwart, that I am
disposed to comply with your wishes,
but I regret I cannot do so in the
present case; and I must openly con-
fess I oppose the Peter-pence on prin-
ciple. The temporal power of the
pope has become unnecessary. Why
support an untenable dominion ?"
" I consider the temporal power of
the pope to be a necessity," said Sieg-
wart emphatically. " If the pope
were not an independent prince, but
the subject of another ruler, he
would in many things have to gov-
ern the church according to the mind
and at the command of his superior.
Sound common sense tells us diat
the pope must be firee."
" Certainly, as far as I acn con*
cemed," returned Hamm. " But why
drain the money out of the coun-
try for an object that cannot be ao
complished? I tell you that the
political standing of the bankrupt
papal government will not be saved
by the Peter-pence."
" Permit me to observe, Herr As-
sessor, that I differ with you entirely.
The papal government is by no
means bankrupt — quite the contrary.
Until the breaking out of the Franco-
Sardinian revolution, its finances were
as well managed and fiourishing as
those of any state in Europe. I will
convince you of this in a moment"
He went to the bookcase and
handed the assessor a newspapet
"These statistics will convince you
of the correctness of my assertion."
" As the documents to prove these
statements are wanting, I have great
reason to doubt their correctness," said
Hamm. " Paper will not refuse ink,
and in the present case the pen was
evidently driven by a firiendly hand**
"Why do you draw this conclu-
sion ?"
" From the contradictions between
this account of the papal finances and
that given by all independent editors."
" Permit me to call that editor not
' an independent,* but a * friend of the
church.* The enemies of the church
will not praise a church which they
hate. The papal government is th©
most calumniated government on
earth; and calumny and falsehood
perform wonders in our times, Tha
Italian situation furnishes at present
a most striking illustration. The
king of Piedmont has been raised to
the rulership of Italy by the unani-
mous voice of the people — so say the
papers. But the revolution in tho
greater part of Italy at the present
time proves that the imanimous votes
Angela,
43
of the people was a sham, and that
the Piedmontese government is ha-
ted and despised by the majority of
the Italians. It is the same in many
other things. If falsehood and cal-
umny were not the order of the day,
&lsehood and calumny would not sit
crowned on the throne."
"Right!" said Richard. "It is
indisputable. It is nothing but the
depravity of the times that enables
the emperor to domineer over the
world/'
Siegwart heard Frank's observation
with pleasure. Hamm read this in the
open countenance of the proprietor,
and he made a movement as though
he would like to tramp on Frank's
toes.
" I admit the flourishing condition
of the former Papal States," said
Hamm, with a mock smile. " I will
also admit that the former subjects
of the pope, who have been impover-
ished by the hungry Piedmontese,
desire the milder papal government.
* There is good livmg under the cro-
aer,' says an old proverb. But what
does all this amount to ? Does the
beautiful past overthrow the accom-
plished facts of the present ? The
powers have determined to put an end
to papal dominion. The powers
have partly accomplished this. Can
the Peter-pence change the pro-
gramme of the powers ? Certainly
not The papal government must
go the way of all flesh, and if the Ca-
tholics are taxed for an unattainable
object, it is, in my opinion, unjust, to
say the least."
ITie proprietor shook his head
thoughtfully. " We consider the ques-
tion from very diflerent stand-points,"
said he. " Pius IX. is the head of
the church — the spiritual father of
an Catholics. The revolution has
lobbed him of his revenues. Why
diould not Catholics give their father
aaistance ?"
" And I ask," said Hamm, " why
give the pope alms when the powers
are ready to give him millions ?"
" On what conditions, Herr Asses-
sor?"
" Well — on the very natural con-
dition that he will acknowledge ac-
complished facts."
" You find this condition so natu-
ral!" said Siegwart, somewhat ex-
cited. " Do you forget the position
of the pope? Remember that on
those very principles of which the
pope is the highest representative,
was built the civilization of the pre-
sent. The pope condemns robbery,
injustice, violence, and all the princi-
ples of modem revolution. How can
the pope acknowledge as accomplish-
ed facts, results which have sprung
from injustice, robbery, and violence ?
The moment the pope does that, he
ceases to be the first teacher of the
people and the vicar of Christ on
earth."
" You take a strong religious posi-
tion, my dear friend," said Hamm,
smiling compassionately.
"I do, most assuredly," said the
proprietor with emphasis. "And
I am convinced that my position is
the right one."
Hamm smiled more complacendy
still. Frank observed this smile ; and
the contemptuous manner of the
official toward the open, kind-hearted
proprietor annoyed him.
" Pius IX. is at any rate a noble
man," said he, looking sharply at the
assessor. " There exists a critical
state of uncertainty in all governments.
All the courts and principalities look to
Paris, and the greatest want of princi-
ple seems to be in the state taxation.
The pope alone does not shrink ; he
fears neither the anger nor the threats
of the powers. While thrones are
tumbling, and Pius IX. is not mas-
ter in his own house, that remark-
able man does not make the least
44
Angela.
concession to the man in power.
The powers have broken treaties,
trampled on justice, and there is no
longer any right but the right of
revolution — of force. There is noth-
ing any longer certain ; all is confu-
sion. The pope alone holds aloft the
banner of right and justice. In his
manifestoes to the world, he con-
demns error, falsehood, and injustice.
The pope alone is the shield of those
moral forces which have for centuries
given stability and safety to govern-
ments. This firmness, this confi-
dence in the genius of Christianity,
this unsurpassed struggle of Pius, de-
serves the higWbst admiration even
of those who look upon the contest
with indifference."
Siegwart listened and nodded assent.
Hamm ate sardines, without paying
the least attention to the speaker.
" The Roman love of power is well
known, and Rome has at all times
made the greatest sacrifices for it,"
said he.
The proprietor drummed with his
fingers on the table. Frank thought
he observed him suppressing his an-
ger, before he answered,
" Rome does not contend for love
of dominion. She contends for the
authority of religion, for the main-
tenance of those eternal principles
without which there is no civilization.
This even Herder, who is far fi-om
being a firiend of Rome, admits when
he says, * Without the church, Eu-
rope would, perhaps, be a prey to
despots, a scene of eternal discord,
and a Mogul wilderness.' Rome's
battle is, therefore, very important,
and honorable. Had it not been for
her, you would not have escaped the
bloody terrorisms of the power-seek-
ing revolution. Think of French
liberty at present, think of the large
population of Cayenne, of the Nea-
politan prisons, where thousands of
innocent men hopelessly languish."
** You have not understood me, my
dear Siegwart. Take an example for
illustration. The press informs us
almost daily of difficulties between the
government and the clergy. The
cause of this trouble is that the latter
are separated from and wish to oppose
the former. To speak plainly, the
Catholic clergy are non-conforming.
They will not give up that abnormal
position which the moral force of past
times conceded to them. But in or-
ganized states, the clergy, the bish-
ops, and the pastors should be noth-
ing more than state officials, whose
rule of conduct is the command of
the sovereign."
" That is to make the church the
servant of the state," said Siegwart
" Religion, stripped of her divine title,
would be nothing more than the tool
of the minister to restrain the peo-
ple."
" Well, yes," said the official very
coolly. " Religion is always a strong
curb on the rough, uneducated masses;
and if religion restrains the ignorant,
supports the moral order and the
government, she has fulfilled her
mission."
The proprietor opened wide his
eyes.
" Religion, according to my belief,
educates men not for the state but
for their eternal destmy."
"Perfectly right, Herr Siegwart,
according to your view of the ques-
tion. I admire the elevation of your
religious convictions, which all men
cannot rise up to."
A mock smile played on the asses-
sor's pale countenance as he said this.
Siegwart did not observe it; but
Frank did.
** If I understand you righdy, Herr
Assessor, the clergy are only state
officials in clerical dress."
The assessor nodded his head con-
descendingly, and continued to soak
a sardine in olive-oil and take it be-
Angela.
AS
tween his knife and fork as Frank
began to speak. The fine-feeling
Frank felt nettled at this contempt
and immediately chastised Hamm for
his want of politeness.
" I take your nod for an affirmative
answer to my question," said he.
"You will allow me to observe that
your view of the position and pur-
pose of the dergy must lead to the
most absurd consequences."
The assessor turned an ashy color.
He threw himself back on the sofa
and looked at the speaker with scom-
fbl severity.
" My view is that of every enlight-
ened statesman of the nineteenth cen-
tury," said he proudly. " How can
you, a mere novice in state matters,
come to such a conclusion."
" I come to it by sound thinking,"
said Frank haughtily. " If the clergy
are only the servants of the state,
they are bound in the exercise of
their functions to follow the instruc-
tions of the state."
" Very natural," said the official.
"If the government think a
change in the church necessary, say
the separation of the school from the
church, the abolition of festivals, tlie
appointing of infidel professors to
theological chairs, the compiling of
an enlightened catechism — and all
these relate to the spirit of the times
or the supposed welfare of the state
—then the clergy must obey."
"That is self-evident," said the as-
sessor.
" You see I comprehend your idea
of the supreme power of the state,"
continued Frank. " The state is su-
preme. The church must be depriv-
ed of all independence. She must
not constitute a state within a state.
If it seems good to a minister to abol-
ish marriage as a sacrament, or the
confessional, or to subject the teach-
ing of the clergy to a revision by the
civil authority, because a majority of
the chambers wish it, or because the
spirit of the age demands it, then
the opposition of the clergy would be
illegal and their resistance disobedi-
ence."
" Naturally — naturally," said the
official impatiently. " Come, now,
let us have the proof of your asser-
tion."
" Draw the conclusions from what
I have said, Herr Assessor, and you
have the most striking proof of the
absurdity and ridiculousness of your
gagged state church," said Frank
haughtily.
" How so, how so ?" cried Hamm
inquiringly.
"Simply thus: If the priest must
preach according to the august in-
structions of the state and not accord-
ing to the principles of religious dog-
ma, he would then preach Badish in
Baden, Hessish in Hesse, Bavarian
in Bavaria, Mecklenburgish in Meck-
lenburg ; in short, there would be as
many sects as there are states and
principalities. And these sects would
be constantly changing, as the cham-
bers or ministerial instructions would
command or allow. All religion would
cease ; for it would be no longer the ex-
pression of the divine will and revela-
tion, but the work of the chambers and
the princes. Such a religion would
be contemptible in the eyes of every
thinking man. I would not give a
brass button for such a religion."
"You go too far, Herr Frank,"
said Hamm. " Religion has a divine
title, and this glory must be retained."
" Then the dergy must be free."
" Certainly, that is clear," said the
assessor as he arose, and, with a
smiling face, bowed lowly. Angela
had entered the hall, and in con-
sequence of Hamm's greeting was
obliged to come into the room. She
might have returned from a walk, for
she wore a straw hat and a light
shawl was thrown over her shoulders.
46
Angela.
She led by the hand her little sister
Eliza, a charming child of four years.
The sisters remained standing near
the door. Eliza looked with won-
dering eyes at the stranger, whose
movements were very wonderful to
the mind of the little one, and whose
pale face excited her interest.
Angela's glance seemed to have
blown away all the official dust that
remained in the soul of Hamm. The
assessor was unusually agreeable.
His face lost its obstinate expression,
and became light and animated.
Even its color changed to one of life
and nature.
To Richard, who liked to take
notes, and whose visit to Siegwart's
had no other object, the change that
could be produced in a bureaucrat
by such rare womanly beauty was
very amusing. He had arisen and
stepped back a litde. He observed
the assessor carefully till a smile be-
tween astonishment and pity lit up
his countenance. He then looked
at Angela, who stood motionless
on the same spot. It seemed
to require great resignation on
her part to notice the flattering
speech and obsequious attentions of
the assessor. Richard observed that
her countenance was tranquil, but her
manner more grave than usual. She
still held the little one by the hand,
who pressed yet closer to her the
nearer the wonderful man came.
Hamm*s voice rose to a tone of en-
thusiasm, and he took a step or two
toward the object of his reverence,
when a strange enemy confronted
him. Some swallows had come in
with Angela. Till now they were
quiet and seemed to be observing the
assessor; but when he approached
Angela, briskly gesticulating, the
swallows raised their well-known
shrill cry of anxiety, left their perches
and fluttered around the official. In-
terrupted in the full flow of his elo-
quence, he struck about with his
hands to frighten them. The swal-
lows only became the noisier, and
their fluttering about Hamm assumed
a decidedly warlike character. They
seemed to consider him as a danger-
ous enemy of Angela whom they
wished to keep ofl". Richard looked
on in wonder, Siegwart shook his
head and stroked his beard, and An-
gela smiled at the swallows.
" These are abominable creatures,"
cried Hamm warding them off
" Why, such a thing never happened
to me before. Off* with you! you
troublesome wretches."
The birds flew out of the room,
still screaming; and their shrill cries
could be heard high up in the air.
"The swallows have a grudge
against you," said Siegwart "They
generally treat only the cats and
hawks in this way."
"Perhaps they have been fright-
ened at this red ribbon," returned
Hamm. " I regret, my dear young
lady, to have frightened your little
pets. When I come again, I will
leave the object of their terror at
home."
" You should not deprive yourself
of an ornament which has an honora-
ble significance on account of the
swallows, particularly as we do not
know whether it was really the red
color that displeased them," said she.
"You think, then. Miss Angela,
that there is something else about me
they dislike ?"
" I do not know, Herr Assessor."
" Oh ! if I only knew the cause of
their displeasure," said Hamm enthu-
siastically. "You have an aflectioa
for the swallows, and I would not dis-
please any thing that you love."
She answered by an inclination,
and was about to leave the room.
" Angela," said her father, " here is
Herr Frank, to whom you are under
obligations."
Angela.
47
She moved a step or two toward
Richard.
" Sir," said she gently, "you return-
ed some things that were valuable to
me; were it not for your kindness,
they would probably have been lost.
I thank you."
A formal bow was Frank's answer.
Hamm stood smiling, his searching
^ance alternating between the state-
)j young man and Angela. But in
iht manner of both he observed
nothing more than reserve and cold
ibnnality.
Angela left the room. The assessor
sat down on the sofa and poured out
a glass of wine.
Eliza sat on her father's knee.
Richard observed the beautiful child
with her fine features and golden
silken locks that hung about her ten-
der face. The winning expression
of innocence and gentleness in her
tnild, childish eyes particularly struck
him.
"A beautiful, lovely child," said
he mvoluntarily, and as he looked in
Siegwart's face he read there a deep
love and a quiet, fatherly fondness
for the child.
** Eliza is not always as lovely and
good as she is now," he returned.
** She has still some Uttle faults which
«hc must get rid of."
"Yes, that's what Angela said,"
cbttoied the little one. "Angela
said I must be very good; I must
love to pray ; I must obey my father
and mother ; then the angels who are
in heaven will love me."
" Can you pray yet, my child," said
Richard.
" Yes, I can say the * Our Fa-
fcr' and the * Hail Mary.' Angela
is teaching me many nice prayers."
She looked at the stranger a mo-
iDcnt and said with childish sirapli-
cky,
" Can you pray too ?"
•Certainly, my child," answered
Frank, smiling; "but I doubt whe-
ther my prayers are as pleasmg to
God as yours."
" Angela also said we should not
lie," continued Eliza. "The good
God does not love children who lie.'
" That is true," said Frank. " Obey
your sister Angela."
Here the young man was affected
by a peculiar emotion. He thought
of Angela as the first instructor of the
child ; placed near this litde innocent,
she appeared like its guardian angeL
He saw clearly at this moment the
great importance of first impressions
on the young, and thought that in
afler life they would not be oblitera-
ted. He expressed his thoughts, and
Siegwart confirmed them.
" I am of your opinion, Herr Frank.
The most enduring impressions are
made in early childhood. The germ
of good must be implanted in the
tender and susceptible heart of the
child and there developed. Many,
indeed most parents overlook this
important principle of education.
This is a great and pernicious error.
Man is bom with bad propensities;
they grow with his growth and in-
crease with his strength. In early
childhood, they manifest themselves
in obstinacy, wilfulness, excessive
love of play, disobedience, and a dis-
position to lie. If these outgrowths
are plucked up and removed in child-
hood by careful, religious training, it
will be much easier to form the heart
to habits of virtue than in after years.
Many parents begin to instruct their
children after they have spoiled
them. Is this not your opinion, Herr
Assessor ?"
Hamm was aroused by this sud-
den question. He had not paid any
attention to the conversation, but had
been uninterruptedly stroking his
moustache and gazing abstractedly
into vacancy.
" What did you ask, my dear Sieg-
48
Angela.
wart ? Whether I am of your opin-
ion ? Certainly, certainly, entirely
of your opinion. Your views are
always sound, practical, and matured
by great experience, as in this case."
" Well, I can't say you were al-
ways of my opinion," said Siegwart
smiling; "have we not just been
sharply disputing about the Peter-
pence?"
" O my dear friend I as a private
individual I agree with you entirely
on these questions; but an official
must frequently defend in a system
of government that which he privately
condemns."
Frank perceived Hamm*s object.
He wished to do away with the un-
favorable impressions his former ex-
pressions might have made on the
proprietor. The reason of this was
dear to him since he had discovered
the assessor's passion for Angela.
"I am rejoiced," said Siegwart,
" that we agree at least in that most
important matter, religion."
Frank remembered his father's re-
mark, " The Siegwart family is in-
tensely clerical and ultramontane."
It was new and striking to him to
see the question of religion consider-
ed the most important He con-
cluded from this, and was confirmed
fai his conclusions by the leading spi-
rit of the Siegwart family, that, in
direct contradiction to modem i.deas,
religion is the highest good.
" Nevertheless," said Siegwart, " I
object to a system of government
that is inimical to the church."
" And so do I," sighed the asses-
sor.
Richard took his departure. At
home, he wrote a few hasty lines in
his diary and then went into the
most retired part of the garden.
Here he sat in deep thought till the
servant called him to dinner.
" Has Klingenberg not gone out
yet to-day ?"
" No, but he has been walking up
and down his room for the last two
hours."
Frank smiled. He guessed the
meaning of this walk, and as they
both entered the dining-room to-
gether his conjecture was confirmed
The doctor entered somewhat ab-
ruptly and did not seem to observe
Richard's presence. His eyes had
a penetrating, almost fierce expres-
sion and his brows were knit He
sat down to the table mechanically,
and ate what was placed before him.
It is questionable whether he knew
what he was eating, or even that he was
eating. He did not speak a word,
and Frank, who knew his peculiarities,
did not disturb him by a single sylla-
ble. This was not difficult, as he
was busily occupied with his own
thoughts.
After the meal was over, Klingen-
berg came to himself. "My dear
Richard, I beg your pardon," said
he in a tone of voice which was al-
most tender. " Excuse my weak-
ness. I have read this morning a
scientific article that upsets all my
previous theories on the subject
treated of. In the whole field of hu-
man investigation there is nothing
whatever certain, nothing firmly es-
tablished. What one to-day proves
by strict logic to be true, to-morrow
another by still stronger logic proves
to be false. From the time of Aris-
totle to the present, philosophers
have disagreed, and the infallible phi-
losopher will certainly never be bom.
It is the same in all branches. I
would not be the least astonished if
Galileo's system would be proved to
be false. If the instruments, the
means of acquiring astronomical
knowledge, continue to improve, we
may live to learn that the earth
stands still and that the sim goes
waltzing around our little planet
This uncertainty is very discouraging
Angela.
49
to the human mind We might say
with Faust,
* It will my heart ooosome
That we can nothing know.*
(I
"In my humble opinion," said
Rank, " every investigator moves in
a limited circle. The most profoimd
thinker does not go beyond these set
fimks; and if he would boldly over-
stqp them, he would be thrown back
b]r evident contradiction into that
circle which Omnipotence has drawn
around the human intellect."
"Very reasonable, Richard; very
reasonable. But the desire of know-
ledge must sometimes be satiated,"
continued the doctor after a short
pause. " If the human mind were
free from the narrow limits of the
deceptive world of sense, and could
see and know with pure spiritual
eyes, the barriers of which you speak
would falL Even the Bible assures
us of this. St Paul, writing to the
Corinthians, says, * We see now
through a glass in an obscure man-
ner, but then fia.ce to face; now I
know in part, but then I shall know
as I am known.' I would admire
St Paul on account of this passage
alone if he never had written another.
How awful is the moral quality of
the human soul taken in coimection
with its future capacity for know-
VOL. X.— 4
ledge. And how natural, how evi-
dent, is the connection. The human
mind will receive knowledge from
the source of all knowledge — God, in
proportion as it has been just and
good. For this reason our Redeem-
er calls the world of the damned
'outer darkness,' and the world of
the blessed, the * kingdom of light.' "
"We sometimes see in that way
even now," said Frank afler a pause.
" The wicked have ideas very differ-
ent from those of the good. A fri-
volous spirit mocks at and derides that
which fills the good with happiness
and contentment We might, then,
say that even in this life man knows
as he is known."
The doctor cast an admiring glance
at the young man. "We entirely
agree, my young friend ; wickedness
is to the sciences what a poisonous
miasma and the burning rays of the
sun are to the young plants. Yes,
vice begets atheism, materialism, and
every other abortion of thought"
Klingenberg arose.
"We will meet again at three,**
said he with a friendly nod.
Richard took from his room Vogfs
PhysioiogUal LtiierSy went into the
garden, and buried himself in its con-
tents.
TO BB CONTIVUBO.
50
Morality of th$ City of Ronu.
MORALITY OF THE CITY OF ROME*
Wr pmmised in our last number
to )viy our respects to an infamous
calumny about Rome, the capital of
the Christian Church, and scat of the
So\*ereign rontif&, Vicars of our
Lord Jesus Christ upon earth.
I'his cnlumny has been extensivdy
circulated* We hax-e (bund it in each
one of the ^xwks at the head of this
article, and we suppose k has been
lepcAteii in many othen vhich have
not 6dlen under our observation ; for
our *^ ex-ani^elical ** jounuds, as they
stvfo themselves, and aburge portion
of the secular press^ seem to have
verv loose notions of morahtr where
tihe Catholic Church is cooccmed.
£\rrT $^:«y to her disadvanta^ win
be suK h> please thetr public, or to
SMpfty the want of arguncnt, and
AereK^rc it ts seiied vpoei witk ca^?er-
•ess xsvi ^?pel^ed ooer the kc^^th
and bcTJKhh of the hncL It nutters
fitde ro tSrta whether st be tnae or
Boc :$o W>r$ as k a::tswcR the per-
It 5i eftoidi
be iHid aar njrtu to =:l
«Mc^ a stasitrwrT I: ts x^ ^.i.:e
'jttirvju how s=::prr^ii:^^ tSc sccrr
IV V* or wi:jc cccr:ii,cr!OC55 -j:
tx ixxcKfe^crcc: of w^ai x-^srv^is
vSk%r7>r?KkV^v ^'* siii fc II ■■ ^f ^*-4S> jl3^«^ ^.^i*^
^c<^rc^ff, x «ulv Se CJoscnKtec . x
suffices that it be something injuri*
ous to the Catholic rdigion, and at
once the end sanctifies die means;
and God, tiiey seem to think, will
easily wink at any breach of the com-
mandment, "Thou shalt not bear
£&lse witness against thy ndghbor,"
whoi that neighbor is only a papist
Beskies, the appetite of the pabhc for
this sort of thing seems to be so in-
satiable that they are deemed ready
to swallow any thing, however it may
outrage common sense or probability;
and therefore they do not Icar any
loss of reputation if they are detected
in the circulatkMi of the £dschood.
Corporatioos are sakl to have no
sooh. and the reverend editor of a
lehgioos perkxikal easSy seems to
absolve bcnsdf from any obljgatioo
m hxh Christian charitv or even de-
l:J-rv. I: is ::;> tis tSeCLi that m
R.w sesev t^^e fooEds of all die
Morality of the City of Romt.
5«
popukdoD, and the existence of a
laige foundling hospital, as in Vienna,
used by the poorer inhabitants of the
country around even to a considera-
Ue distance, would lead us to a
sounder conclusion in regard to its
social state than the bare inspection
of (he figures. But the supposition
that three fourths of all the children
bora in Rome or any other city, Pro-
testant or Catholic, are illegitimate, is
too exaggerated to be entertained for
a moment It seems to find ready
credence, however; probably through
some such mental process as thb:
"Catholics are corrupt and vicious.
Rome is the chief of all Catholic
cities, and therefore the most corrupt
and vjcious of all, and no story of its
corruption is too big for belief. The
more incredible for any other place,
the more worthy of belief for Rome."
But let us come more to details
about this statement in regard to
Rome. We quote from Mr. Sey-
mour's book :
" In the luliam statistics of Mittermaier
we have the number of exposed infants re-
ceived in II S. Spirito, II Conservatorio, and
other establishments of this class. The
Domber received during a series of ten
years amounU to 31,689. This total dis-
trSboted among the ten years gives as the
Bean, the number of 3160 infants exposed
■BmuUy in the city of Rome."
He goes on to say that according
to Bowring, an agent of the British
government, the population of Rome
^^ > 53*678, and the total number
of births was 4373. Hence we
have.
Tola] mtmber of births, 4373
Total munbcr of feundltnga, .... 3x60
And we are left to infer that there
we only 1213 lawful children bom
in Rome in that year.
To make a still closer deduction
ftom his premises, we ^ould take his
WBMik ^t the population of Rome
ifeBild be taken at the mean of 130,-
<rf »S3><578. The mean
number of births cotTe^)onding to
this would be 3700 ; hence, in strict*
ness, we should have,
Total number of births, 3700
Total ottmber of fiNUMUiogs, .... jtte
Total Bomber of lawful cUldraa, . . 540
This is indeed a state of things de-
scribed by Mr. Seymour as indicating
"a frightful number of illegitimate
births, and a number without paral*
lei of cruel and unnatural mothers."
And we may add, it indicates an un-
paralleled amount of gullibility in any
one who will entertain fw a moment
such an absurd statement It would
be more creditable to Rev. Mr. Sey-
mour and his friend Rev. L. W. Bacon
and 731^ New En^nder^ before circu-
lating the story, to inquire who Mitter-
maier is ; whether he has said exactly
what he is quoted to say ; whether he
was misled about his statements;
whether some one else has not altered
wh2^ he said ; whether some word halt
not been used in a douMe sense, to
carry a wrong impression, or some
word slipped into the general statement
to put the reader on the wrong track;
in short, to pay great attention and
be extremely cautious in a matter
which wears so great an inaprobability
on its face.
The story is an absurd fabrication,
and very clumsily put together at
that. " The number of exposed in-
fants in II S. Spirito, II Conserva-
torio, and other establishments of
this class, according to Mittermaier,
amounts to 31,689 in ten years.**
Mittermaier, or whoever else wrote
this, proves conclusively that he
knew very little of what he wa«
writing about. There is no such es-
tablishment as II Conservatorio in
Rome. This is not the name of a
particular place, but a general term
signifying about what we mean by
the term " asylum." There are more
than a dozen asylums for children in
Rome, but only one k a foundling
s^
Morality of the City of RonU.
hospital, that of II S. Spirito. The
conservatorios or asylums are not " of
this class," but of a different class
^together. There may have been
3^160 children provided for, annually,
in II S. Spirito and all the different
establishments for children, for what
we know, and we see no reason to
dispute the statement ; but this is the
aggregate of children of all ages and
aU sorts, of the sick and destitute,
and by no means the number of
fdundlings received, or even the num-
ber of orphans received within a sin-
^ year.
Tliere are over 400 children in one
orphan asylum in Fiftieth street in
this city, and the aggregate for ten
years would be over 4000, but to say
that over 4000 children were received
there in ten years would be an outrage-
ous statement. To obtain the real
number, we should also ascertain the
average number of years each child
remains in the institution.
The hospital of II S. Spirito
i^ the only "foundling hospital" in
Rome. It receives all the infants
brought there, and if the person who
brings them is unwilling to answer,
he can refuse to do so. It is amply
sufficient to accommodate all left there ;
has revenue enough, and, in short,
renders the existence of "any other
establishment of the sort" entirely
superfluous. There are branches of
this institution to which "found-
lings " are transferred as they grow
older. The institution looks out for
them until they can look out for
themselves; but there is only one
place where they are received.
The total number of foundlings
received in Rome is about 900 annu-
ally.* Maguire says :
''The number of 900 may seem Tery
$g»zt as represetiting the annual average
received ; but it should be stated that the
* Romg. By Joha FnacU Mtgoira^ M.P. ; p. 169.
hospital of Santo Spirito affords an asylum
not only to the foundlings of Rome, but to
those of the provinces of Sabina, Frosmone^
Velletri, and the Comarca, and also dis-
tricts on the borders of Naples.*'
This number of foundlings docs
not represent the amount of illegiti-
macy, for very many of the found-
lings are lawful children. Maguire
says:
" If it happen, as it often does with peo-
ple in the humblest condition of life, that
their femily exceed their means of support,
one of the children is cooAmltted to the
wheel of the foundling hospital of Santo
Spirito— it might be, with some mark on
its dress by which its identity would be
afterward proved and it be reclaimed by its
parents, a thing of no unconunon occur-
rence. Another frequent cause of having
recourse to this institution is the delicacy
of the mother, or of the child. The mo-
ther has no nourishment to give the inEuit,
and she bears it to the hospital to be pro-
vided for. Or it is a rickety, miserable thing
from its birth, stunted, malformed, or so
delicate that in the rude hut of its parents
it has no chance of ever doing well ; then
too, in its case, the wheel of the hospital is
a safe recourse, and with parents of hard
hearts takes the place of many an evil sug-
gestion, such as is often present in the homes
and the breasts of the destitute. Frequen^
]y the parent is known to argue that the in-
firm or malformed child, wha is thus got
rid of, has the best chance of recovery, and
certainty of being provided for, where emi-
nent medical attendance is alwajrs to be
had, and where the greatest care is taken of
the training and future interests of the found-
ling. It may be said that this £idlity of
getting rid of legitimate offspring leads to a
disregard of the manifest obligations of a pa-
rent's duty ; but to this fair objection I can
only offer a preponderating advantage, that
it does away with that awful proneness to
infanticide which distinguishes other coun-
tries, but pre-eminently England."
Thb estimate of Maguire*s is con-
firmed by a statement taken from
the records of the hospital for May,
June, and July, 1868, and transmitted
to us by an American clergyman re-
siding in Rome. Of the total num-
ber, some were of legitimate births,
as shown by authentic parish certifi-
Morality of the City of Rome.
Si
cates; others of doubtM or uncer-
tain birth; as follows:
Vbodliiic* Of lei^' Un-
noenred. timate birtli. ceruin.
UMay, 3S 46
bjooc^ 9^ 5'
lajviy* . "Q 49
9* «46
Tlifa would give ns an aggregate
of 952 for tiie year, of which 584
woi^ be of uncertain birth. A large
piK^>ortion came from the provinces
around Rome, and there is no reason
to suppose all the imcertain births to
be iDegitimate; therefore we shall
make a liberal allowance if we take
Ae total number of foundlings of ille-
gitimate birth, belonging to Rome it-
self, at 400. The real number is
quite as likely to be below as above it.
When Mittermaier, whoever he
was, stated the annual number of
fimndUngs in Rome to be 3160, the
mean population of that city was
stated to be 130,000. It is now
215,573. By Mittermaier's propor-
tion the annual number of foundlings
diould now be 5226. Are we called
on to believe this, and to hang our
heads in shame at this enormous
number of 5226 illegitimates each
year in the capital of the Catholic
waild? And this, when we know
Aat the actual number of foundlings
fiom Rome is not over 900, and the
actual number of illegitimate children
is about 400.
A small discrepancy, no doubt; a
fide peccadillo in the figiwesl We
hope we have not shown any undue
wamith in exposing it; for who
knows, our " evangelic " friends may
fed Aemselves insulted, and entirely
abcohred from any obligation of refu-
^■tg us; our unchristian warmth of
taiq>er and vituperative manner be-
iag mough — to use the expression of
ler. L. W. Bacon, in The New Eng-
htder — ^''to discredit without any
Jftocf^ refutation" whatever we
pfM^iftfiiis article.
But whence come the three thou-
sand one hundred and sixty founc^
lings of " Mittermaier " annually re-
ceived in Rome? Without doub^
from adding up all the inmates of the
different asylums for children in
Rome, and the foundlings of S.
Spirito, and representing the total as
an aggregate oi foundlings received,
" II Conservatorio and other estab-
lishments of this class " in Rome are
as follows :
Asylums for children of all ages,
with schools attached :
S. Maria, in Agoiro, 50
S. Michad, aoo boys.
S. Michael, S40 girk.
Divine Providence, zoo giris.
S. Blary of Refuge, 50 girin
S. Euphemia, 40 girk.
Tata Giovanni, over xoo boyc
Quatro SS Coronati, la girk,
Zoccoletd, 60 giiU.
i number boys
not atid
stated, girln
S.Caterina, . . .
Trinitariana^ . • •
S. Pietro. ....
n Borromeo, . . .
Mother of Sonrowt,
girk.
girk.
girk.
I^rk.
giik.
These are institutions of which Dr.
Neligan, who visited them, gives an
account in his Rome^ published by
Messrs. Sadlier; and to these must
be added the department of S. SpiritQ^
where female foundlings, after being
nursed, are received back — if not oth-
erwise provided for — ^and taken care
of for life, or until they marry or get
a situation; this numbers about ax
hundred, according to Maguire. If
we add all the numbers together, and
also the children under the care dT
the foundling hospital out at nurse,
or being brought up in private fami-
lies; in short, all the recipients of
charity of the different institutions of
Rome, we might approach a number
corresponding to the three thousand
one hundred and sixty of Mittermaier*
We can see by this " how the noble
and Christian charity of Rome, ex-
celling that of any other city of its
size on the earth, is," by a base anS
^ J*
S4
Morality of the City of Rome.
iptmndiess falsehood, sought to be
tamed into a means of holding her
ftp to the scorn and indignation of
the whole world.
We can show, also, in an entirely
different way, by the official census of
&ome, the absurdity of the statement
of Seymour, and diat in the most con-
clusive manner. In the CiviHa Cat-
toUca of aist of December, 1867, we
have the census of the population
and the number of births for the year
1866; also a tabular statement of
those for a period of ten years, end-
ing 2ist of April, 1867.
From these we find the present
population to be 215,573; the num-
b^ of the legitimate births for the
year from Easter, 1866, to Easter,
1867, was 5739, and adding thereto
the still-bom, 6120. The average
annual number of births in an ave-
xmge population of 197,737, exclu-
ding the still-bom, was 5657 legiti-
mate, for the decennial period. Add-
ing the still-bom, we have an annual
arerage of over 6000 legitimate births.
Now, if we consider that in Rome
there is a large class of the popula-
tkm who belong to the clergy, who
do not marry; a large body of mili-
tary; the Jews, whose children of
course do not appear in any baptis-
mal register, fh>m which the number
of annual births is made out; we
may set down the average produc-
tive part of the population, corres-
ponding to the population of any other
dty, at an average of not more than
1.75,000. From this number, accord-
ing to the general vital statistics of
the civilized world, we must look for
ftom 6300 to 6400 annual births.
Take from diis the nimiber of annual
legitimate births stated above, and
there remains no margin for any large
number of illegitimate births. Any
one can see that it is a moral impossi*
Mity that they should exceed three
or four hundred.
The same thing can be made nnX,
by means of the number of die mar-
ried, which is accurately taken every
year. In April, 1867, there were
30,471 married women m Rome.
Now, how many children could be
expected to be bom annually from
that number? We can approidmate
very nearly to this by considering the
census of the kingdom of Italy, as
given in the Cwilta Cattolica of 20th
of June, 1868. From this we find
that for about 4,297,346 manied
women there were about 900,000
births, which gives us one yeaxiy
for every five married women, very
nearly. Applying this proportion to
Rome, we should have of 30,471
married women, 6094 births. The
actual number, including still-born,
was, as we have seen, 6120.
The Civilia Cattolica says, ^'Thif
proportion of 28.3 of legitimate births
for every one thousand of the pecu-
lation speaks very well for a capital
city." And so it does; it shows,
what we have always imdeistood
them to be, that the Romans are as
virtuous and moral as any people of
the worid.
In passing, we commend to the
Rev. Mr. Bacon the figures of the
official census of the kingdom of
Italy, from which we find the per-
centage of illegitimacy for 1863 to
have been 4.8 ; for 1864, 5. It is to
be observed that there is somewhat
of a deterioration in this last year,
perhaps owing to the success of the
efforts of the Bible and tract societies
to throw the pure light of " gospel
tmth" on this hitherto benighted land.
The rate of illegitimacy in Scotland,
which Mr. Laing, in his Notes of a
Traveller^ calls tiie most religious
Protestant country in Europe, is
double that of Italy, the country
most thoroughly Catholic
And we ask, moreover, of Mr. Ba*
con, the direct question. What is the
Morality of the City of Rome.
55
kmesty of representing the rdadve
cfa^dty of England and Italy as 5 to
ft, when the real proportions are 64
to 5? It may do very wcU to
diarge Brother Hatfield and Brother
Fnme, when yon have yoiff own
good name to vindicate against thdr
durges, with gross unfairness in con-
tiOTcrsy; but we consider your adroit
ddridDg of all the statements of The
Cathouc World, on the plea of an
error found in a quotation from Tlie
Clmrch and World, as quite as dis-
honorable as any thing you have
diaiged against them. Your persist-
ence in repeating calumnious state-
ments, and spreading them out as you
(b among readers who will not see
tfe refutation, will give you and
jDiir friend, Mr. M. Hobart Seymour,
in unenviable notoriety among the
woist calunmiators of the Catholic re-
ligion who have as yet appeared. You
hare repeated, some time ago, that
mo6t in£!imous calumny of the Tax*
Mtof the Ronum Chancery^ so am-
ply rduted by Bishop England; but
although it has been called to your
notice, yx>u have never had the grace
to apologize. The old maxim seems
to have been, " Lie as hard as you
CSD, and lay it on thick, for it will all
be believed," and hence we had our
Maria Monks and our Brownlees.
Now the tactics are to be changed,
and the maxim seems to be, " Let
there be some semblance of truth
nuxed with the lie, so that it may sink
deeper; let the calumny be sugared
over with professions of * fair play,'
and it will work with better effect ;" and
hence come such things as the Moral
iisulis of Romanism, by Messrs. Sey-
»oar and Bacon, the " model contro-
vaaalists."
To come back to P.ome. The
CMSto Cattolica tells us that the cen-
^ has been taken in the same way
vice Ae sixteenth century. The total
of births, 4373, of Bowring,
were then the total oi legitimate
births, not the absolute total. The
number of 3160 foundlings receivea
turns out to be the number ctf or*
phans — ^some of them 80 years old, for
all we know ; for some are cared tor as
long as they live — and other destitute
or abandoned children. ' And thus this
beautiful piece of "mosaic work," in-
tended to exhibit the horrible vice of
Rome to the gaze of an admiring
and astonished public, falls to pieces.
Instead of the anomalous state of
thmgs in which each married couple
in Rome would have on an average
one child in the space of 25 years,
they are found to be quite as prolific
as other people, and quite as virtu-
ous. Rome, in respect to offences
against chastity, is probably the most
orderly and decent city of its size in
the world. Maguire says :•
"The returns (criminal) embrace alt
kinds of crime. . . . And among the
rest they comprehend a class of offendert
who, in some countries — for instance, im
France — are under the control as well at
sanctioned by the police authorities, and ia
others defy almost all authority or restraint
whatsoever. I allude to women of deprav-
ed character, not one of whom is to be met
with in the streets of Rome, which may ac-
cordingly be traversed with impunity at any
hour of the evening or night by a modest
female without the risk of having her eyes
and ears offended, as they are in too many
dties of our highly civilized empire. Of-
fenders of this class are at once made ame-
nable to the law, and committed either to
the Termini, or to the institution of the
Good Shepherd, where the most effectual
means of reformation are adopted, and in
very many instances with success — ^both in-
stitutions being specially under the care and
control of religious communities.*'
It is the fa^ion to decry Rome^ —
to represent her population as cowed
down and discontented with their
government; to this the reception
which Garibaldi with his war-cry of
" Rome or death" — though he Hved to
* R^mtt p. 4s8.
56
St, Or€tis Priory.
see another day, after all — met with
from the Roman people, is a sufficient
reply: or to say that they are mis-
erably poor or degraded; to this.
Count de Reyneval, in his report to
the French minister for foreign afiairs,
says:
" The condition of the population is one
of comparative ease. . . . An appear-
ance of prosperity strikes the eyes of the
least observant Gaiety of the most expan-
sive kind is to be traced in the £ices of aU.
It may be asked whether this can be the
people whose miseries excite to such a de-
gree the commiseration of Europe ? ** ♦
Rome, then, with a garrison of
over 7000 soldiers, and with an im-
mense influx of visitors from all parts
of the world, and particularly of
wealthy pleasure-seekers from Eng-
land and America ; with a stem sup-
pression of prostitution and public
vice, still shows a rate of illegitimacy
less than six per cent; a rate low-
er than that of England, or any
Protestant country which has pub-
lished statistics on the subject.
We have thus given this matter as
thorough and complete an investiga-
tion as has been possible under the
circumstances. We have given dic
reasons for all we have stated, and
the reader can see for himself the
force of our arguments. We neitiicr
desire to misrepresent nor to be mis-
represented; and we would not make
one misstatement to the disadvantage
of any one, be he Protestant or any
thing else ; or conceal any thing which
has a bearing on the question, even
if it should put our side of it in
an unfavorable light If we have
done any of these things, it is uncon-
sciously to ourselves; and therefore
we feel, perhaps too warmly and in-
dignantly, this trickery, when it is at-
tempted to make us the victims of it
From our previous experience, we
look for a more active circulation of
this calumny, from our refutation of
it; but we console ourselves with the
reflection that there is a God in heaven
who watches over all, and who will
make the truth apparent in due
time. At any rate, no such con-
sideration shall hinder us a moment
from exposing error and deception, so
far as our occupations and duties
shall aflbrd us the leisure to do so.
ST. OREN'S PRIORY;
OR, EXTRACTS FROM THE NOTE-BOOK OF AN AMERICAN IN A FRENCH
MONASTERY.
" Pour diercfaer mieux.**— Z^/vicr o/Quetn Christina pfSwedtn,
PART n.
I ENTERED the novitiate on the
«ad. The Vcni sponsa Christie accipc
spronam quam Hbi Dominus prc^ra-
vit in aterum has been sounding in
my heart ever since like a war-cry,
animating me to the interior combat.
* M^giiii«*t R0)m^ p. 444.
For the cloister is that oasis in the
great desert of the world where is
carried on a vital combat between
nature and grace, more furious than
that between Christian and Paynim
in the Diamond of the desert I have
been much happier since I entered
upon my new life, and am glad I can
go out no more. I love the sofitxufe
_ J
St Oretis Priory.
57
and calmness of tiie cloister, which
at last extends to the heart ; I love
the shrines " where their vigils pale-
eyed virgins keep ;" I love the com-
panionship of those who seem unsul-
lied by earthly passions; and I love
this release from all earthly care, with
no thought for what we shall eat, or
what we shall drink, or wherewithal
we shall be clothed. Is it not better
Aan the bustle and vanity of the
worid, which almost efface the thought
of God?
And then, you know, I have always
believed that there are some who
are called to perpetuate the glorious
fcflowship of Christ's sufferings; to
share, as members of his body, the
pains and sorrows of the great Head
of the church ; and to make repara-
tion to heaven for the constant outra-
ges against the Divine Majesty. As
Faber says, " Nuns are the turtle-
doves of the church, who have to
mourn in a spirit of loving sorrow
and sweet reparation over the wrongs
of their heavenly Spouse."
The heart of St. Augustine was so
fiill of the love of God and the
sense of what is his due, that he is
always represented holding it all
aflame in his hands. Old legends
tell us how an angel bore it away to a
sanctuary, where it will still tremble in
its crystal case if an unbeliever enters
the church where it is exposed. So
tremulously alive to the honor and
gjory of God should be the hearts
that are gathered together in the clois-
ter. How many souls fly thither to
make up, as it were, to God what is
wanting on the part of their sinful
brethren! Apropos^ I must tell you
about one of our nuns, who is full of
Wy fervor. In the late retreat, the
Aector asked her the subject of her
pttticula' examen. " Self-abnega-
fco," was the reply. " Do you find
teiy occasions for practising it?"
yi^^^e. "Not as many as
I could wkh." " What is the virtue
which you particularly ask of our
Lord in your devotions, and by the
actions of each day ?" " I ask for
no virtue, mon pire.^^ " With what
intention, then, do you offer them ?"
** For the conversion of sinners, and
the greater glory of God."
Is not this admirable ? I am sure
many Protestants could hardly com-
prehend a piety so disinterested as fo
lose sight, in a measure, of one's own
profit in zeal for God's cause.
The facilities are also great in the
cloister for the frequent reception of
the sacraments, which quicken the
moral circulation. The pulsations of
the soul are more healthful after the
infusion of divine grace through
them. I went to holy communion
this morning. The Divine Host
seemed to me a burning coal from
off the altar of God, and the priest,
the angel who placed it on my lips.
" Our God is a consuming fire." I
prayed that he might consume every
affection in my heart that was not
centred in him; and, as I felt the
torrent of divine flame circulating in
my veins, every earthly desire, every
human passion, seemed to die away
within me. For a moment, at least,
I felt the signification of the words
of the great apostle of the Gentiles,
"It is no longer I who live, but
Christ who liveth in me." Might
such moments be perpetuated ! But
it is of faith that those who have
partaken of Christ's body and blood
remain in him, and he in them, as
long as they are in a state of grace.
It is this interior presence of the
divinity which animated the saints to
the sacrifice, and made even this
world, amid all their privations and
austerities, a very foretaste of heaven.
What sweet solemnity and thought-
fulness reign in the heart sensible of
this divine presence I In its light the
soul»
58
St Oretis Priory.
" Like the itatned wa> that «tiit«u ia Um
Grow* pqrt by b«bf purely ihoDe vpoo.**
As you say, a great deal do^ de-
pend upon the influences that sur-
round us, e^>ecially with weak souls
like me. I envy those men who are
as gods, in spite of temperament, or
clime, or any outward influqpce; who
go on unchecked from one degree
of glory to another, to the very
heights of sanctity. I am always
drifting along, awaiting the impulse
of the sacraments, or the helping
band of some stronger friend, too
glad if I do not recede. Ah ! soli-
tude brings us face to face with our-
selves, and reveals to us our moral
UttUfuss/ Nothing is more hum-
bling than this revelation. Nothing
makes us more distrustful of our-
selves, and more willing to accept the
appointed means of perfection. The
life our director thinks the safest is a
common life, lived in an uncommon
manner; that is, while we do the
same things as those around us, it is
with motives so holy that each action
is rendered in a degree supernatural
This is the great secret of the hidden
and interior life, which the saints of
all ages have loved and of which St.
Joseph is the type.
I have been reading Fioretti; or^
the lAttU Flowers of St. Francis
cPAssisi — a collection of the sayings
of the first Franciscans, with a rare
bloom on them. These mediaeval
flowers, so long shut up in a foreign
tongue, have a delicious fragrance,
and while I inhaled their odor I for-
got that I belonged to an incredulous
age. There is a simplicity truly po-
etical in this collection, which is ad-
mirable. One little remark of Friar
£gide struck me: ^^La vote la plus
directe pour nous sauver^ c^est de nous
perdre^^ This loss, this annihilation
of self, on the ruins of which must be
built up the great edifice of our per-
fection, is what I daily sigh after, and
what I ask for you. The Pfat 113-
ley, a Jesuit, speaks much (^ *' ^p^p
des Ames perdues*^ — a country to
which all my desires tend It is t
promised land which I see afar off;
another Canaan, which I hardly daie
hope to enter, though I look wstfuUy
on those who are lost in God — that
ocean without limit, where our littl^
ness is swallowed up i& immensity,
and we almost forget our feais and
our firailties; we know not whetha
we sufier or are consoled ; consdooi
only of the divine atmosphere— con-
scious only that we love I . . .
Our novitiate is a large apartment
with five immense windows in it
(When you are taxed for windows^
you may as well have large ones,
and the French love the air and live
in it.) No matter how cold it is,
the windows are always open — and
when I say opcn^ I mean the whole
window; for, as I have already re-
marked, they swing open like fold*
ing doors. On cold days a few
mottes are burning in the fire-place,
around which a folding screen is
drawn. These mottes are mostly
of tan, pressed into flat round cakes
like a small cheese. They give out
strong heat. Wood is very scarce
here, and consequently dear, and I
have never seen coal. As for lights,
we bum linseed-oil, which gives a
clear yellow light, and the odor is
not offensive like whale-oil. Each
sister has a little coil of yellow wax-
taper to light when she wishes to go
about the monastery in the evening.
The floor is paved with square red
tiles, as in all the houses here, but
we have litde mats to protect our
feet from the chill. Each novice has
her table and writing-desk, at which
she studies or sews. At one end of
the room is an altar, and the walls are
adorned with engravings of a reli-
gious character. Leading firom the
novitiate is the chambrette of the
St. Oren's Priory.
59
mi stres s of novices, in which is the
novices' library. It is always open
to uSy and we like an excuse for en-
tering it.
Our manner of spending the day
is nearly unvaried. We rise at half-
past four, and, after completing our
toilettes, (for even nuns have toi-
lettes; one's garments must be put
together somehow,) we descend to
the chapeL The choir is impenetra-
bly dark most of the year at this
early hour. Only the Httle lamp is
twinkling near the tabernacle ! One
by one the nuns come noiselessly in,
like so many shadows. This hour of
morning meditation is delicious. The
perfect stillness, in which you can hear
your own heart beat, disposes you to
reflection. The soul becomes steeped
in the spirit of the place and the
hour passes too quickly away. Then
we say the hours. The morning
sacrifice follows with its awful myste-
ries, which are ever fresh and wonder-
fiil
When we issue firom the chapel,
after our exercises of more than two
hours, we go one by one, when we
choose, to the refectory, for there is
no breakfast, properly speaking. The
nuns take a piece of dry bread, with
perchance some fi'uit, and eat it, as
Ac children of Israel ate the pass-
over, standing and ready girded for
the labors of the day, for which we
are all ready at eight That would
be called a fast in America. But
when a sister is delicate, she can have
some coflfee or chocolate. The world
wed to cry out against the good liv-
ing of monastic orders ; now it says
dieir austerities are fatal to the health.
It is always the way with the world
—now, as in the days when John the
Baptist came *' neither eating nor
drinking."
The French know nothing of the
Stfiat cheers but does not inebriate.
]r only take tea medicinally,
and seem to have no idea of
how it should be prepared. It
is a prevalent belief here that every
Englishman in his travels carries his
tea-kettle with him, and they sup-
pose the whole race partial to the
beverage. So, by way of a^/ir, they
proposed regaling me with some the
other day. I accepted what was no
luxury to me. A good sister brought
me what she styled soupe au thk^ con-
sisting of an abundance of milk and
water, with a dash of tea. (I rely
on the veracity of the cuisinilre for
this last item.) Into this, bread was
sliced, and the whole served up in a
soup-plate 1 Confucius himself would
have laughed. I am sure I did till I
cried, to the great scandal of all the
nuns, who were gravely listening to
some holy legend as they ate. Shall
I tell you what I did with my soupe
au thit I hope I am not vain of
the heroic act, but I — ate it I
Fifteen minutes before dinner we
have examination of conscience. We
go to the table saying, " De profun-
dis clamaviy^ and leave it reciting,
" Miserere Domine r We eat in si-
lence, listening to the gospel of the
day, the lives of the saints, or some
other religious book, read by one of
the sisters from a high pulpit. After
dinner is a reunion, when we come
together with our sewing or other
handiwork, and have the privilege of
talking, and sometimes we make la
cottr du rot Pktaud^ I assure you. At
one o'clock the lay sisters come in,
while we read aloud for half an hour,
if no chapter has been convoked.
They too bring their work. One old
sister always brings her spindle and
distaff, and twirls away, sitting bolt
upright, and looking so grim that
she always seems to me one of the
Fates lengthening out the thread of
life. At three we have vespers, and
then make half an hour's meditation.
From compline we go to supper at
6o
Sf. Oretis Priory,
SIX, after which we walk in the gar-
den or assemble together within doors.
At eight o'clock is read the subject
for the next morning's meditation,
and we go to the choir to say the
office, and for night prayers. Thus
closes the day with prayer, as it be-
gan. We all light our little tapers
and go silently to our cells for the
night Such is the outline of our life,
which is so well filled up that we
have few leisure moments. We hear
of lazy monks and nuns, but there
are no drones in our busy hive, with
our boarding-school, day and free
schools, with their hundreds of pu-
pils, and this vast building to keep in
order. Night comes before we know
it, and another day is gone. There
is one day less in which to struggle
with self, and, alas ! one day less in
which to sacrifice something for
God! You ask for the shadow in
the picture of my life. There is ever
one dark spot in our existence, the
shadow of ourselves, which follows us
wherever we go.
But we have one grievance just
now. Finisterre is the name of the
I>ortal that separates us from the
world, but it cannot wholly exclude
its sounds. I will explain. The
city rises so abrupdy behind our
monastery that the garden of the
Count de T , on the opposite side
of the street, is on a level with our
second story. And the street that
separates us is one of those dim, nar-
row streets found only in old cities of
the south, where it is desirable to ex-
clude the heat. For several nights
past when we have come from our
dear quiet chapel, with our hearts all
subdued and thoughtful, and ponder-
ing on the subject for the next morn-
ing's meditation, a " toct^ tooting^' is
heard from the garden opposite that
is enough to distract a saint. It is a
French horn, or some other wmd
instrumenty surely meant for some
vast campagna. But, essayed in a
small garden, with a hill m the rear
to aid the reverberation, the whole
volume of sound comes pouring
across the corridor into our cells, the
very embodiment of worldly discord
and tumult. " PazUnza r we say to
ourselves, and try to turn a deaf ear.
I dare say the performer has some
idea of enlivening the poor recluses,
who have no other wish but to be
left to their own reveries, save that
the time of the vintage may soon
come when he can awaken the echoes
of the vineyard.
It is the festival of the Assumption.
While I write, all the bells of the city
are ringing, statues and banners of
Mary are borne through the streets
by the clergy, followed by a long
procession of people. The deep-
toned *^ ora pro nobis ^^ breaks in
upon the stilly air. Each invocation
seems like a cry of agony, which
goes heavenward from hearts weary
of the world and the things of the
world. These processions are made
throughout France in memory of
the celebrated vow of Louis XIII.,
who consecrated France to the Vir-
gin. It is also a national holiday in
honor of Napoleon I., being his birth-
day. " St. Napoleon's Day," say the
people with a smile !
I saw a pretty picture last evening
— Sister Rose standing on a stool near
the fountain of the court, surrounded
by a group of gay young ladies, to
whom she was preaching. She look-
ed like a statue of St. AngMe. Sister
Rose is a lay sister, wholly imedu-
cated, but with a certain piety of a
mystical nature which has given her
quite a reputation for sanctity. She
has an oval face of pale olive hue, jet
black eyes with an indrawn look as
if conscious of some interior Presence,
and regular features, with a delicacy
and refinement quite remadoble oqttr
St. Oreiis Priory.
6i
sidering her laborious life. She never
meets you without a smile and a
" word for Jesus," as she says. The
young ladies of the boarding-school
bve and revere her so much that they
often lay violent hands upon her and
force her to preach to them, which
she does with a smile and the same
inward look, and with a grace of ges-
ture peculiar to her country. As her
discourse was in patois^ (one of the
kngues (TOcy and the tongue of Jas-
min, who lives at Agen,) which all
understand here, I was not benefited
thereby ; but her appearance and her
saintly face, with its gentle, serious
smile, were impressive. The exu-
berance of her audience was soon
subdued.
There are a good many Spaniards
in this city who are exiled on account
of their political opinions, being
Carlists. They had a solemn mass
of requiem chanted in our chapel, the
other day, for the repose of the soul
of Don Carios. Nearly thirty Spanish
gentlemen and some ladies were pre-
sent A bier was placed in the cen-
tre of the chapel and surrounded by
lights, as if the body were there, and
on the pall was placed a wreath of
laurel. The officiating priest, too, was
a Spaniard. I looked with interest
on these exiles from their native land,
and my heart grew warm toward
ftem; they were extremely devout
during mass, and I saw many of
them wipe away their fast-falling
tears. I could not repress my own ;
for separation from the fatherland
seemed a bond of sympathy I could
Dot resist Thus, when I am gone,
*nd my remains lie in a foreign land,
nuy some kind souls gather together
in the sanctuary of God to chant the
^ejuUm atemam for my tried soul !
Once a month we meditate par-
ficriariy on death, and offer all our
§BlUliuus as a preparation for our last
When mass is over, and the
thanksgiving for oiu: communion is
ended — ^no, not ended, for it can
never end ; but while it is still ascend*
ing from our hearts, our dear mbre,
who is as pale as the wife of Seneca,
goes forward and kneels before the
grate that separates the choir from
the chancel, and says in earnest tones
the litany for a happy death. Her
voice trembles as she repeats the awful
petition : " When my eyes, obscured
at the approach of death, cast their
dying looks toward thee, O merciful
Jesus I and when my lips, cold and
trembling, pronounce for the last
time on earth thy adorable name — "
"Merciful Jesus, have pity on me!"
sighs every heart in response. The
impression of these prayers pursues
the mind all day. " Lord, in that
strait, the Judge ! remember me !"
On St. Andrew's day we buried
one of the nuns, who was about
ninety years of age and quite super-
annuated. This death did not affect
me so much as that of Sister Sophie.
The transition from old age to the
grave seems so natural that it excites
less horror than when one dies in the
full vigor of life. Mbre Ste. Ursule
was of a noble family of La Vendue.
At the age of sixteen she entered a
community of Poor Clares, one of
the most rigid orders of the church ;
but, during her novitiate, the great
French Revolution swept away nearly
every vestige of religion, and the
nuns of St Clare were driven out
from their quiet cells into the world.
When the gendarmes forced them to
leave the convent, these emissaries
desecrated every thing and broke and
threw out the sacred emblems. As
Sister Ursule, who had a most tender
devotion to her whom Chiteaubriand
styles " the divinity of the frail and
the desolate," was leaving the cloister
she had loved so much, she turned
to give it a last look, and saw a
62
Sf. Orcfis Priory.
small statue of Notre Dame de
Grftce standing on the convent wall
She said to one of her sister nuns,
" It seems as if the Blessed Virgin re-
proaches me for leaving," and she turn-
ed back to save the statue from insult
The gendarmes did not oppose the
design of the young novice, and this
bonne Vierge was for more than sixty
years the ornament and tutelary ge-
nius of the cell of Mfere Ste. Ursule,
after her re-entrance into religion.
With all the fervor of southern devo-
tion toword Mary, she used to pros-
trate herself daily before this statuette,
and when fallen into second child-
hood she would pour out her heart in
effusions of child-like simplicity at
once charming and poetic. She often
said to her novices: "When I am
dying, place my bonne Vierge on my
bed beside me."
After the Revolution, the more
rigid orders were not restored, and
Mfere Ste. Ursule, despairing of the
re-establishment of the Poor Clares,
oined the Ursulines, and was for a
long time mistress of novices at the
priory. In her last days she did
nothing but pray and adorn the altar
in her cell. She knew the office by
heart, and always recited it at the
canonical hours. Her beads were
told many times a day, and she
never failed to use the discipline with
severity. I often went to see her and
her bonne Vierge, She died suddenly
of old age. Being somewhat more
feeble than usual, one of the sisters
remained with her during the night.
Mfere Ste. Ursule said her office and
rosary, but did not sleep. Toward
day the sister perceived the approach
of death; she took do>vn the statue
of Notre Dame de Grice and laid it
in the arms of the aged nun, whose
spirit instantly fled to the presence of
Mary in heaven. It was at the hour
of dawn. The first beam of the day-
spring from on high carried her soid
away from earth.
Again those solemn funeral ser-
vices! I cannot tell you the effect
they have on me.
A fiiend sent me a curious pear to-
day, said to be peculiar to this city.
It is called the Bon Chrktien^ but
very different from the one we called
so at home. It is a large, coarse-
grained pear, but juicy and tooth-
some, and has no seeds ; that is, as
every one says, those that grow
within the limits of the city have
none, while those that are found in
the country are seedy enough. Old
legends connect this peculiarity with
St. Oren*s miraculous powers.
December 8. — ^This is the festival
of the Immaculate Conception, the
patronal feast of the chapel of the
priory. For nine days past the con-
vent bell has rung out a joyful peal
at the hour of the novena to Maria
Immaculata, when her litany was
chanted to a beauHful Spanish air
which completely melts the heart
Unusual pomp has been given to
this fite on account of the expected
decision respecting the dogma of the
Imfhaculate Conception at Rome,
This morning we had more than i
dozen masses, for the clergy love to
come to this antique chapel on the
feasts of Mary. At ten o'clock, about
twenty priests came to sing high
mass, and again this afternoon for
vespers. The chapel was crowded
with people from the city. Thus for
centuries have the faithful congregat-
ed on this same day. The Ble^ed
Sacrament was exposed all day. I
passed hours in its presence, bearing
in my heart all my innumerable
wants, and those of my friends afer
off. How like heaven is our dear
chapel when the Lamb of God li
5/. Orais Priory,
63
thus exposed to our adoration ! In a
niche over the altar gleams the holy
image of Mary. The Divinity is en-
shrined in light beneath her ma-
ternal eye, the air filled with incense,
as if fanned by adoring angels. The
arches are full of harmony. Every
power of body and mind is captivated,
and one abandons one's self to the
impressions of the moment. It gives
one a peculiar emotion to hear men
chant the praises of Mary. What a
reverence they must have for woman-
hood! Their Miserere nobis in the
litany was the very cry of a contrite
heart. I should have thought my-
self in paradise had not the supplica-
tory tones of the clergy announced a
felicity still imperfect
All this \s infinitely beautiful and
poetic, apart firom every sentiment of
religion. Every day of my life would
seem to you a chapter full of poetry ;
but I have become so accustomed to
what I once thought belonged to
a bygone age of mystery and ro-
mance, that it all seems the natural
order of events. And one soon
learns to rise above the mere ceremo-
nials of religion, which are so full of
enjoyment to some natures, to that
which they typify. Such is the de-
agn of Holy Church — to lead the
heart up to God, its true centre.
Pohaps, too, she wishes that every
power of our being should be enlisted
in his service ; the imagination as well
as reason.
After vespers we had a fine ser-
mon fi-om the Abb^ Lassale upon the
invocation : Regina sine labe concepta^
9m pro nobis I It is the custom here
now, as, firom the sermons of Bossuet,
wc see it was in the time of Louis
nv^ for the preacher, after invoking
flic Holy Spirit, to present a plan
cfUsdiscouise, make some introduc-
Iqr remarks, and then stop. Both
nKfcer and audience kneel in si-
IHJiei&r tbc q>ace of an Ave Maria,
then all rise and the sermon is con-
tinued. The custom is quite im-
pressive.
December 1 5. — Owing to the antiqui-
ty of our chapel, long since dedicated
to the mystery of the Immaculate Con-
ception, the archbishop permitted us,
as a particular favor, to celebrate the
octave of this great festival of Mary
with a sermon and benediction every
evening. The whole chapel was dai-
ly illuminated, and the effect was magi-
cal when it was lighted up. Imagine
arches of light, pillars wreathed in
flame, altar covered with flowers and
brilliant with immense wax candles;
while in the midst gleamed the Vir-
gin in a perfect bower of pure white
lilies. And, just as the imagination
is fired with so much brilliancy and
taste, Kyrie eleison I floats up with the
incense in the most plaintive, heart-
rending tones — a very tear of the
heart dropped at the feet of Mary!
It is the commencement of the lita-
ny of Maria Immaculata, chanted by
the nuns in choir, and responded to by
the crowds that fill the chapel without.
Light and music are the two ideas
of which Dante's Paradise is compos-
ed ; and I felt with what true poetic
instinct, when kneeling before that
shrine of light, my ears listened to
harmonies approaching those that
swell for ever before the throne of
God ! Thb struck me from the first ;
and I have since found my thoughts
expressed by another far better than I
could express them. Leigh Hunt says :
" It is impossible to see this proftision
of lights, especially when one knows
their symbolical meaning, without
being struck with the source ftoxa
which Dante took his idea of the
beatified spirits. His heaven, filled
with lights, and lights, too, arranged
in figures, which glow with lustre in
proportion to the beatitude of the
souls within them, is the sublimation
64
5/. Orcfis Priory.
of a Catholic church. And so far it is
heavenly indeed ; for nothing escapes
the look of materiality like fire. It is
so airy, joyous, and divine a thing,
when separated from the idea of pain
and an ill purpose, that the language
of happiness naturally adopts its terms,
and can tell of nothing more raptur-
ous than burning bosoms and spark-
ling eyes. The seraph of the He-
brew theology was a fire."
ChnsUnas, — ^Yesterday was spent
in retreat, by way of preparing our
hearts for the solemnities of the na-
tivity ; and I have kept a real old-
fashioned vigil — a vigil of the middle
ages. I wish you could have heard
the joyful ring of all the bells of the
city as midnight approached. At
the cathedral, the clear tones of the
smaller bells, like the voices of nuns
in choir, and the great Bourdon
among them, "like the chanting of
a friar," as Longfellow says ; the ca-
rillon^ too, from St. Pierre; and then
all the convent bells sounding from
Carmel, the Oratory, the Filles de
Marie, and La Mis^ricorde, and those
of the Hospital, Le Grand S^minaire,
etc., etc., are infinitely impressive in
the stillness of the night — the prelude
of a great joy, breaking in upon our
meditation on the birth of Christ
When the bells were all hushed, the
priest stood at the foot of the blazing
altar ; all the rest of the chapel was
in darkness — ^not a taper in the choir.
There was not a sound but the night
wmd. The saints on the walls, half
revealed in their dim recesses, look-
ed like the spirits of the old monks
come forth at this mystic hour to
guard the chapel their hands once
raised.
It was the second time I ever
communicated at midnight mass, and
I imagined my heart the manger in
which the Infant Jesus came to re-
pose. I thought, as I returned from
the holy table to ray prie-dieu, of the
first tears of the Divine Babe, and that
he bewailed my continued imperfec-
tions. "Ah! why should not thy
tears," I exclaimed, " wash away my
sins, that thou be not forced to shed
also thy most precious blood ! I, too,
weep. I, who deserve to weep, join
my tears to thine. O Virgin Mo-
ther ! take back thy child ! His pre-
sence makes me an object of hom)r
to myself His tears scald my very
heart. His caresses are like arrows
that pierce my soul. Thou alone
canst console him ; only clean hands
and a pure heart should embrace
spodess innocence. My spiritual vi-
sion is too weak to bear the Orient
from on high. Yes, Mary, thou
alone canst console him ; for thou art
immaculate. Embrace him for me
— those hands and feet which will be
pierced for me; and wipe away the
tears that have commenced to flow
but too soon."
" Oh I blissful and calm was the wondrous rest
That thou gavest thy God in thy virginal breast
For the heaven he left he found heaven in thee :
And he shone in thy shining^ sweet Star of the
seal"
After hearing three masses, we
went to visit the manger. A kind
of tent had been erected in the upper
choir. In it was a statue of St Jo-
seph, the Blessed Virgin, an ox, an
ass, and in the centre on the straw
lay the new-bom Infant with its little
arms outstretched. Above hovered
the angels. Though rudely cast,
their effect was good in the dim light
We knelt around, and the novices
sang out joyfully a Christmas carol,
the chorus of which was " ^ksus est
fU r — Christ is bom I All this gave a
certain vividness to the festival which
it never had before ; and I enjojred it
much. True, our manger is too
homely to bear the criticisms of the
scoffer. St Joseph, for a carpenter,
is rather gaudily dressed oat in a
•S/. Or^fis Priory,
65
icailet robe, purple mantle, ruffle-
bosomed shirt, with a breast-pin ; and
^ Virgin hardly does credit to her
reputation for beauty and grace ; but
the eje of faith looks beyond and
leads only the lesson of child-like
simplicity and humility — ^nowhere so
well learned as at Bethlehem.
•* I adore thee, O Infant Jesus I naked,
weeping, and lying in the manger. Thy
childhood and poverty are become my de-
light Oh ! that I could be thus poor, thus a
child like thee. O eternal wisdom ! reduced
to the condition of a little babe, take from
me the vanity and presuroptuousness of hu-
ma wisdom ! Make me a child with thee.
Be silent, ye teachers and sages of the
earth ! I wish to know nothing but to be
resigned, to be willing to suffer, to lose and
focsake all, to be all £uth I The Word made
Flesh I now is silent, now has an imperfect
utterance, now weeps as a child ! And shall
I set ap for being wise ? Shall I take a
complacency in my own schemes and sys-
tems? Shall I be afraid lest the world
should not have an opinion high enough of
ay capacity ? No, no ; all my pleasure
shall be to dtcrease — to become little and
obscure, to live in silence, to bear the re-
proach of Jesus crucified, and to add there-
to the helplessness and imperfect utterance
of Jesos, a child." ♦
The manger remains till Epiphany.
It is gotten up by the scholars, who
ddi^t in it, especially the younger
ones, who go to present the Infant
Jesus with fruit, nuts, bonbons^ mo-
ney, and whatever their childish hearts
suggest These things are for the
Holy Infant in the person of poor
driWrcn among whom they are dis-
trBwted, that they too may have
some pleasure at Christmas-tide. I
find it a pretty custom, as well as
beneficial; for piety should not all
wtporate in sentiment, but, even in
cMdren, ought to be embodied in
•Hie good deed, or prompt to some
*l of self-denial. The children of
fcftce take much pleasure in mak-
■I little sacrifices of pocket-money
pttt in the spirit of Mrs. Pardiggle's
* FconOQ.
VOL. X. — S
unfortunate children 1) for the associa-
tion of the SdUnte Er^arue, the funds
of which are destined to rescue hun-
dreds of little children, who are ex-
posed to death in China by their pa-
rents, and even to buy those who are
exposed for sale, that they may be
reared as Christians. Last year, foiur
hundred thousand children were thus
baptized — an angelic work, worthy of
young and pure hearts. Our scholars
embroider collars and do a variety of
fancy work for a fair among them-
selves, by which they amass quite a
sum in the course of the year. The
French children are exceedingly vo-
latile, but there is a great deal of
piety among them. During Passion-
time a little girl of nine or ten, be-
longing to the poor scholars, under-
took to meditate fifteen minutes a
day, for a certain number of days,
on the suflferings of Christ. One of
the nuns asked her how she employ-
ed the time, so long for a child She
replied, ncUvementy "I thought each
thorn that pierced the head of Christ
was one of my sins !"
After oiu: nocturnal devotions, we
novices returned to the novitiate,
where the Yule log was blazing. By
way of a rarity, we all had coffee to
refresh us after oiu: vigil, and we sat
aroimd the fire chatting in a home-
like manner, and repeating Christmas
carols.
"He neither shall b« bom
In hoosen nor in hall.
Nor in the pUce cf Pmradise,
But in an ox's stall ;
He neither shall be rocked
In silver nor in gold.
But in a wooden cradle
That rocks upon tlie mould."
In the country, on Christmas eve,
the young peasants go about from
house to house, smging Christmas
carols, expecting some treat in re-
turn.
I saw to-day a little picture of the
Child Jesus roaking crosses in the
workshop of his foster-father. Per-
66
•S/. Oretis Priory,
haps it was one of these that the
poets tell us the little St. John con-
tended for :
" Give me the cross, I pray you, dearest Jesus I
Oh ! if you knew how much I wish to have it,
You would ntA hold it in your hand so tightly.
Something has told me, something in my breast
here,
Which I am sure is true, that if you keep it,
If you will let no other take it from you.
Terrible thmgs I cannot bear to think of
Must £iUl upon ycu. Show me that you love me ;
Am I not here to be your little servant.
Follow your steps and wait upon your wishes ?"
At four o'clock in the morning we
returned to the choir. I stationed
myself before the manger to make
my meditation on the mystery of the
day. Of course Christmas is not
very merry after such a vigil, but
who can tell the holy joy of such a
night — worth all the gayeties of the
world 1
I read in the refectory for the first
time to-day. When I returned to
the novitiate after my dinner the
good mother said, " You have read
so well, you merit a recompense." I
glanced at the mantel and saw the
American stamps with the benign
'feces of Washington and Franklin,
•so welcome in this far-off land. . .
I hope you will never speak of
Iburdening me with an account of
your infirmities, whether bodily or
•spiritual. I love that loving com-
mand of the apostle, to bear one an-
other's burdens; for we are never
more Christ-like than when we forget
•our own trials to bind up the wounds
•of a fellow-sufferer. Be assured I
pray for you without ceasing. I
never enter the presence of the Bless-
ed Sacrament without invoking a
blessing on you and on my dear
country. I never communicate or
perform an act of penance without
desiring that you may participate in
the grace I receive. Oh ! that by my
fidelity to God I might draw down
the blessings I daily implore for you
and for all who are dear to me I O
my God! spare me not. Let mi
suffer mental and bodily trials, let
me be the victim of thy justice ; but
spare my loved ones ! If I cannot
labor directly for thee, I can at least
suffer for thee, for them, and for the
whole world. Thy victim, O God!
thy victim. The name befits me better
than that of thy spouse.
I have read somewhere that the
ropes in the English navy are so
twisted that a red thread runs through
them all, in such a way that the
smallest pieces may be recognized as
belonging to the crown. So through
our lives should run a thread, color-
ing its whole woof— a love for God
interwoven with the very thread of
existence, and inspiring every act of
our lives. St. Francis de Sales said
if he knew that the least fibre of his
heart did not beat with love for God
he would pluck it out. O love that
transcends all others! how did we
once exist without thee ? O days
without a sun ! O nights rayless and
dark ! how happy are we who have
escaped from your gloom! How
different is the divine friend fi-ora our
earthly one. When once we have
studied a person and penetrated his
individuality, the charm of his pre-
sence is gone. We have squeezed
him dry. But the friend that sticketh
closer than a brother, he is imfa-
thomable and ever new. The heart
is never weary of divine companion-
ship. On the contrary, the more com-
pletely we give ourselves up to it, to
the exclusion of every other, the more
we feel that God alone can satisfy the
cravings of our hearts.
Dieu seul was the device a holy
American bishop gave me on the day
of my confirmation. The significa-
tion of these words has been grow-
ing upon me ever since. They have
expanded till they have filled the
whole heavens, and lit up my Ufe
Sf. Orefis Priory.
67
with wondrous splendor. There is
DO spot on my horizon where they-
do not shine out. Every object un-
marked by them seems to fade out of
view. All knowledge, all science
groin's pale before their significance,
and every wound of the heart finds a
balm in their healing ray. ^^ Riix!
paixf DiEU SEUL est la paixT says
Fen^Ion.
February. — The day on which
Pius IX. added the crowning star of
immaculate purity to the coronet of
Mary was the cause of great rejoic-
ing throughout France. All the prin-
cipal cities have been illuminated.
At Toulouse, the sides and roof of
St Satumin's cathedral were covered
with lights, and another church had
fifteen thousand lamps upon it.
Ours was not least among the cities
in her joy, and it did the soul good to
witness such a display of Catholic
piety and enthusiasm, worthy of the
ages of faith. As soon as the bull
of promulgation arrived from Rome,
Monseigneur ordered the Ts Deum to
be chanted with the utmost pomp
in all the churches of the diocese.
The same evening the whole city was
illuminated. Nothing had been seen
like it since the visit of Napoleon I.
to this city. At the grand portal of
the priory were several hundred
lamps, forming a monogram of Mary,
over a beautiful transparency of the
Vierge ImmacuUe. The belfi-y, tower,
and all the windows of this immense
establishment were lighted up, and
naany windows were like chapels of
the Virgin all aflame. The top of
the convent walls was one long line
^ light, so closely were the lamps
Placed upon it Pennons with the
ooIoR of the Virgin were placed at
nnifomi distances among these lights,
*od one floated fi"om the stone cross
on the chapeL The whole scene was
■HM. From the- tower we could
see much of the city, which was so
universally illuminated and adorned
that it looked like that city of jewels
" In £urf land whose streets and towers
Are made of genu, and lights, and flowers."
All was SO Still that no one would
have suspected the intense enthusiasm
that reigned in every heart. Only
from before a litde statue of the
Madonna, in the convent garden, rose
a sweet song to the Virgin, Ave
Sanctissima! which floated up through
the damp night air from the lips of the
spouses of Christ with a sound as
plaintive as the voice of past times.
Even the poorest people in the
city — and you know not how poor
are the poorest in this old country —
had their candles and a picture of the
Virgin at the window. One poor
woman begged enough to buy a wax
candle, which she cut in three pieces
to light up her wretched abode.
The towers of the cathedral looked
like the jewelled turrets of Irim. All
the public buildings were also lighted
up. I wonder when the civil authori-
ties of the United States will order a
general illumination in honor of the
Virgin Mary! On the top of the
hospital was a Vierge en feu. Even
one window of the prison tower,
which looms up behind the cathedral
— a huge quadrangular monument,
dark and forbidding as a donjon
keep of ages past — was brilliant with
lights, while far up in the very
highest window gleamed one bright
solitary lamp, like the last ray of hope
in the heart of the captive. That
light pierced me to the heart.
And all this in honor of a once
obscure virgin of Judea. One can well
sing " Exaltavithumiles^^ In the streets
were arches of triumph, and at most
of the windows were Madonnas,
crosses, monograms, flags, etc., etc.
The streets were crowded with peo-
ple as on Holy Thursday, for every
68
St Oretis Priory.
body went to visit tlie different
churches and monasteries, and thou-
sands came in from the country.
But all were so quiet and thoughtful
that one felt it was a religious festival.
The Rue du Prieurh was crammed,
but so subdued were the voices that
we should hardly have been aware
of it, had we not seen the people
from the grated windows above.
Such thoughtfulness was truly edify-
ing.
Holy Week has just passed again
with its touching ceremonies, which
recall so many overwhelming myste-
ries of faith. What a feast for the
soul on Maunday Thursday, when
the Divine Host remained all day
and night on the altar amid a blaze
of hghts, and the perfume of flowers
and incense, exposed to the eyes of
his adorers! Who could tear him-
self away from that altar? Who
could hunger after earthly aliment
when that Living Bread was replen-
ishing the hungry soul ? Ah ! what
are the pleasures of the world com-
pared with those found in thy
presence, O Incarnate Word! I
read the fourteenth chapter of St.
John's Gospel, those tender words
of our Saviour before his crucifixion,
and meditated on them for hours.
Many of the nuns remained all
night before the Blessed Sacrament
We novices made the holy hour
together — that midnight hour of union
with the Saviour's agony in the gar-
den. " Couldst thou not watch one
hour with me," he seemed to say.
Such an hour is an eternity for the
heart that loves.
" O God !" I say constantly, " the
Catholic Church alone knows how to
honor thee with due worship." I
wish I could define all the emotions
of the past few days, when the suffer-
ings of Christ were renewed in our
hearts. I thought my very heart would
break on Holy Thursday during the
Stabat Mater, The words and the
music are the very embodiment of
sorrow, and I felt myself with Mary
at the foot of the cross, sharing the
pain firom that sword of grief.
The peremonies of this holy time
are, of course, far more simple in our
chapel than at the cathedral, but
perhaps not less touching. Nothing
could be more so than, at the Vene-
ration of the cross on Good Fri-
day, to see the long train of nuns
reverently lay off their shoes, and, all
enveloped in their long black veils,
and bowed down by sorrow of heart,
approach the crucifix, prostrating
themselves to kiss the sacred wounds;
and then the three hours agony,
when the heart is full of anguish on
Calvary. . . . Several of us remained
a part of Good Friday night to grieve
with Marie disoUe over the traces of
her crucified Son. There is a whole
existence in such days and nights, and
when we come back to ordinary life
we are oppressed by the heaviness of
the atmosphere.
** How shall ire breadie in other air
Leas pure, accustomed to immortal froits ?"
Our whole Lent was uncommonly
solemn. I never entered so fully
into the spirit of the church, never
meditated so much on the sufferings
of Christ. They so occupied my
mind during the hours of meditation,
the via cruets, which we make so
oflen, and even during the ordinary
duties of our Hfe, that I felt bowed
down by a weight of inexpressible
sorrow, which the alleluias of Easter
and the joyful " Regina Cadi keiare "
have hardly dissipated. Oh ! why are
you not sharing all these impres-
sions? But then you have what
perhaps is better — the cross, which
is our portion everywhere. " Souj^rir
et mourir, (^est toute la vieP
I was struck with a little picture I
St. Oretis Priory.
69
saw to-day: the picture of a cross
with cords extending from one of
die arms to the foot, like a harp. A
person stands leaning on it, his hands
touching the strings ; and our Saviour
was near him ; his holy hands unlift-
cd to bless. Every cross would thus
be to us a divine lyre with a capa-
bility of wonderful harmony, had we
the courage to learn to draw it forth.
May my hand yet acquire the skill
of producing this heavenly music,
my ears quick to catch the vibrations
of this wonderful instrument, and my
soul attuned to its harmony ! O won-
derful science of the cross! how
varied are the lessons the loving
heart may learn therefrom. When
St Thomas of Aquin was asked
whence he drew the inspiration that
fed his wonderful genius, he pointed
to his crucifix as its only source.
Ah! could we only learn to know
"Jesus Christ and him crucified!"
May you have the grace to bear your
cross with patience, and learn there-
from its wonderful lore. The cross
imposed by Almighty God is far
more meritorious, far more beneficial to
oar souls, than any of our own choice;
for he alone knows how to crucify.
I constantly feel this more and more,
that h£ aloTu knows how to crucify.
May 1 1. — This is one of the Roga-
tion days. Curd and flock go in pro-
cession around the country chanting
the Litany of the Saints to implore
the blessing of God on the fruits of
the earth. At these times the/fi^n-
haires erect huge crosses on their
land by the highway, adorn them
with garlands, and place at the foot
■in offering for the cure, perhaps of
provisions. The procession passes
from one cross to another. All kneel
around the emblem of our salvation
to beg the divine blessing on the bas-
ket and store of him who erected it.
It is a beautiful ceremony, at which
the peasantry assist with great faith
and devotion. It is an expression of
dependence on the Giver of all good
for every blessing.
Thursday will be the feast of the As-
cension. The paschal candle, in whose
sacred light we have loved to linger
since Easter, is again to be extin-
guished, and the ten succeeding days
we are to pass in retreat and prayer,
like the disciples in the upper cham-
ber awaiting the feast of Pentecost.
Jufu, — ^Yesterday I had been writ-
ing for some time in my cell, when I
heard an unusual bustle of nuns going
to and fro in the long corridors, as if
something had happened. Going to
the window, I saw the river had risen
to an alarming height. An inunda-
tion was expected, owing to the sud-
den melting of snow in the Pyrenees.
We all went to clear the chapel. A
priest came to transport the blessed
sacrament to the upper choir. The
quais were crowded with spectators,
and the gendarmes were among
them keeping order. Masseube is
said to be under water. Several of
the nuns watched all night. This
morning less danger is apprehended,
though the river is very high, and the
water is coming into the chapel. " Le
hon DUu est irritS contre nous^* say
the nuns, as they tell their beads to
deprecate the wrath of Heaven. Every
thing is depressing to-day. Dark
clouds hang over us heavy with rain.
The cathedral bell is tolling for some
fimeral. The trees seem to shiver in
the winds that come cold from the
snowy Pyrenees. And the dying-
away tones of some chant afar off is
the very voice of sorrow, and only
adds to the impressive gloom.
On Trinity Sunday, the whole
country was inundated in the valleys
of the Garonne, the Adour, and the
Gers, causing an immense loss of
70
•S/. Oretis Priory.
property. Such a flood has not been
known for a hundred years. Some
villages are nearly destroyed, many
lives lost, the produce of the farms
all washed away, and the meadows
nearly ruined. The whole country
was in consternation. As we are on
the banks of the river, we are suffer-
ers of course. It was fortunate we
had the precaution to have the bless-
ed sacrament transported to the up-
per choir, as the next morning there
were six or eight feet of water in the
chapel, lower choir, and sacristy. It
was pitiful to look down from the
upper choir on the sanctuary. Notre
Dame de Bon Secours was washed
down from her niche into the middle
of the church, and lay floating on the
water flat on her back. The garden
was overflowed and nearly ruined;
the kitchen, refectory, etc., were in-
vaded. Most of the nuns were up
all night carrying things into the se-
cond story. All was confusion for
some days. We ate what we could
and where we could in primitive
style — ^a complete subversion of mo-
nastic regularity. The weather had
been gloomy for days, but Sunday
was one of the brightest, clearest
days of June. I went to the tower
to see the whole valley covered with
water. The effect was fine. The
vast expanse of water was sparkling
in the sun. The trees and groves
were like islets in the midst of a glit-
tering lake. The rapid current swept
oceanward, carrying down houses,
furniture, bridges — every thing that
offered resistance. Crowds of people
were out, giving animation to the
scene, • All this brilliancy was in
striking contrast with the wretched-
ness produced by such a flood ! The
air was so clear that the Pyrenees
seemed very near us, and they gleam-
ed in their snow-clad summits above
the verdure and desolation and acti-
vity of the world, like the Bride of
Heaven in her veil of purity; but
tliey looked cold and cheerless even
in Uie morning sun — and so near hea-
ven!
At Condom, (a village not far oflfi
and remarkable for nothing but that
Bossuet was its bishop before he was
transferred to Meaux, though he
never saw the place,) at Condom
more than thirty houses were destroy-
ed — a great number, considering that
all the houses here are of stone and
very solidly built. Had not our
monastery been on a strong founda-
tion, we should now be uncloistered.
The chapel is not yet dry, so we have
mass still in the upper choir. We
are thus brought dose to the feet of
our Lord. During the office I stand
or kneel not two steps from the altar
on which is the tabernacle. What
bliss ! We seem more closely united
to Him who is our life, our conso-
lation, our ally and for whom we
have left all I
Having mass in the choir obliges
the priest to enter the cloister every
morning, which seems strange, as or-
dinarily he never enters except to ad-
minister the consolations of religion to
the sick. The cloister is very strict here.
Our parlors have the blackest of grates,
beyond which no visitor comes, and
through which we talk to our fnends.
I love this barricade against the
world, which says, " Thus far shalt
thou come, and no farther." There is
also a grating in the sacristy through
which the sacristaitu can attend to
the wants of the chaplain. Even the
choir is separated from the chapel by
a grate ; the body of the church being
for the world.
Having a private opportunity of
sending a package to America, I
shall despatch my note-book to you,
all full of odds and ends as it is.
Caught up in my few spare moments,
it only contains fragments of what
Appeal to Young Ckristian Women.
71
was in mj heart The young mis-
sionary who is to take it is only
twenty-five years old, and has just
been ordained. He is full of enthu-
siasm for the missionary life. He
belongs to a noble family in Au-
vergne, and is a relative of our dear
St. St A *s. He is the youngest
of a patriarchal family of eighteen, six
of whom are in heaven. Of the re-
maining twelve, nine are consecrated
to God — two are Jesuits, two Visitan-
dines, one a lady of the Sacred Heart,
two devote themselves to the care of
the insane, and the ninth is in some
other order of charity. This young
pkre has been thirteen years with the
Jesuits, sue as a pupil, and since as a
member of the order. His first mass
was at Christmas, and was served by
one of the children of La Salette, to
whom the Blessed Virgin Mary ap-
peared. The next day his mission to
America was assigned him. He seems
fiill of zeal and piety. ♦
I must close my long journal. It
is a piece of my heart which I send
across the waters, while I remain
here. Good-night, my friend. I ex-
tend my arms across the wide ocean
to embrace you. I never retire to
rest without throwing open my case-
ment to look at " the cloistered stars
that walk the holy aisles of heaven."
They alone are familiar to me in this
strange land. I have loved them
from my infancy, and I fancy they
look down tenderly and tearfully
upon me. The thought brings tears
to my eyes. Oh ! shine as gently on
those I love. Let each bright beam
be a holy inspiration in their hearts —
each tearful ray carry consolation to
the soul troubled and in sorrow. A
passage fi*om the German says, " I
know but two beautiful things in the
universe — the starry sky above our
heads and the sense of duty within
our hearts." I leave the one and re-
turn to the other.
TRAKSLATBD FROM THS PKBMCH.
APPEAL TO YOUNG CHRISTIAN WOMEN.
BY MARIE DE GENTELLES.
BRIEF OF HIS HOLINESS PIUS IX.
Pius IX. Pope, to His Beloved Daughter in Christ, Marie de Gen-
TELLES :
Beloved daughter in Christ,
grace and apostolic benediction.
In these days when the peril of
souls is continually growing greater,
we have always directed our efforts
particularly to the extirpa^on of the
foots of evil, among which not the
least pernicious is female extrava-
gance. Hence, last October, when
*This priest has sixtce died in a Southern diocese.
we spoke of the respect due to the
holiness of our churches and of cer-
tain disorders which had begun to
appear among the people of Rome,
we took occasion to speak likewise
of this destructive pestilence which is
spreading in every direction, and of
its remedies.
We were much pleased, therefore,
to see, beloved daughter in Christ,.
72
Appeal to Young Christian Women.
that you have not only followed our
advice yourself; but, being deeply im-
pressed with its force and impor-
tance, have written a book in which
you depict the sad consequences of
extravagance, and call upon the wo-
men of the present day, and particu-
larly those who belong to the socie-
ties of the Christian Mothers and the
Daughters of Mary, to unite against
this pernicious evil, which is so de-
structive to morals and to the wel-
fare of the family.
Female extravagance wastes, in
superfluous adornment of the body,
and in frequent attention to the toi-
lette, time which should be given to
works of piety and mercy, and to the
care of the household ; it calls its vo-
taries from home to brilliant assem-
blages, to public places, and to thea-
tres; it causes them, under pretext
of complying with the requirements
of society, to pay numerous visits,
and thus to waste hours in news-seek-
ing and in scandalous conversation ;
it attracts sinful desire; it wastes
the patrimony of children and de-
prives poverty of needful assistance ;
frequently it separates those who
are married ; more frequently, it pre-
vents marriages, for there are but
few men who are willing to incur
such heavy expenses. As Tertullian
wrote, " In a little casket of jewels
women display an immense fortune;
they place on a single string of pearls
ten millions of sesterces; a slender
neck upbears forests and islands;
beautiful ears expend the income of
a month ; and every finger of the left
hand plays with the contents of a
^g of gold. Such is the strength of
nity; for it is vanity that enables
^eKcate body of woman thus to
')eneath the weight of enor-
realth." Experience shows
^version to marriage fosters
immorality. In the fa-
Imost impossible in the
midst of so many distracting vanitiea
to cultivate' domestic love by means
of domestic intercourse, or to give to
religion even what ordinary custom
requires.
The education of children is neg-
lected, household affairs do not re-
ceive proper attention and fall into
disorder, and the words of the apos-
tle become applicable, " If any one
have not care of his own, and espe-
cially of those of his household, he
hath denied the faith, and is worse
Aan an infidel."
As a city is- composed of families,
and a province of cities, and a coun-
try of provinces, the family thus vi-
tiated disorders the whole of society,
and step by step brings upon us
those calamities which to-day we be
hold on every side.
We trust, therefore, that many will
unite with you to remove from
themselves, their families, and their
fatherland the cause of so many
evils. We trust, also, that their ex-
ample will induce others to lay aside
whatever goes beyond the just limits
of neatness. Oh ! that women would
believe that the esteem and love of
their husbands is to be won, not by
magnificent dress or costly adorn-
ments, but by cultivation of the mind
and of the heart and of every virtue
For the glory of woman is from with-
in, and she that is holy and modest
is grace added unto grace, and she
alone shall receive praise who feareth
the Lord.
We trust and believe, therefore, that
your undertaking will meet with the
happiest success. As a presage of
which, and a pledge of our paternal
good will, with the tenderest affection,
we impart to you our apostolic bene-
diction.
Given in Rome, at St. Peter's, on
the eighth day of July, 1868, in the
twenty-third year of our pontificate.
Pius IX. JP^pc.
Appeal to Young Christian Women.
73
On occasions rendered doubly
solemn by their infrequency, the
common father of the faithful raises
his voice to warn the entire world
either against abuses which threaten
society, or against those perverse
doctrines which would attempt the
annihilation of the kingdom of truth.
These sacred words, coming from the
lips of him to whom Jesus Christ has
entrusted the care of his church, are
always received by the whole of the
immense Gatholic family with that
respect and submission which are due
to a father.
A few months ago, Pius IX. sug-
gested the establishment of a society
of ladies who by their example and
influence might succeed in moderating
that extravagance which is the ruin
of families, and one of the principal
(auses of immorality. " In order to
accomplish this most difficult under-
taking," adds his Holiness, " we must
remind women that if in every place
it is unbecoming modesty to endeavor
to attract attention by extravagance
and strangeness of dress, in the sa-
cred church where God dwells and
sits upon a throne of mercy to receive
the prayers and adorations of the
faiihftil, it is a true insult to him in
whose eyes pride, pomp, and the
desire of pleasing men are hateful."
These words of the Holy See, we
may rest assured, are more applicable
to us women of France than to the
ladies of the Roman nobility, who
are more grave, more pious, and
more reserved, whatever may be said
to the contrary, than the women of
our land.
When travelling through England,
Germany, or Russia, have we not
sometimes felt a foolish pride on
seeing that everywhere the most ele-
gant robes and head-dresses were
styled "modes de Paris." It is true
that whatever in dress is new or
d^ant is imported from the capital
of France, or is made afler our Paris
fashions. But weliave no reason to be
proud of this frivolous and dangerous
supremacy ; for if it is universally said
that the French woman is truly ele-
gant in matters of dress, we should,
for that reason, feel under obligation
to undertake the reform of an abuse
which we aid if we do not originate.
Already, for several years, not only
has the Catholic pulpit spoken with
serious severity against the extrava-
gance of our sex, but even the
government has been aroused by
these abuses which are every day
producing the most evil results ; and
we have not forgotten the severe
words of President Dupin to the
Senate in June, 1865. To-day, things
have assumed a still graver aspect,
for the Holy Father has called our
attention to this deplorable abuse.
The time, then, has come to under-
take a crusade, as it were, against an
enemy whom we shall not have to
cross the seas to seek, because he has
cunningly penetrated to our firesides,
there to sit beside us and to disturb
and destroy the peace of the family.
This necessary reform must be in-
augurated by the young women of
France; those of a mature age will
encourage and aid our efforts ; but it
will be for us who cannot be accused
of envy or of jealousy to raise aloft
the standard of the holy league, to
put limits to extravagance, and to
say, "Thus far shalt thou go, and no
farther."
Extravagance in dress, and the
point it has at present attained, is
simply ridiculous folly, and at the
same time, what is more to be la-
mented, it is in direct opposition to
the spirit of Christianity.
We are thinking creatures, rarional
and intelligent. It is evident, and
there are those of our sex who have
proved that we are capable of feeling
the noble joy which is found in the
74
Appeal to Young Christian Women.
study of literature and the sciences,
and in the cultivation of the arts.
How comes it, then, that we are
content with those frivolous occupa-
tions in which most of us squander
our time ?
To rise as late as possible, to make
some calls, to drive to the Bob de
Boulogne, to visit some fashion em-
poriums, to consult for whole hours
on the arrangement of a lace flounce
or the trimmmg of a gauze dress;
to return home, dress for dinner;
dress again for a soiree, a concert,
or a ball; to pass a number of
hours in exhibiting our own toilettes
and in finding fault with those o(
others, and, finally, to retire to rest
when the sun is on the point of ris-
ing — frankly, is not this the history
of day after day ? When do we take
a book into our hands, unless perhaps
it be some new romance, of which the
style is as frivolous as the matter is
pernicious. But a book, a true book,
can one be seen on the table of our
boudoirs ? Some journals of fashion
may be there; a review perhaps, cut
only where some romantic story is
found. What care we for the rest?
As to standard literary works, and
historical studies, how can we think
of them ?
We never have a moment to our-
selves, and we often say with an
affected sigh, " Alas 1 the world is a
cruel tyrant; it takes up all my time,
my days, my nights." And we might
add, " My life and my intelligence ;"
for are not many among us what
Tertullian would style " gilded nulli-
ties"?
While I was still a child, I happen-
ed to meet with a charming young
woman, twenty-two years of age, who,
on recovering from an illness which
had nearly proved fatal, was seized
with a singular mania. She used to
play with dolls. . . . Isabel had re-
mained very gende. Her friends at
first endeavored to drive away this un-
accountable mania; but as soon as
they took her dolls frt)m her, she
seated herself in a comer of the
apartment, wept, refused all nourish-
ment, and would not speak.
In accordance with the advice of
physicians, her family had then yield-
ed to her childish tastes, and she
passed her whole time in dressing
and undressing her daughters, as she
called the dolls. Nothing could be
more pitiful than to see this tall,
beautiful girl, surrounded by her toys,
and amusing herself like a child of
six years.
Well! do we not resemble poor
Isabel somewhat, and, like her, would
we not be capable of weeping and
giving ourselves up to despair if our
playthings were taken from us?
Oh! yes, insanity, real insanity,
is that foolish extravagance which
consists in a constant changing of
the shape, material, and pattern of
our clothing. And is not insanity a
stranger to wisdom ?
To be wise is to give to each ob-
ject in life that place which reasona-
bly belongs to it. It is to have for
all our actions a special and deter-
mined end. If we see a man devot-
ing his whole time, his fortune, his
researches, to the formation of some
strange and perhaps eccentric collec-
tion — of shoes, for instance, from eve-
ry country — we smile and say to one
another, " He b out of his senses !"
Out of his senses ! and why ? Is it be-
cause he has but one thought, but
one ambition — to augment, to in-
crease his collection at any price?
We are more foolish than this collec-
tor of old shoes, for many of us have
but one fixed thought, one only desire,
dare I acknowledge it, one sole aim
in life — to adorn ourselves ! And no
collection will remain after us.
We might attempt to acquire an
honorable position in society by our
Appeal to Young Christian Women.
7S
virtues, or by the superiority of our
minds; but we merely desire to
attract attention by the extrava-
gance of our dress, to cause ourselves
to be remarked and admired, and if
possible, to humble our rivals. Do
not think I exaggerate, because such
is really the case, with an infinite
variety of shades; for in every wo-
man whose exclusive occupation is
the toilette, there inevitably exist a
desire to please and jealousy. You
enter a parlor in the evening wear-
ing a new robe, (and when you go
into company your toilettes are al-
ways new, since you never appear
twice in the same dress ;) well ! you
are not satisfied until you observe
some admiring glances directed to-
ward you, until you perceive some
expressions of annoyance and envy
on the countenances of the young
women who surround you. Having
returned to your homes, what occu-
pation precedes your sleep ? What
interrupts, what destroys it ? You
think over in your mind all the la-
dies you met at the ball ; and if one
of them had a dress more beautiful
than yours, flowers more gracefully
arranged, or diamonds more spark-
ling, you are discontented. You are
jealous. Then what plans you make
not to be eclipsed another time, but
to be the most beautiful. It is not
enough that we are admired; our
happiness is in reignmg alone.
We often shelter ourselves behind
this singular excuse, " I do not wish
that my husband should be ashamed
of me. I endeavor to present a fine
appearance, but it is entirely for his
sake."
If we would occasionally conde-
scend to ask the advice of our fnas-
tcrs^ if we would do so particularly
with our dry-goods or millinery bills
in our hands, I think they would be
more likely to advise simplicity in
our toilettes than to express them-
selves satisfied with their extravagant
elegance. Now frankly, do you be-
lieve these gentlemen so simple as to
desire that every glance may be di-
rected to the dress of their young
wife, or to the garland of flowers
which adorns her hair ?
I was present one day, in the
house of a friend, at an amusing con-
tradiction given to assertions of this
sort.
Madame tie G ^ assisted by her
maid, was trying on a rose-colored
satin dress which had just been sent
home from the dressmaker's, and
which she was to wear at a grand
official ball the same evening. She
turned round and round before the
mirror of the room, and her immense
trail appeared to her much too short.
What distressed her particularly was
that the corsage was not low enough.
I asked in astonishment how low she
wanted it.
" Mariette," said she to her maid,
*' this must be cut several inches lower
all round."
And turning to me, " My husband
does not like such high-necked
dresses," she said.
While the lady was occupied with
some other detail of her charming
toilette, the door opened and the
husband to whom she so generously
sacrificed the requirements of modesty
entered. He examined his wife's
toilette. He had the right to do so,
since he would have to pay for it.
He thought the rose color a little too
lively, the trail a little too long, and,
above all, the corsage much, very
much too low.
"My dear child," said he, "your
dressmaker is incorrigible; she has
not the least judgment; you must
procure another. You cannot ap-
pear in company so uncovered. Ar-
range matters as best you can, but
this dress must be altered."
" Why ! every one dresses this
;6
Appeal to Young Christian Women.
way. Is it my fault if you do not
understand these things, Adrian ?
However, I shall not contradict you.
I will have a puff of tulle put around
the corsage. It is going to make
the dress horribly high, and all its
style will be lost."
Such is the opinion of a husband,
heard by chance; it is what is
sometimes said and what is always
thought.
Let us then appeal to the hus
bands !
Undoubtedly, to clothe one's self
is a necessity ; to make her garments
becoming is, I might almost say, wo-
man's marriage portion; and I would
not dare to assert that our ancestors,
the Gauls, did not seek and discov-
er the means of wearing in a graceful
manner the skins of wild animals
which protected them from the incle-
mencies of the seasons, just as the wo-
men of the present day have learned
to clothe themselves with elegance in
the rich fabrics of India or in clouds
of exquisite lace.
But between the former and the
latter what a distance ! What a broad
gulf!
There is something peculiar to the
toilettes of the present century; a
desire for unceasing change which
exceeds the bounds of eccentricity and
even of extravagance. The Greek
wife or Roman matron desired but
one thing — garments which would
enhance their beauty. Undoubtedly
they admired rich and costiy goods ;
but I do not believe that the day after
they had imported, at a great ex-
pense, robes of the finest linen or
silken tunics of brilliant colors,
they would declare that fashion
would not permit a garment so cut
or a head dress arranged in such a
manner.
And without going back so far,
what would our ancestors of two
centuries ago say, if they saw the
decided repugnance we feel to ap-
pearing twice in society with the
same toilette ?
Their dresses, so rich, so graceful,
so sparingly adorned, were handed
down almost from generation to gen-
eration ; and surely those celebrated
women of the eighteenth century
were not less beautiful than we, as
their admirable portraits which adorn
our parlors clearly show. I lately
saw three pictures of the same mar-
chioness, taken at different p>eriods of
life — as a very young woman, at thir-
ty-five or forty years of age, and at a
more advanced period of life ; and I
found her in the three portraits wear-
ing the same robe of brocade, only
the rose-colored ribbon which adorned
her hair and her corsage in the first
two pictures had been replaced in
the third by a bow of a more sombre
color.
How astonished would those la-
dies of the court of Louis XIV. have
been, if it had been predicted that
their great-grand-daughters would
change the style of their apparel or
the dimensions of their head-dresses
every year, and that a hundred dif-
ferent publications would carry every
week from one end of France to the
other the inventions, more or less
happy, more or less singular, of some
fashion-maker of the capital. For
let us remark, and it is a sufficiently
striking fact, that in the continual
changes of fashion we who at times
find it so difficult to yield our wishes
to those of a husband whom we
have sworn before the altar to obey,
are always ready to yield obedience
to a milliner or a mantua-maker,
whose only desire is to sell their
goods. And in truth they succeed
in doing this very well. Have you
never remarked a very curious cir-
cumstance, and one which deserves
to be related in the history of the
costumes of the nineteenth century?
Appeal to Young Christian Womm,
77
To-day, fashion passes from one ex-
tzeme to another^ so that what was
worn last year is not permitted this
year. And now do you imderstand
this apparently strange ctistom? A
robe is graceful m style and trim-
ming; it is very becoming to you;
the color harmonizes well with your
complexion and your hair ; your mir-
ror has told you so. The fashion
changes; your face, your style of
beauty, if beauty you possess, re-
main the same ; yet you do not hesi-
tate to discard your becoming attire
for something so ridiculous, so extra-
vagant, so frightful perhaps, as to
make you appear ungraceful or even
ugly; but you have obeyed the man-
dates of fashion. Certainly the ex-
travagances and caprices of the pre-
sent day amply prove the truth of
what I have said.
Even if past forty, we will wear
short dresses, round hats, curls, and
high-heeled boots. Even if tall and
slender, no one will wear narrower
skirts. Even if possessed of a full
rounded form which we vainly deplore,
we will pick out white corsages, light
dresses, and the smallest of hats, be-
cause our greatest, or rather our only,
fear is lest people should say that we
wear things which are out of fash-
ion.
Fashion! Let us throw off its
shameful yoke. Instead of accept-
ing, let us make its laws. This is
reasonable ambition. Why not form
a committee, and every year, or at
Ae begiiming of every season, pass
judgment on the important question
of the transformation of our toilettes ?
Why not submit the laws made by
this female assembly to a committee
composed of our husbands ; and finally,
promulgate and introduce them to
the notice of all whom they concern
by a special and duly authorized pub-
lication?
I commend this project to the se-
rious consideration of our young wo-
men. All will admit that it would
be less humihating for us to submit to
the dictates of fashion under such,
than under present circumstances.
Clothing has a twofold end: to
cover us and protect us from the in-
clemencies of the seasons, to supply
the place of the beautiful fur or the
brilliant plumage which forms the na-
tural covering of beasts and birds.
I will return later to the question of
woman's clothing considered in a re-
ligious and moral point of view. At
present, I shall treat of it only as it
regards health. Do our dresses cover
us ? By a strange reversion of com-
mon sense, it is during the severity of
winter we most willingly expose our
arms and necks. You smile? The
parlors are warm. But are our car-
riages, are the streets of our large
cities? You would shudder if I
should present to you the frightful
statistics of the young women who
have fallen victims to such impruden-
ces. Every religion has its martyrs.
Do you wish to be martyrs to fash-
ion ?
The second end of our apparel is
to indicate the respective positions of
persons in society. Thus, the Roman
senators had the privilege of wearing
the white tunic ornamented with pur-
ple. So also, in our own time, the
uniform of the army reveals at a
glance the rank of the wearer.
Alas ! in this respect, of how much
use is it to us at the present day?
The sumptuary laws, the edicts of
Louis XIII. and Louis XIV., are en-
tirely forgotten.
There was a time when each class
of society had its special dress. Furs,
silk, gold, and silver could be worn
only by persons of a certain rank in
society. What a frightful revolution
would break forth among the women
of France if to-day the ruling sove-
reign should attempt to regulate the
78
Appeal to Young Christian Women.
width of our laces or the number of
our jewels ! In the present age ex-
travagance tends, on the contrary, to
confound all ranks of society. From
the servant girl to the fine lady there
is but one desire, one ambition — ^to
appear what one is not. Yes, to ap-
pear what one is not ; let us acknow-
ledge it to our shame. Is not the
fashion of our garments imitated, often
invented by women to whom we would
not speak ? And around the lake of
the Bois de Boulogne have we not
sometimes mistaken the Marchioness
de for Mile. X , or Mile.
Z for the Countess de ?
I feel rather ashamed to mention
such things ; but addressing my own
sex, it is allowable; the truth is often
severe; but it is always useful. I
saw a lovely young woman in a sa-
loon one evening covered with con-
fusion at these few words addressed
to her by the Ambassador de .
** I admired exceedingly, madame,
that elegant yellow dress you wore
this afternoon in the park."
" 1 1" she exclaimed in astonishment.
" My dear count, you are mistaken.
I was in blue, and the yellow dress
was worn by "
" You are right. But pardon my
mistake; both ladies wore the same
kind of head-dress."
See to what our round hats, little
bonnets, and red locks lead.
What folly to keep ourselves con-
tinually in a false position by our ex-
travagant outlays; to be reduced to
have recourse to a thousand petty
means of fi'eeing ourselves from the
embarrassments in which our love
of dress has involved us.
To-day it is a he.
" How much did this dress cost
you?" asks a husband, a httle un-
easy at the prodigality of his young
wife.
" Two hundred francs," she replies
without hesitation, while she is fully
aware that double or triple tiiat
amount would scarcely suffice to pay
for it.
And when the time arrives for pay-
ing these formidable bills, how diffi-
cult to procure the thousands of
francs represented by a few yards of
lace or faded silk. How we stoop
fix)m the rightful dignity of our posi-
tion when we condescend to beg for
time and favor of a tradesman, or
dressmaker, or milliner, after confess-
ing that we have not the necessary
sum at our disposal.
In a certain city that I could name
a linen-draper had sold goods on cre-
dit to a young woman to the amount
of forty thousand francs. Fearing
that she would never pay him, he
sacrificed the interest and accepted
this singular promissory note : " To
receive from my estate forty thousand
fiancs." The lady's heirs will find her
elegant dresses and fine laces rather
cosily.
O folly, folly! Our lives pass
away amidst such trifles. We are
seeking happiness ; it is here at our
hands. We could not only be happy
in the bosom of our families by ful-
filling our duties, but we could, more-
over, render those around us happy.
We foolishly prefer to cast aside these
true enjoyments and fill up our lives
with empty appearances of pleasure.
We forget how swiftly time flies.
To-day we are young, and the worid
welcomes us; but our bloom, our
beauty, which to us is every thing,
will soon fade; it will vanish, and
what is more melancholy than old
age for many women? To know
how to grow old, . . . it is know-
ledge which the wise alone possess.
The Holy Scripture, in addressing
the daughters of Sion, pictures with
striking truth the kind of punishment
which God reserves for them. The
Holy Spirit adopts, in some measure,
the language of the worldly woman
Appeal to Young Christian Womeft.
79
herself, and it seems to me that these
words might be addressed to each one
of us:
"Because the daughters of Sion are
hiughty, smd have walked with stretched-
out necks, and wanton glances of their eyes,
and made a noise as they walked with their
feet, and moved in a set pace :
" The Lord will make bald the crown of
the head of the daughters of Sion, and the
Lord will discover their hair.
** In that day the Lord will take away
the ornaments of shoes, and little moons,
" And chains and necklaces, and brace-
lets, and bonnets,
"And bodkins, and ornaments of the
legs, and tablets, and sweet*balls, and ear-
rings,
** And rings, and jewels hanging on the
forehead.
'*And changes of apparel, and short
cloaks, and fine linen, and crisping-pins.
^And looking-glasses, and lawns, and
head-bands, and fine veils.
** And instead of a sweet smell there
shall be stench, and instead of a girdle a
cord, and instead of curled hair baldness,
and instead of a stomacher hair-cloth.*'*
In these words we are threatened
with old age ; with that old age which
is daily drawing nearer ; which awaits
but the moment to seize upon its
prey; which makes the woman who
leads a life of gayety that which you
well know.
Oh! those jTon^en who remain
beautiful in spi^e of old age, with
their white hair, their wrinkles undis-
guised, their cultivated minds, and
their winning kindness. These are
not the women who in earlier life
placed, all their happiness in follow-
ing, even to the most minute details,
the fiivolities of fashion. I am, more-
over, convinced that if the woman of
the world of twenty or thirty years
ago was fond of dress, she was far
from devoting her whole time to it.
Fashion was not then so variable.
The outlay for clothing was evidently
a much smaller item in the family ex-
penses. In a word, if this folly was
* Isaiat, iiL t6, and following.
sometimes seen, it was an isolated
case.
In these latter days only has the
contagion spread in an alarming
manner.
So much for the human side of the
question. Permit me now to enter
into a more elevated circle of ideas,
and to remark that hitherto I have
appealed neither to conscience nor to
religion. I have addressed myself
to women of the world ; I now turn
to young Christian women ; to those
whose tender years were watched
over by pious mothers, whose youth
was formed by a truly religious edu-
cation ; to those whose lives have not
been blighted by any of those errors
which banish a woman firom her po-
sition in society, but who, on the
contrary, have remained unsullied in
the eyes of the world and have no
cause to blush beneath its gaze.
Here I feel at my ease, since it is
permitted me to make use of the lan-
guage of fiith. This faith we still
possess, but it slumbers in the depths
of our souls ; undoubtedly it will awa-
ken in the hour of trial ; the death of
a darling child, a sudden change of
fortune ; less than that even — a single
deception may suffice, and we shall
feel that God is our father; and we
shall see things in their true light;
that poisonous cloud which surrounds
the woman of the world will be in-
stantly dispelled, and the mysteries
of life and death will be unfolded to
our astonished gaze. But until that
time shall come, our life is consumed
in a strange and dangerous illusion.
A few religious practices of which we
have retained the habit, perhaps be-
cause they were fashionable, make us
believe, and therefore cause others to
believe, that we are still real Chris-
tians. Meanwhile, carried away by
the round of pleasure which we call
legitimate enjoyment, we live on,
without troubling ourselves to inquire
8o
Appeal to Young Christian Women.
whither we are hastening. Days fol-
low days, years succeed years; from
time to time one among us is missing.
God has called her away ; but we did
not hear her last words ; we did not
see the despair of that poor young
woman when she found herself in the
presence of her Judge with her hands
empty. And hence we continue in
our mode of life. Hours and days
of weariness, of sadness occasionally
steal in upon our worldly lives.
Some new pleasure claims us, and in
its presence past bitterness is soon
forgotten. Thus are spent the best
years of our lives, lost — religiously
speaking — ^lost for ever. Our actions
are useless, our tlioughts frivolous,
our existence devoid of all merit.
And yet ought not our constant
aim be to secure the happiness of our
husband, and the salvation of his soul
as well as of our own ? to bring up
our children in a Christian manner,
and to edify the world by our exam-
ple?
This point presents a fit subject for
religious moralizing, which, however,
comes neither within my aim nor my
ability. It is for voices possessing
greater authority than mine to treat
of such grave matters in a becoming
manner. The ministers of the church,
both by preaching and the pen, have
shown us our duties with a clearness
and a correctness before which we
humbly bow. But as to a question
of detail, especially when, as at pre-
sent, it concerns extravagance of
dress, I believe I am right in think-
ing that one of yourselves can, better
than any one else, treat a subject so
distinctively pertaining to woman.
Let me remark in the beginning
that I wish to condemn in our toilette
nothing save what is contrary to pro-
priety or modesty. I am not oppos-
ed to crinoline, to trails, to diamonds,
nor to rubies. Rose color, blue,
white, and black are alike to me.
Whether linen, silk, or wool serve by
turn to cover us, is a matter of indif-
ference. Moreover, it is evident that
woman, whatever her age or con-
dition, should endeavor to render
her attire suitable and becoming. St.
Francis of Sales desires that a wife
should adorn herself to please her
husband ; and a maiden, with a view
to a holy marriage.
The woman who betrays an abso-
lute negligence in her toilette, who
would willingly appear in a torn dress
or a faded bonnet, when her position
in society requires something better,
is almost as much to blame as those
who spend their whole time in dress-
ing and undressing.
That which we ought to possess,
that which should regulate our dress,
as well as all our actions, is a clear
comprehension of our duties. We
should appeal to our conscience,
scrutinize our intentions and our
desires, and then regulate and reform
wherever there is need.
We do not deny that this world is
a place of pilgrimage, and life a sea-
son of trials ; that they are foolish in-
deed who think only of culling flow-
ers from the roadside while time flies
and eternity approaches. We often
experience within ourselves a certain
opposition between our convictions
and our conduct. Our life is not
regulated as it ought to be. It is
not tending to its end, which is our
eternal salvation. We have acknow-
ledged these truths when, on leaving
the church where we had listened to
some celebrated preacher, we con-
fessed to ourselves that our mode of
life was not sufficiently serious, and
that it ought to be reformed.
Strange to say, I feel, I see, many
women in like manner feel and see,
that the love of dress, the importance
we attach to every thing connected
with fashion, is the principal cause of
the frivolity and inutility of our lives.
Appeal to Young Christian Women.
8l
Bnt there we stop. What ! you will
say, has a ribbon, a flower, a piece
of velvet or satin so great an in-
fluence with us ? Try, then, to main-
tain the contrary with your hand
upon your conscience, and you will
see that I have not gone too far.
Much is said about woman's mis-
sion ! It is constantly reopated that
the future of society depends on us.
If we occasionally forget this, we
^ould certainly not suffer others to
doubt it We wish — and we are
right in doing so — we wish to occu-
py an important position in the fami-
ly and in society; we struggle vigor-
ously against those who would assign
to us a secondary position ; we boast
that we exercise a great influence
over men. This idea flatters our
sdttove.
But let us not forget that this
circumstance becomes for us a source
of strict obligations. Man is nurtur-
ed in our arms, and grows up at our
side. He is, we may say, whatever
we make him. That primary in-
struction which it is our duty to
impart to him, exercises the greatest
influence on his after life. His mo-
ther! He will always remember her,
and her example, good or evil, will
kave an indelible impression on his
souL And our husbands, our fathers
and brothers I We know our power
over them, and we sometimes use it
in noatters which are not really worth
aD the diplomacy we employ. That
mission of mother, of wife ! Have we
ft)rgotten that it is the end of our
life, the reason of our creation?
God, who has established laws for
tiic material worid, laws from which
even a slight derogation would pro-
duce a great catastrophe, has like-
wise marked out for each one of us
kcr place here below. He has not
placed us in this world without a
definite end in view. Woman has
•ttious duties to perform, of which
VOL.
she must one day render a strict ac-
count to her Creator.
Have these duties, these obligations
which our Lord has imposed upon us»
been hitherto our principal concern ?
Has our worldly life, with its numer-
ous preoccupations, left us time to
be true wives and true mothers?
Alas! the world and its require-
ments take up all our time. And
yet the duties to which we are bound
by this twofold title, although diflfer-
ing with our different positions in the
world, oblige equally the wife of the
mechanic, the merchant, the officer,
and the prince, before both God and
society. Here, then, is the pith of
this question ; it may be summed up
in a single word : are we wives and
mothers, or are we merely women of
the world ?
Those children whom God has con-
fided to our care, and of whom we
shall have to render an account, do
we suppose that we have done our
duty toward them when we have
procured tutors for them, or when we
have placed them in an academy ?
How many among us, alas ! find it
difficult to see our children for even
a few minutes during the course of
the day. We have not the time to
attend to them, we say. We have
not the tifne! To whom does our
tfane belong, if not to these little
ones who call upon us by the
sweet name of mother ? Let us not
plead our position. I know women
who mingle a great deal in society,,
who have a great number of servants
to be looked after, who yet manage
their time so well that they are ena-
bled to spend the greater part of
the day with their children. They
have hours set apart for conversing
with them, for informing themselves
of their progress — ^in a word, for at-
tending to their education. These
mothers are happy. The gratitude
of their young families, the aflectioai
82
Appeal to Young Christian Won^en,
which surrounds them, the sense of
duty performed — shall we dare com-
pare these true and noble enjoyments
with the empty pleasures which the
exhibition of a new dress or even an
eulogium passed on our beauty pro-
cures us ? And, candidly, is it not
more worthy, more sensible, to say,
** I have not time to go to the park,"
than to allege that we have not time
to love and to care for our children ?
And our husbands — do we devote
our time to them any more than to
our children ?
Ah! you will perhaps reply, my
kusband has very little need of my
society; he lives for himself; I live
for myself. If I have my toilettes,
my drives, and my friends, he has his
horses, his friends, and his dub.
There is the misfortune; and the
question is, are we not, to a consider-
able extent, responsible for this de-
plorable habit of, so to speak, sepa-
rate existences? Do you not think,
then, that the majority of husbands
-would prefer a different kind of life ?
That it would be more agreeable to
them to enjoy oftener the pleasures
•of home, in your company, surround-
«ed by their children ?
You do not believe it ? Be it so ;
"but have you ever tried the experi-
ment? Have you not yourselves
•created a necessity for this life of
continual agitation and excitement?
Have you ever reserved time to be
devoted to your husband? And is
it not your desire that things should
remain just as they are — ^you with
your liberty and your husband with
his ? Do you not prefer to squander
(for that is the word) your hours and
your days, rather than face the en-
nui that your own woridly tastes
would cause you to experience in the
retirement of a serious, and, in com-
parison, solitary home ?
But it b not our time alone that
mt, thus waste. We waste likewise
a fortune which in reality is not
ours.
We are bom rich, while all around
us the poor — children of the same
God — are without bread to eat, and
ready to die of hunger, perhaps un-
der the same roof.
We forget that, according to the
designs of Providence, we have a
duty to discharge toward the suffer-
ing and the needy! It is not for
ourselves alone that God has given
us riches. He wishes us to be hb
almoners, and the practice of charity
is a strict duty.
The bestowing of alms is not only
an evangelical counsel; it is often a
precept. If the divine Ruler employs
the most tender images in describing
the merit of charity and the clearest
and strongest promises when speak-
ing of its reward, he has for the
one who refuses to assist a brother,
and leaves him in want, the sever-
est of condemnations. Consider the
parable of Lazarus and the rich sin-
ner, but especially those terriWe
words : " I was hungry, and you
gave me not to eat . . . Depart
into everlasting fire." •
Will a few gold pieces ostentatious-
ly dropped each year into the collection
boxes, a few contributions to other
charities, which we are ashamed to
refuse, suffice to save us from a simi-
lar sentence ? What has become of
that pious custom of tithes for the
poor formeriy found in rich families ?
If, before entering the establishment
of the fhshionable jeweller, we would
ascend to the garret of the indigent-
we should often purchase fewer braces
lets. It is not heart that is wanting
in us, but reflection.
A young woman of whom some
one was asking assistance for a family
which had fallen into misery, and
whose sufferings they were picturing
* St Matt xx\\ 4a.
Appeal to Young Christicut Women.
83
to her, exclaimed with a simplictty
which was her only excuse :
" Why, are there people who are
poor ? I did not know it !"
We know that there are poor peo-
ple, but we too often forget it Love
of dress and the voice of vanity
smother in us the love of the suffer*
ing members of Jesus Christ and ren-
der us deaf to the appeal of our un-
happy brethren.
If we would only consider that by
sacrificing a few yards of lace, or by
consenting to appear twice during a
season in the same dress, we might
with the money thus saved assist se-
veral families each winter, we would
more frequently be kind and charita-
ble.
And that we may not forget the
necessities of our brethren, let us as-
sist them directly. Does not history
tell us of more than one queen fash-
ioning with her own hands garments
for the poor, and laying aside the
grandeur of her i>osition to distribute
them herself?
Ball-rooms, theatres, and the public
drives are, unfortunately, not the only
places in which we make a display.
Fashionable dressing has become
such a habit, such a necessity with
OS, that, as the Sovereign Pontiff re-
marked with sorrow, our holy temples
often present the sad spectacle of
women who call themselves Chris-
tians, and believe themselves such,
coming to these holy places rather to
rival one another in extravagance
of attire than to excite to piety.
Alas ! what influence will our supplica-
tions have, if humility, that essential
condition of prayer, be wanting. Ah I
let us rather remain at home than go
to the foot of the altar with the guil-
ty desire of being admired.
I have yet another part of this im-
portant subject to treat: the impro-
priety, the indecency, why not say
tiie word, of certain fashions ?
I turn in shame firom the thought
of them. Let each one of us de-
scend to the very depths of our con^
science, let us scrutinize our hearts,
bearing in mind this terrible utter-
ance : " He that shall scandalize one
of these little ones that believe in me^
it were better for him that a millstone
were hanged about his neck, and that
he were drowned in the depth of the
»»•
sea.
How, then, are we to remedy so
great an evil ? How oppose a barrier
to this ever-increasing tide of luxury
and of prodigality ? The Holy Father
points out the way in a few plain and
simple words. To form among our-
selves an association — a holy league^
if I may thus express myself---to have
our laws and regulations, and, with the
zeal and determination which cha-
racterize us when we wish to attain
any end, to pursue this one without
truce or mercy.
But what promises could and
should be made by the members of
this sacred league ? They wrill hav^
to be determined by the brave cham-
pion who shall bear the standard in
this war against extravagance. I do
not think, however, any difficulty will
be found in their determination. We
should begin by promising to exam-
ine seriously before God what are
the motives which actuate us in
the adornment and embellishment of
our persons; to purify our inten-
tions, and to entertain none that would
cause a blush if revealed.
To please our husbands, to sup-
port our position in society, to remain
within the bounds of a just elegance,
these are motives which we can with-
out shame avow. But to seek in the
toilette a means of being remarked,
or admired, or loved, outside of our
home circle ; a means of humiliating
other women, of surpassing them, of
• St Matt xm. 6
84
Lost and Found.
reigning without a rival; in a word,
of eclipsing all others — all this would
be entirely contrary to the spirit of
the association.
As to the engagements, in some
sort material, to be entered into by
the members, I think they might be
limited to three.
We should first determine in ad-
vance, and in the most positive man-
ner, the amount to be expended each
year on our toilette; which amount
we should never exceed. From this
sum we should deduct a portion for
the poor, and increase the amount
as much as possible by accustoming
ourselves to sacrifice from time to
time our wish for some novelty, in
order that we may relieve our unfor-
tunate brethren, upon whom we
should bestow our charities in per-
son.
Finally, and here is a very essen-
tial point, we should never purchase
any thing without paying for it imme-
diately; or if, in some circumstances,
this is impossible, we should lay
aside the price of the dress, the bon-
net, or the cashmere we have selected.
Oh ! if we could well understand
how much there is of order and of
good sense in those two words so lit-
tle known to most women — tosh pay-
ments / Try this plan, if only for a
year, or even six months, and you
will see the truth of my assertion.
I have* finished ; pardon mc for
having dared to raise my voice, not
to give you advice, I have neither
the right nor the intention to do so, but
only to communicate to you ideas
which have been suggested to my
mmd by the admonitions of the
highest of authorities, and by the re-
solutions which I have taken, and
which I trust I shall have the cour-
age to keep.
My object is, to ask of you in this
matter that union in which is found
strength, and to remind you that
God is in the midst of those who
fight for a holy cause. May my
voice be heard! May the young
women of our beloved France arouse
themselves at the thought of a dan-
ger which threatens the dignity of
our sex! May this new and holy
war be soon inaugurated in which we
shall be both combatants and con-
querors!
LOST AND FOUND. A WAYSIDE REMINISCENCE.
What woman, travelling alone, has
not encountered the embarrassment
of entering a car already neariy filled
with passengers ? Perhaps the awk-
wardness of the situation may not be
as keenly felt by those who firequently
meet it, and who are accustomed to
the manifold josdings of this busy
world, as by a recluse like myself.
However this may be, I can testify
from experience that the ordeal is a
painful one to a sensitive and shrink-
ing nature. So it chanced that, upon
discovering this condition of affairs
as I entered a car at Prescott, on a
fine morning in June, 1867, 1 dropped
into the first vacant place my eye
detected, by the side of an elderly
lady dressed in deep mourning. The
first glimpse of her fiace and manner
satisfied me that she also was fi-om the
"States," and I felt quite at home
with her at once.
We soon fell into conversation, and
Lost and FoumL
85
I found my compani<ni most agree-
able, quiet, and intelligent We be-
guiled the monotony of a railway
journey by {feasant chat upon the
icenery thiou^ which we were pass-
mg^and such other topics as came
qyperaiost I noticed, as we stopped
1 few minutes at Brockville, that she
seemed to scan all that could be seen
from the car with deep interest; and
again, as we pursued our course up
tk river in sight of the Thousand
Islands, she was quite absorbed in her
observation of the scenery.
''Beautiful islands," I remarked;
''I would like nothing better than to
occupy some days in exploring their
£ury haunts."
"You would find many of them
beautiful indeed I" she replied. " They
are very dear to me ; for my early life
was passed in their neighborhood,
and I retain for them much of the
affection that clings to the memory
of dear friends, though I have not
seen them before for many years.
What frequent merry-makings and
picnic festivals did the young people
from the American shore and those
of Brockville enjoy together among
Ae windings of their picturesque
labyrinth, long ago !" she added with
a sigh.
She then informed me that she was
now on her way to Illinois, to visit
ber children there, and had chosen
tiiis route, that she might catch a
pas^ng glimpse of scenes most in-
teresting to her, from their connection
wh memories of the past.
Time and space passed almost im-
perceptibly to us, as we were engaged
n discussing one subject after another
of general interest, until some time in
Ac afternoon, when, clatter! clatter!
Atmnp ! thump ! a jolt and a bounce,
thought every man in the car to his
feet, and caused every woman in-
j6ictively to settle herself more firmly
■ her place, while a volley of ex-
clamations, " What can it be ?"
"There's something wrong!" "Cars
oflf the track!" "We shall be down
the embankment!" burst fix)m every
quarter, the swaying, iiregular move-
ment preventing the possibility of
reaching the door, to discover the
cause of all this disturbance. The
time seemed long, but in reality
occupied only a few seconds, before
the motion ceased suddenly, with a
hitch, a backward jerk, and a con-
cussion, which had well-nigh thrown
us all upon our faces ; and the con-
ductor appeared for a moment in the
door, uttering with hasty tremor,
" Don't be alarmed, ladies and gentle-
men — ^no danger! axle broke— cars
off the track. We shall be detained
here some time." And away he went
This announcement was met, I am
sorry to say, with more murmurs at
the detention than thanks for our
providential escape fix)m imminent pe-
ril. " How imfortunate !" cried one,
" And in this lonely, disagreeable place
tool" added another. A third won-
dered where we were, when one of
the company familiar \i4th the route
volunteered the information that we
were not many miles fix)m Toronto.
Now, from the moment I sat down
by my new acquaintance, I had
divined — ^by that sort of mysterious
sympathy, impossible to define, but
which will be ufiderstood by all con-
verts to the Catholic faith — that she
was, like myself, of this class; and
she had formed the same conjecture
in relation to me; which was,
perhaps, the cause of our having
formed a sudden intunacy not quite
in keeping with the native reserve^
not to say shyness, of both. Our
first and simultaneous act, upon the
occurrence of the incident recorded—
in fortifying ourselves with the blessed
sign of benediction and protection
so precious to all Catholics — had
confirmed the mutual conjecture, and
86
Last and Founds
established a stiong bond of sympathy
between us.
As we left the cars together, I ob-
served that she still scanned the sur-
rounding localities with an earnest-
ness that did not seem warranted by
any claims they possessed to notice ;
for a more tame and uninteresting re-
gion can scarcely be imagined than
that in which we so reluctantly lin-
gered.
"What wonderful changes forty
years will make in the face of a new
country!" she at length exclaimed.
" 1 passed this way, going and re-
turning, in 1827, at an age when the
deepest impressions are received, and
upon an errand so peculiar in its na-
ture as to make those impressions in-
delible. I have always carried the
picture of the route, slowly traversed
at that time, in my memory ; but the <
transformation is so complete that I
look in vain for one ^miliar feature."
After walking for some time in si-
lence, she resumed : " It is strange
how vividly the most minute details
of that journey and the incidents
connected with it return to me, now
that we^ are so singularly detained in
the vicinity of the scenes I then
sought, though there is nothing in
the aspect of the country to bring
them back r
By this time we had loitered into a
shady nook, at no great distance from
the disabled car ; and its coolness in-
viting us to remain after we had seat-
ed ourselves upon a rock overgrown
with moss, I begged that she would
while away the time of our detention
by giving me a history of those inci-
dents.
" The narrative may not prove very
interesting to you," she replied.
"The recollection of events that
took place around us in youth has
more power to move ourselves than
others. But of this you shall judge
for yourself.
^ In 1826, I was visitiDg a dear
friend who lived on St. Paul street, in
Montreal. It was a pleasant evening
in June, the close of one of those
very warm days so common in the
early part of a Canadian summer,
where the interval between the snows
and frost of winter and the fervid
heat, the verdure and bloom, of sum-
mer, is often so marvellously short as
to astonish a stranger.
" I was sitting in my room, at an
open window that looked out on a
narrow back-court, the opposite side
of which was bounded by a row of
low-roofed tenant-houses parallel with
the bank of the river, and over these,
upon a magnificent view of the St
Lawrence rolling grandly down past
the city, at which I was never tired
of gazmg. I had been contemplat-
ing the mighty flood for some time,
my thoughts wandering sorrowfully
far up its waters and the stream of
time to tranquil scenes now closed to
me for ever, when the words, *Ah,
Donald 1 that I should live to see
this day! Do not ask me to sing
the hymn we love this night, when
my heart is sae sair that it is like
to break ! I canna, canna sing the
sangs o' Zion i* this strange place,
and in our sharp, sharp griefs!*
came floating to my ear on the even-
ing breeze, from an open balcony
along the rear of the tenements men-
tioned.
" There was a depth of anguish in
the tones that touched the tender-
est chord of sympathy in my heart,
which was then writhing under the
pangs of a recent sore bereavement.
'* My childhood had been passed
near setdements of the Lowland
Scotch in St l^wreuce County, New
York, and I was therefore familiar
with their dialect, the use of which
added to my interest in the speaker,
and I listened eagerly for furth^
sounds. For some time 1 heard only
I^ast and Found.
^1
t suppressed sobbing, and the low
tones of a manly voice that seemed
to be soothing an outburst of grief
which was overwhelming his com-
panies. At length I heard him say,
with an accent that betokened a
tongue accustomed to the use of the
Gaelic dialect,
"*It would drown the sorrows
of my gende Maggie, if she would
only strive to sing. Let us not for-
get the dolors of our Blessed Mother
in the agonies of our ain grief. I
will sing, and mayhap she will join
me.'
"Presently a singularly wild and
plaintive air was borne to my ear
upon the flowing cadences of a man's
voice, as soft and musical as any
to which I had ever listened. The
words were in Gaelic, but the refrain
at the close of each verse * Ora^
MaUr, ora * — revealed their religion,
and that it was a hymn of the Bless-
ed Virgin to which I was listening.
Before the close of the first verse, he
was joined by a voice, low and clear
as the tones of a flute, bearing upon
every strain the fervent outpourings
of tender piety, though tremulous
with emotion.
" Soon after it ceased, they retired
▼ithin the open door of their room,
and I heard them reciting alternately,
in a low voice, that treasured devo-
tion of the Catholic heart — of which
I was then entirely ignorant, but
which has since (thank God 1) be-
come inestimably precious to me—
the beads of the Holy Rosary.
" Their evening prayers being over,
they walked for some time on the
bakony in silence, when she said in a
trembling voice,
** * It is a month to-morrow, Donald,
a month to-nwrrow, sin' God took
awa* our darlings; and och! wha
wid hae thought I could bide sae
hug i' this cauld warld without a
li^t 0* their bonnie faces ! I dinna
ken why I live, when my sweet
baimies are buried far awa' i' their
watery grave T
"*Ah Maggie! why wad ye not
live for your poor Donald? He
mourns for the bonnie baimies too;
but he does not wish to leave his
Maggie because God has ta'en them
from her. Cast awa' these repining
thoughts, my own love, and let us go
to the church thegither to-morrow
morning, and lay all our griefs before
the altar of our God.*
" I heard no more; but resolving to
accompany them to church, I arose
very early the next morning, and pre-
paring myself, watched an opportunity
to join them, as they passed from the
street where they were stopping into
St. Paul street
" We walked on in silence after I
joined them, and I saw that he was
a tall, athletic young Highlander, of
dark complexion, and with soft black
eyes; whose remarkably fine face
glowed with intelligence and mild*
ness. Her beauty was more con-
formed to the Lowland type; her
eyes being of a deep clear blue, her
hair * flaxen,* and her complexion
exceedingly fair, while her teeth of
snowy whiteness had a litUe promi-
. nence that caused them to be slightly
revealed between her rose-bud lips,
even when her countenance was in
repose. Her form was very slender/
and her beautiful face so youthful as*
to seem child-like. I never saw such
a perfect expression of soul-absorb-
ing yet patient iind subdued sorrow
as lingered upon every line of those
youthful features.
" We entered the old Recollet church,
and I remained near them during the*
service. It was my first visit to a*
Catholic church, and I had never
before been present at the offering of
the holy sacrifice.
" Soon after our entry, I notked*
that first one of them and then the^
88
Lost and Found,
other passed for a brief space of
time Into a little curtained box at the
side of the aisle ; but being ignorant
of Catholic usages, I did not know
for what purpose, though I was
deeply impressed by their solemn, re-
verent manner, and the peaceful ex-
pression of their faces. During the
progress of the service, which com-
menced soon after, I saw them ap-
proach the rail before the altar, and
knew it was to receive holy commun-
ion. The sweetly serene and pen-
sive light that rested upon their fea-
tures after that solemn act is still
vividly before me, notwithstanding
the lapse of years.
" When they left the church, I fol-
lowed closely, determined to learn
something, if possible, of their history.
At the church door the man parted
from her, and went away in an oppK)-
site direction from that by which we
had come, leaving her to walk back
alone. As I walked by her side, I
addressed some casual remark to her,
and then, confessing the interest I
felt in them on account of what I
had accidentally overheard the even-
ing before, begged her to tell me, as
her sister in affliction, of the griefs
which were oppressing her.
" We sauntered slowly down the nar-
row streets from the Recollet church
to our places of abode, and our
yoimg hearts being drawn together
by the bonds of sorrow, I mingled
my tears in sympathy with hers
while she related her artless
story.
" She was the only child of a minis-
ter of the Scottish Kirk, whose name
was Lauder, and who died when she
was quite young. Her mother, be-
ing left in feeble health, and destitute
of any means of support, gladly ac-
cepted the home offered by her sister,
who was married some years before
to a Highland gendeman by the
name of Kenneth* McGregor, and
who became a Catholic soon after her
marriage.
" They were welcomed to the home
of her aunt with true Scottish hospi-
tality; and the most devoted and
delicate attentions which affection
could devise were lavished upon her
heart-broken mother, to soothe and
comfort her, while the little Maggie
became at once the pet of a large
household of cousins older than her-
self, who regarded her ever after as a
dear sister. So kind were the whole
family to her, that she was not per-
mitted to feel the loss of her father in
the sense most chilling and painful to
the heart of the orphan, that of being
an object of indifference and neglect
They went frequentiy to visit their
Lowland fnends, and kept up an in-
tercourse with them during the life of
her mother.
" When she had reached her twelfth
year, the minister of the kirk which
they had attended since their removal
to the Highlands, with several of his
small congregation, among whom
were her mother and herself, made
their profession of the Catholic faith ;
soon after which event her mother
died.
"When Maggie was in her four-
teenth year, she became acquainted
with Donald Macpherson, whose fa-
ther was a warm friend of her uncle
Kenneth. A strong attachment soon
grew up between the young people, and
when she was sixteen she was married
to Donald. When they had been mar-
ried about six years, and had three
children — the oldest of them a daugh-
ter five years old and named for her-
self, and the others boys — Donald
thought best to join a colony (ationg
whom were two of her cousins and
their families) who were preparing to
depart for one of the new and remote
districts of Upper Canada. Donald,
as the one best fitted by education
for that purpose, was appointed sur-
Lost and Found,
89
Teyor of the wild lands, and to lay out
roads in the wilderness.
" They suffered much in parting with
lK>me and Mends, but alas) subse*
quent floods of affliction obliterated
all traces of those lighter griefs.
" Their voyage was long and stormy,
and when they were at length in
sight of Newfoundland, and hoped
tbcy were about to reach the end of
it in safety, a storm in the Gulf of
St Lawrence drove their vessel upon
the rocks in the darkness of evening,
and it was wrecked. The poor young
parents lashed their litde Maggie
finnly to a plank, and committed her
to the waves; then taking each a
diiki, and imploring the aid of
heaven for themselves and their littie
ones, they plunged into the water.
The mother was soon exhausted with
the buffeting of the waves ; her child
was borne from her arms, just before
Ac was thrown within the reach of
friendly hands, and taken up uncon-
scious. Donald was dashed against
the rocks, and caught from the reced-
ing waters of an immense wave,
shortly after, by those who were
on the shore watching to render aid
to the sufferers, insensible and appa-
rently lifeless. The child he had was
also lost.
* They were taken to a fisherman's
hot, and by the persevering efforts
of those in attendance animation was
restored, though it was some days be-
fore they recovered their conscious-
ness, only to find that their children
ind their relations had perished. But
a small number of their companions
on the voyage survived. Their goods
and clothing, with the exception of
what they wore, were all lost; but
this was too triflmg to be thought of
in comparison with their other mis-
fortunes.
" As soon as they were able, they
proceeded to Montreal, in company
with the survivors of the wreck, and
Donald showed the certificate of his
appointment as surveyor — which he
fortunately carried in his vest-pocket —
to the mayor of the^city, who pro-
vided comfortable quarters for them,
and advised him to remain there until
he should receive remittances from
Scotland, for which they sent imme-
diately after their arrival in Montreal.
" They had not yet decided whether
they would return when these funds
should arrive, or go on to the place
for which they had started, as their
companions were anxious to have
them do.
" She expressed entire indifference as
to going on or returning; her chil-
dren being gone, she did not care
where she was. The terrified, implor-
ing look of her darling Maggie, as
she was dashed from them on her
frail support, amid the merciless buf-
fetings and boiling surges of the fu-
rious waves — ^her eyes straining to
catch a glimpse of them, and her
dear little arms extended so pitifully
to them for protection — haunted the
imagination of the broken-hearted
mother, and, she assured me, had not
been absent from her thoughts one
moment since, sleeping or waking.
" My sincere and fervent sympathy
seemed to afford her some comfort,
and it was freely and heartily offered ;
for I was myself, as I have hinted, at
that time a mourner over the recent
loss of the kindest and best of fathers,
whose only daughter and cherished
pet I had ever been. His death,
when I was yet but a child in years,
was followed by severe pecuniary
reverses, which had driven us from
our home and involved our hitherto
affluent and most happy family in
difficulties and poverty. In my ig-
norance of sorrow and of the religion
which alone can sustain the afflicted,
I had thought there could be none
so unhappy and unfortunate as our-
selves. I could not then believe the
90
L<^t and Found.
truth of the assuiance, which was the
solace of my invalid mother, that
* The Lord loveth whom he chasten-
eth.' I could not see the tender
mercy and love that had inflicted this
cruel bereavement and surrounded
our helpless family with such calami-
ties, in the clear light with which his
grace afterward made it manifest to
me.
" But here was an instance far more
inscrutable and heartrending. Stran-
gers in a strange land ; the broad At-
lantic rolling between them and every
heart upon which they had any special
claim for sympathy; their children
relentlessly torn from them; and all
their worldly substance buried in the
consuming deep ! Why had they
thus been singled out as marks for
such a shower of fatal arrows ? I
pondered much upon it, and my eyes
were opened to see the mercies that
had been mingled with the chastise-
ments of a loving Father in our own
case. We had numerous and kind
Iriends, whose sympathy had poured
balm upon our wounded spirits, and
whose generous hands had been
opened to aid us in our necessities.
Of these, the dear fiiends with whom
I was then staying had been among
the first, and their assistance and ad-
vice at that dark period of my life
have ever been remembered with
gratitude.
"While my new acquaintances re-
mained in Montreal, I passed much
time with poor Maggie, to the entire
satisfaction of my firiends, to whom I
communicated the sorrowful story on
the day I heard it, and whose active
sympathy contributed much toward
the relief and comfort of the youth-
ful mourners.
** When they at length received the
expected funds from Scotland, they
decided to comply with the wishes
of their surviving fellow -sufferers in
exile and affliction, by accompanying
them, according to their original vor
tention, to Upper Canada. Our part-
ing was very aflecting. They had
learned to look upon my friends as
kind benefactors, while Uiey regard-
ed me as a sister. I felt very lonely
after they were gone ; but the lesson
I had learned from my intercourse
with them was never forgotten. Their
united and imquestioning acquies-
cence with the will of God, and the
persistent patience with which every
action of their daily lives expressed,
* Though he slay me, yet will I
trust in him,' made a permanent im-
pression on my mind.
" At the invitation and by the ad-
vice of my fiiends, I remained much
longer in Montreal than I at first in-
tended, in order to learn the French
language, and to acquire the know-
ledge of some other branches, for
which superior facilities were present-
ed by the Sisters of the Congrega-
tion of Notre Dame, and which were
necessary to advance my education
sufl5ciendy to fit me for teaching, the
object I then had in view.
" Nearly a year had passed since
our parting with the Macphersons,
when some friends from Vermont ar-
rived on a visit to those with whom I
was staying. I was requested, in con«
sequence of the indisposition of the
lady of the house, to accompany
them to several places of interest in
the city, which they wished to see.
Among these was the house of the
* Gray Nuns,' a sisterhood devoted
to the care of a great number of
fbundlings. In passing through the
rooms appropriated to the children, I
was particularly attracted by the face
and attitude of a delicate-looking lit-
tle girl of surprising beauty, who was
sitting on the floor and devoting her-
self to the care and amusement of a
little boy about two years old, whose
beauty equalled her own, though en-
tirely different in character. She was
Lost and Found,
91
lir as a Iflj; lota large blue eyes
were shaded by drooping lids and long
silken lashes, which imparted a touch-
isg pensiveness to their expression,
while her golden hair floated in shin-
iag curls to her shoulders. The little
boy's complexion was dark and clear,
bis black eyes soft and brilliant The
startled timidity combined with
searching earnestness in their ex-
pression as he raised them to mine
and encountered my admiring gaze,
(for I was always passionately fond
of children,) thrilled my very soul,
and, turning to the good sister .who
was conducting us, I exclaimed with
enthusiasm, pointing to them,
" * What beautiful children !'
"*Yes,' she said with fond pride,
and evidently flattered by our notice
of her pets, * they are indeed beau-
ti^I ; and alas ! their misfortunes are
as striking as their beauty. They
belonged to a Scotch family on board
a vessel that was wrecked off New-
foundland, and their parents perish-
ed. Mr. Ferguson, a Scotch gentle-
man in ver>* infirm health, from our
dty, was visiting some friends in that
vjcinity, and happened to be passing
in a carriage with one of them on the
evening of the storm and the ship-
wreck, when, noticing the torches
and bustle on the shore, they stop-
ped to inquire the cause and to ren-
der assistance, if possible, to those
who were washed ashore. This little
girl had been lashed to a plank, and,
by a wonderful providence, when the
baby was borne away from his mo-
ther, the same wave carried him
within reach of his Httle sister, who
seized and clung to him as with a
dying grasp, until she was snatched
insensible by Mr. Ferguson from the
top of a wave which rolled far up on
the shore, and would have hurried
them back in its receding surf but
fcr a powerful effort on his part,
which had nearly cost him his life;
for he received injuries in the at-
tempt, by severe sprains and other-
wise, that rendered him almost help-
less for some weeks.* His friend
took the children and himself in the
carriage to his residence, over two
miles distant — it being the nearest
house on that unfrequented part of
the coast, with the exception of some
fishermen's huts at some distance in
the opposite direction. Mr. Fergu-
son was unable to leave his bed for
some weeks. Unfortunately, the phy-
sician of that neighborhood was ab-
sent on a visit to a distant city.
" * It was long before they succeeded
in restoring any sign of life to either of
the children, and when their efforts
were at length rewarded by faint evi-
dences of returning animation, they
had to exert themselves to the utmost
for many days to keep alive the vital
spark, which had been so nearly ex-
tinguished When they began to
revive and recover strength, another
difficulty met the devoted friends of
the little unfortunates. The nerves
of the little girl had sustained so se-
vere a shock that she could not be
aroused to a sense of any thing around
her. She was constantly struggling
fearfully with imaginary billows, or
settied in a kind of idiotic vacancy.
When the physician returned, he
gave but little hopes of her recovery,
as he feared her brain was so far af-
fected as to unsettle reason perma-
nently.
" * As soon as the gentleman who
had taken them to his house dared
to leave them and Mr. Ferguson so
long, he went to inquire after the
survivors of the wreck, and found
they had departed in a vessel bound
for Montreal. Mr. Ferguson was
confined, as I have said, for many
weeks at the house of this friend, and
before he could return to Montreal
he had become so much attached to
the litde treasures he had snatched
92
Lost and Found.
firom a watery grave, that he could
not be persuaded to leave them, (al-
though he was a bachelor,) but
brought them* to us, that they might
be where he could sometimes see
them.
" * The little girl recovered but slow-
ly. After some time she began to have
lucid intervals, fit>m which she would
sink into mental apathy. Her sleep
was for a long time broken by dreams
of agonizing struggles, from which
she would awake screaming, and so
terrified that it required our most
anxious and tender efforts to soothe
and quiet her. She has, however,
recovered almost entirely from these,
and her mind is quite clear, though
physically she is still a very delicate
chUd, and we fear her constitution
has encountered a shock from which
it will never recover. During the
first of her lucid intervals, she told us
her name, and what she could of her
parents.*
" While the good sister was reciting
this little history, I stood like one
in a maze, half unconscious of the
bewildering conviction which was
stealing over me that these were two
of the children whose loss my poor
firiends, the Macphersons, were be-
moaning; and when at length she
closed the narrative, by saying that
the child had revealed her name, I
seized her arm with such a sudden
and convulsive grasp as called atten-
tion for the first time to the fact that
I had become pale as death, and
whispered huskily,
***\Vhat did she say was her
name?'
" • Maggie louder Macpherson,*
replied the sister» as I tottered to the
nearest seat, almost fainting under
the intense excitement. She hasten-
ed to bring me some cold water and
other restoratives ; after taking which
I explainevl to her, and to my aston-
isheii o.>m|viniv^ns, the cause of my
agitation in few words, and diat the
parents still lived When I sank
into the chair, little Maggie had
risen, and, approaching timidly, stood
watching me with great anxiety. As
soon as the momentary faintness
passed, I drew her closely to my
heart, and — still trembling with agita^
tion — whispered fondly and gently,
" * My dear little lassie, I knew and
loved your mother!' Looking up
most wistfully in my face, she asked,
" * Where ?'
" * Here in Montreal,* I replied.
"*.That canna be!' she murmured
with plaintive sofbiess, and as if half-
musing, while the very expression of
her mother's own serene resignation,
mingled with a shade of disappoint-
ment, passed over her lovely features.
" * That canna be, gentie leddy, for
my mither (and she shuddered as
she uttered it) was buried in the cauld
waves!'
"*No! my child,' I said softly;
'your father and mother both es-
caped, and are living, though a great
ways from here.*
"It would be useless for me to at-
tempt a description of what followed,
as the truth of my assurance took
possession of her mind; but the ex-
citement of the sudden and joyful
surprise — ^which we feared might in-
jure her — seemed to restore the elas-
ticity of her youthful spirit; a result
that all other appliances had failed
to secure. It was then discovered
that the depressing consciousness of
their orphan and destitute condition
had so weighed u|X)n her sensitive
young heart, as to affect her delicate
frame and prevent her restoration to
health.
" I immediately sought my firiends,
and told them of the discover)';
after which we went together to sec
Mr. Ferguson. It was agreed be-
tween them, at once, that I should
accompany the children to Upper
Lost and Found,
93
Canada and deliver tbem to their
parents, as a privilege to which I
was especially entitled on account of
the interest I had taken in the fami-
ly. They furnished all necessary
means for defraying the expenses of
tte journey.
" I set out with my little treasures
Ae next morning, imder charge of
an old gentleman who was going
to that vicinity on business. Our
course lay up the St Lawrence, and
through a considerable portion of
Lake Ontario. When we landed
and lefl its shores^ our journey con-
tinued through a rugged wilderness
country of great extent, to regions,
then wilder still, in the interior of
Upper Canada, where settlements of
Scotch had been located. We stop-
ped at a rude log cabin that aspked
to the dignity of an inn, at the settle-
ment where the route of our stage-
wagon terminated, and which was
©nly a few miles distant from the
place we were in search of
"While the gentleman who had the
care of us was out looking for a car-
riage to take us on, I thought I
heard a familiar voice outside, and,
stepping to the window, looked from
it just in time to see Donald Mac-
l^ierson himself, in the very act of
driving away from the door, at which
he had stopped a moment to speak
to a man there. I tapped loudly on
the window, he turned his head, and,
throwing the reins to the hosder, in
another moment rushed into the
room, just as I had succeeded in hid-
ing the children in an adjoining bed-
room, and closing the door.
"*Is it possible, then,' said he,
•that it is indeed yoursel* I saw!
What in the name of gudeness could
hae brought you (the last one I
ifaould have thought of seeing) to
this awfu' wild region! But I am
Aat glad, any how, to see your dear
&ce that I could cry, as Maggie will.
I'm siwe ; but they will be right joy-
ful tears she'll shed, for you will go
with me this very hour to our home
in the woods. But what could have
brought you to face the fatigue of
this rough journey ?*
" * I came,' I replied as calmly as
I could, *on business that nearly
concerns you and Maggie, and I am
so glad to meet you here! I am
sure Providence must have sent you ;
for I have been trying all the way to
think how I could manage the busi-
ness on which I came, without being
able to setde upon any plan.
Breathe a prayer to Heaven, Donald
Macpherson, as fervently for strength
to bear your joy, as I have heard
you utter imder the pressure of crush-
ing griefs, while I tell you,* I said
slowly, and fixing my eyes upon his
face, * that Almighty God has sent
two of your lost children back to you
by my hands — ^your little Maggie
and yoiu- baby boy !'
" Never can I forget the expression
that stole over his features — ^now
white as the sculptured marble —
when I succeeded in finishing what
I had to say! He lifted his hands
and eyes reverendy to heaven, and
murmiu-ed a prayer in his native
dialect. Then lookmg at me as if
awe-struck, he exclaimed,
" * Can it be that heaven has again
employed you, the former messenger ,
of its mercies to us, to bring this
crowning one to our stricken hearts
and desolated hearth ? It is not possi-
ble ! It must be some wild dream 1*
and he passed his hand over his
head as if bewildered. As he said it,
I drew him gently to the door of the
bedroom, opened it, and rushed out
of the room. I could not stay to
witness that meeting, and I knew
that the father would wish to be
alone with his recovered treasures.
" After some time I went back to
the happy group, but it was long
94
L0$t and Found.
before we could speak. Such joy
seemed too sacred for the interrup-
tion of words.
" When we had sufficiently recover-
ed from the blissful agitation of the
scene, we set about concerting mea-
sures for breaking the joyful news to
Maggie.
" He decided that he would go
home and bring her with him in a
double wagon — the one he had be-
ing single — to accompany me to
their home; pleading my fatigue af-
ter my journey as the reason why I
did not go with him at once. On
the way he was to prepare her for
the glad meeting, as well as he could.
" I will not dwell upon the raptures
of the young mother when she re-
ceived her children who had *been
dead, but were alive again — ^had
been lost^ but were founds — only to
remark that she who had borne grief
so calmly and patiently met the ele-
vation also of this sudden transport
in the same edifying spirit, and with
many soft and tender ejaculations of
the gratitude with which her heart
was overflowing.
" The possibility of their children's
escape had never for one moment
occurred to the minds of the parents,
and in the confusion and darkness of
the shipwreck scene on the coast
their recovery was unnoticed. Their
condition, and that of Mr. Fergu-
son, their being consequently hur-
ried away so suddenly from the vici-
nity, and remaining so long uncon-
scious, together with the absence of
the physician, had prevented any
communications of a kind which
might have led to the disclosure of
their escape.
* The glad tidings soon spread
through all the settlements, and the
house was thronged early and late,
with people of high and low degree.
Rich and poor, Canadians, emigrants,
and * Americans,* came from all parts
of the country to offer their congri-
tulations — where their sympathies
had before been freely bestowed-^
over the Lost and Found,
" I formed many agreeable acquain-
tances during the few weeks to which
I was persuaded to prolong my visit
in that part of the country.
" The vicissitudes of a changeful life
— the lapse of forty years, during
which I have stood by many graves
of my nearest and dearest — have not
been able to obliterate my fond re-
collections of the Macphersons, and
have served only to engrave more
and more deeply in my heart the
lessons I learned from them, and my
conviction that those upon whort
God designs to bestow his richest
spiritual gifls must go up, as did
Moses of old, to *meet him in the
cloud !* "
We sat for some time in silence
after she closed, and I then asked,
** Did you ever see or hear from
them after your departure ?"
" Cars ready ! Hurry up, ladies
and gendemen ! Hurry up !"
And groups of loungers, starting
from every direction, hastened gladly
to take their places and resume their
broken journey.
When we were again seated in the
car, I repeated my question, "Did
you ever see or hear from them
again ?"
" I never saw them again," she re-
plied, " but we kept up a correspon-
dence for a long time. The exam-
ple of their lovely and pious lives ex-
erted a wide-spread influence in Ca-
nada. Some years after the events I
have related, a large estate in Scot-
land was left to them, from a distant
relative, and they returned to that
country. Their departure was deep-
ly deplored by all their neighbors in
the land of their adoption, and I
have heard that since their increased
means they have been active in ad-
The Church in Paris and France,
95
Tancing every good work, both in
their Canadian home and in that to
which they have returned."
I parted with sincere regret from
my new friend at Toronto, which
was the limit of my excursion.
Her wayside story had so impress-
ed my memory that I indulged my
pen in transcribing it. If it yields
half the interest to others, at second
hand, with which I received it from
the actual participant, my labor will
be amply rewarded.
THE CHURCH IN PARIS AND FRANCE.
Though France is a Catholic coun-
try, the humiliating fact that a con-
siderable ]>ortion of its male popula-
tion manifests a certain religious apa-
diy, cannot well be disguised. This
estrangement from the church is due
to various causes, but mainly to the
training received by the youth educat-
ed at those public institutions which
monopolize the government patro-
nage. The University of Paris large-
ly influences all the pubHc schools,
and its authority extended at one
time even over the establishments for
bringing up infants. The female
schools have, for various reasons, form-
ed, to a limited extent, an exception,
d»efly for the want of lay instruc-
trtss^, which rendered it absolutely
Decenary to grant to the numerous
<»ders of nuns more extensive privi-
leges. The university, originally half
Chrisdan and half deistic, has lately
sank into the lowest materialism.
Even among the teachers of the ele-
mentary schools there are many who
have discarded, more or less openly,
the Christian faith, and thereby set
the pupils a most pernicious example.
The secret and avowed foes of reli-
gion pre|x>nderate in the educational
domain, and it is only with the ut-
most difficulty that Christians, or
circn deists, can be found for the
difoent scientific faculties. In other
respects, a marked improvement has,
however, taken place since 1850,
when the church was first allowed to
exercise a more direct influence over
the public schools, and some of the
most obnoxious opponents of Chris-
tianity were removed from their educa-
tional trusts. Still more beneficial has
been the concession of greater school
facilities. The public institutions su-
perintended by religious have dou-
bled in numbers and extent, being at
present attended by over 1,200,000
girls and 250,000 boys. In 1854,
there were in France 825 private in-
stitutions, with 42,462 pupils, presided
over by laymen; and 256 institutions,
with 21,195 pupils, under the charge
of religious. In 1865, the number
of lay institutions amounted to only
^57> with 43,007 pupils, while the
religious had increased to 278, with
34,897 pupils. While the former
gained, therefore, within eleven years
only 545 pupils, the latter gained 13,-
702. Nor is this all. The schools
conducted by laymen have advanced
equally in a religious and a scientific
point of view, and are now no long-
er so inferior as formerly to those
conducted by religious. The decid-
ed progress which the church has
made in France during the last ten
or twelve years is principally owing
to the growth of reUgious instruction
96 The Church in Paris and France.
Unfortunately, the univereity still re-
mains unchanged, and many a pious
youth is lost when he enters one of
the faculties. It is otherwise with re-
ference to the lyceums and colleges,
where the religious have secured
a greater influence over the pupils,
though rationalists and sceptics still
continue to fill some of the chairs.
Three years ago, 29,852 pupils at-
tended the lyceums, and 32,495 the
coDeges — a total of 62,347, which
shows a gain of 19,228 pupils since
1854. This increase is accounted for
by the support which these institutions
receive fi-om the state. In 1854, the
number of lyceums was 53; in 1865,
it was 86.
In about the same period of time,
the Brothers of the Christian Schools
(Frhres de la Doctrine Chretihnne) had
jfounded 864 educational establish-
ments in France, 16 in the States of
the Church, 13 in Italy, 42 in Belgium,
2 in Switzerland, 2 in Austria, 3 in Prus-
sia, 2 in England, 2 in Egypt, 4 in
Turkey, 19 in Canada, 29 in the United
States, 8 in India, and 2 in Ecuador
— ^making a total of 1043 establish-
ments with 8822 brothers. This num-
ber has multiplied since. In France
alone, there are now over 900 estab-
lishments and 6000 brothers. In
more recent days, many similar orders
have been organized, like that founded
by Lammenais, the brother of the apos-
tate priest, which is exclusively intended
for the agricultural education of boys,
and counts already thirty-odd schools
in Brittany. France has 18,000 male
ecclesiastics, and of these the greater
half are engaged in training the ris-
ing generation. Of the 90,000 female
members belonging to the various
religious orders, one third are employ-
ed in the same way. Out of the
whole number of religious, no less
than 72,000 are computed to devote
themselves to education, to the care
of the orphans, the sick, and the aged.
The pupils, the orphans, the invalids,
the incurables, the helpless, the poor
under the charge of the different re-
ligious societies and orders number
over two millions. These are startling
figiures for a land where the church
had been blotted out of existence
eighty years ago, and where religion
has ever since had to contend against
special legislation, unfi^endly govern-
ment, and a whole host of powerfiil
foes, never very scrupulous in the
choice of their weapons.
Another cause of the religious apa-
thy is to be found in the desecra-
tion of Sunday, which has become
very general in France, especially in
the larger cities. The revolution
suppressed Sunday by brute force,
and the law has ever since afforded
the greatest possible latitude to aU
who were inclined to disregard its
obligations. Sunday labor came thus
to be gradually sanctioned by custom
and countenanced by law. Under
Louis Philippe, the bourgeoisie manag-
ed to turn this laxity to account, and
even to this day the work on the
public improvements proceeds with-
out reference to the festivals of Holy
Church or Sundays. At first the la-
borer, tempted by the offer of higher
wages, consented to work on Sun-
days for the sake of gain. Now stem
necessity compels the majority of la-
borers to do this, and yet they barely
manage to support life. Once m^
desecrated the Sunday out of avarice;
now they desecrate it to satisfy theff
hunger. Such is the condition to
which irreligion has reduced the
French working-man. The capitalist
who introduced this desecration can,
however, afford better than ever to
rest each day of the week.
The amount of evil which the dese-
cration of Sunday has sown cafl
hardly be conceived. Hundreds
and thousands of those honest lab<^
ers who flock to Paris and to the
Th4 Church in Paris and France,
99
gveal mannfacturing centres from the
provinces have been morally and
phTsically destroyed by it Not only
has the discharge of all religious ob-
ligations become impracticable, but
there being no longer a day on which
the family finds itself united, every
thing Uke the love of home has been
destroyed. The tenderest and most
holy ties have been broken, the unity
of family interests has ceased, and
each member of the household has
been left to pursue his own course.
Bot as the human body requires some
rest, the mind some relaxation, so
men by way of compensation drink
and dissipate, which speedily destroys
their love for the fireside. On Sun-
day afternoons and evenings, the
working-men exchange the shop only
for the tavern, and they soon learn to
find their relaxation and amusement
there even on week-days. The con-
sequence is, that the working-men have
become demoralized; they think of
nothing but work, or rather of the
means by which they may procure
that which will enable them to minister
to their depraved appetites.
In this manner the wants of these
men multiply in an inordinate degree,
thdr minds and tastes are debased,
and all their earnings soon cease to
suffice for even the most indispen-
sable articles of food and raiment.
Those who break the Lord's day,
though they seem to earn better wa-
ges, look wretched, and have rarely
a decent coat to their backs. If the
weather, or some other unforeseen
cause, prevents them fi-om working,
they resort to the tavern and s|>end
there their Sunday gains. It is noto-
rious that exactly in those work-shops
where the Sunday is habitually ig-
nofed, the hands are the most dissi-
pated and shiftless. Even from a
pmely material stand-point the non-
observance of Sunday is therefore a
faaful social evil which has unhapfH-
voi- X. — 7
ly made serious progress, even in the
rural districts, and especially in those
inmiediately surrounding Paris.
This pagan system of civil legisla^
tion interferes very materially with
the rehgious life. The French code
robs the father of nearly all authority
over his grown children ; for instance,
a son eighteen years of age may le-
gally mortgage half the property
which he is to inherit, even though
it may have been earned by the pa-
rent's pecsonal industry. Husband
and wife hold their property sepa-
rately, neither being liable for the
debts of the other. In this way the
members of the same family are in-
vested with such widely diverging
rights that they can have no inter-
ests in common. The effec*: of this
arrangement upon the domestic rela-
tions, upon the harmony, unity, and
morals of the family will be readily
conceived. It is therefore to be re-
garded at once as a wonder and a
proof of the power of the Catholic
Church that there should still exist
so many exemplary households in
France.
Wretchedness in all its forms natu-
rally goes hand in hand with these
false principles of legislation. Thanks
to the boasted progress of modem
days, there is more suffering and
misery in Paris than in any other
city on the continent of Europe.
Those who speak from personal ob-
servation of the social condition in
Berlin, Vienna, and Paris, acknow-
ledge that pauperism is most gigan-
tic in the latter capital In the year
1866, Paris contained 1,791,980 in-
habitants, of whom 105,119 were
paupers, or 40,644 families who re-
ceived aid from the municipal au-
thorities. This gives one pauper to
every seventeen inhabitants ; but the
number of destitute who stand in
need of help is at least as large
again. The Conferences of St Vin-
98
The Church in Paris and France.
cent de Paul, the many other chari-
table societies, and the pastors, sup-
port and succor quite as many more
lamilies, the greater portion of whom
are also dependent on the public.
And with all this, most societies are
compelled to turn away nearly as
many destitute as they can relieve.
It is therefore not too much to as-
sume that one tenth of the Parisians
are reduced to the verge of absolute
poverty. And how inadequate, at
the best, is the relief doled out by
the municipality to the poor! A
couple of pounds of bread each week,
a few cast-off garments, occasionally
some bedding, is about all which a
family can usually expect to receive
from this source. In 1866, the city
disbursed, by way of relief, four mil-
lions of francs among 40,644 families,
which gives forty-eight francs and
sixty-five centimes per year for each
femily, or eighteen francs and sixty-
five centimes per head. But it
should be borne in mind that bread
sells at one fourth of a franc per
pound, which shows how insignifi-
cant the relief is which the otherwise
so extravagant Paris municipality be-
stows on its destitute. And it should
be further remembered that a family
has to pay an average annual rental
of one hundred and forty-one francs
and twenty-five centimes — which
average was only one hundred and
thirteen francs and forty-five cen-
times prior to the year i860. These
statistics sufficiently demonstrate the
grave importance which the solution
of the social proWem threatens to as-
sume in France.
But there is at least an equally
large number of families who, though
they may not be regular applicants
for municipal and other charity, are
yet unable to get on without under-
going greater or less privations and
self-denials. It can hardly be believ-
«ed how much this widespread dk-
tress tends to the demoralization of
the poor. Without education, with-
out intellectual incentive, without re-
ligious consolation, and even without
a day of rest ; constantly fighting for
bare existence; weighed down by
bodily suffering, the better feelings of
these unfortunates have become so
blunted that they think only of gra-
tifying their unceasing, never quite
satisfied material wants. The disuse
of the Sunday solemnities has wean-
ed them even from bestowing a pro-
per care on their persons. They
rarely possess any other dress than
the one worn in the work-shop. Still
worse, if possible, is the state of
the quarters, or holes, in which they
are domiciled. Besides a wretched
couch, an old table, some broken
chairs and crockery, one meets there
nothing but filth and offensive odors.
Parents and children sleep in one
close room ; the children run wild in
the streets, and thus deteriorate mo-
rally and mentally before they perish
physically.
Such an element of the population
can only be redeemed morally and
religiously by relief of their material
misery. No amelioration of their
condition is otherwise possible.
Wherever the church desires to in-
terfere, she must be prepared with
material aid — ^must send the Sister
of Mercy as well as the priest.
A sort of brutishness has been engraft-
ed on this pauperism, and until it is
eliminated no improvement can be
seriously attempted. When modem
science, therefore, represents man as a
purely animal organism, the conclu-
sion is perhaps not so very illogical af-
ter all. By systematically degrading
the disinherited working classes into
a race of human beings inferior in
many essential features to the savage,
modem political economy has to a
certain extent furnished this theory
with an illustration. The savage
The Church in Paris and France.
99
stdl experiences the necessity of pray-
er, a want which the modem proleta-
lian has long ceased to feel ; the reli-
gious necessity is either dulled or de-
stroyed in him, because the religious
sentiment has been torn from his
heart Ykx this reason also the re-
conciliation of the proletarian with
Christianity is frequently surrounded
by far greater difficulties than the
conversion of the downright heathen.
The Christian, corrupted by our so-
called progress, stands perhaps low-
est in the scale of humanity.
On the other hand, the craving for
sensual indulgences seems to have
become so general among the higher
class of working-men that there are
few who lead a well-regulated, frugal,
quiet life. It is, no doubt, difficult to
rtast the manifold temptations which
Paris presents, and which are intensi-
fied by the frequent financial and in-
dustrial revulsions. All the more remu-
nerative trades are subject to periods
of stagnation, during which numbers
of operatives are thrown out of em-
ployment, or work only half-time. The
self-denial which they have then to
practise leads them afterward to make
up for it by dissipation, and they
thus contract habits which end in
roin. Here we see again, and most
distinctly in Paris, what immense in-
fluence a nation's political economy
exerts on its religious and moral cha-
racter. Nowhere are the fruits of the
mischief committed by the politico-
economical theories now ascendant
in France to be observed more plain-
ly than in the metropolis, a city
in which at least one half of the
population, if not permanently in
vant, are certainly always in danger
of it
Under these circumstances, it is
idl the more cheering that so large
a number of working-men's families
should have preserved their Christian
£uth and still attend to their religi-
ous duties. A more than ordinary
amount of virtue and self-denial is
required for it, and those who prac-
tise them amidst the vicissitudes of
life are truly noble souls. Yet there
exist many such even among the poor*
est and lowliest. Another guarantee
of a brighter future is that nearly all
working-men app>ear fully convinced
of the necessity of an education, and
that they therefore rarely object to
having their children instructed.
Even the most irreligious among
them manifest an implicit confidence
in the clergy, and prefer to have
their children attend Uie schools con-
trolled by the religious. Though
pretending to care nothing for the
church themselves, they deem reli-
gion an excellent thing for their fami-
lies. With the steady improvement
in the system of popular education,
and with the diffusion of schools su-
perintended by the church, a corre-
sponding advance in the religious
and moral condition of the masses
may be expected, and is indeed al-
ready apparent. There are in Paris
53 schools for boys attended by 17,-
360 pupils, which are managed by
the different religious orders, and 63
schools for boys attended by 16,750
pupils, conducted by laymen. Of
the schools for girls 68, with 1 9*7 so
pupils, are controlled by the sisters,
and 57, with 12,630, by lay instruc-
tresses. The elementary Protestant
establishments are induded in the
above figures. A similar ratio exists
between the intermediate and the
higher schools.
To form an adequate idea of the
sup>erior advantages which the dif-
ferent religious orders possess as edu-
cators, it should be known that, while
the city of Paris pays its elementary
lay teachers yearly from 2000 fr. to
3000 fr. salary, besides giving them
lodgings and a retiring pension, the
brothers have only 950 fr., lodgings,
zoo
The Church in Paris and France.
but no pension. The female lay
teachers, mostly single, receive from
x8oo fr. to 2400 fr. per annum, while
the sisters have only 800 fr. In this
comparison we made no mention of
the difference in the expense of the
lodgings, which is much larger in the
case of laymen, most of whom have
families. The city of Paris could
therefore well afford, without incurring
the reproach of any especial extrava-
gance, to present the church with a
large piece of ground and a sum of
money for a building where the
superannuated brothers could pass
the rest of their days. The evening
classes for adults, which have been
opened under the auspices of the
church, are quite a success.
The chair rent exacted in the
French churches is no doubt a dis-
advantage to religion; for it always
thins the audience more or less.
Though the sum collected is a trifle,
and especially when we consider the
recklessness with which the Parisians
spend their money, many good and
thoughtful men object to the practice
on principle. Indeed, the tide of
popular opinion seems set against
the tax, and it certainly suggests to
the sceptic an unpleasant parallel
between the theatre and the sanctu-
ary. Those who cannot afford the
expense of hiring a chair during the
service must stand up, or kneel, or oc-
cupy one of the benches fastened to
the walls. The poor man goes, how-
ever, to churcn to forget the outside
world And yet it is there, in the
very place where all should be equal,
where rich and poor, high and low,
should be esteemed alike, that his
poverty b thrust into his face, that he
is again reminded of the difference
betifv'een him and his more fortunate
fellows. There are many so extreme-
ly poor in Paris that even a few sous
are an object to them. This explains
why tbe few mission churches, in
which no charge is made for chairs,
attract such large crowds, principally
composed of working-men, who are
otherwise rarely, if ever, seen at wor-
ship. On this account, several of the
parish churdies in Paris have lately
been so arranged that no rent is ex-
acted. To do away with the system
entirely is, however, not feasible at
once. Some provision will first have
to be made to replace the considera-
ble revenue which accrues from this
source not only to the parishes, but
also to the dioceses. If the obstacles
in the way to the acquisition of pro-
perty by the church, the acceptance
of legacies, and the accumulation of
means from similar sources, were less
formidable, this reform might perhaps
be introduced in a comparatively
brief period. But owing to legislative
restrictions, bequests and other love-
gifts can only be accepted by the
church after long-protracted and ex-
pensive proceedings ingeniously in-
vented for the benefit of the bureau-
cratic hierarchy. Had Napoleon
III., instead of spending many hun-
dreds of millions on the metamor-
phosis of his capital, devoted only
one hundred millions to the erection
of a dozen large parish churches and
the endowment of the rest, he might
have obtained a more substantial
guarantee for the preservation of his
throne and dynasty than the strategic
streets which now traverse Paris. At
any rate, this much is certain : with
the abolition of chair-rent in the
churches the attendance at divine
service, and consequently the reli-
gious sentiment, might be greatly
stimulated. It is also to be hoped
that juster views in relation to the
restoration of the sanctity of Sunday
may obtain the ascendency in due
time. As regards the latter subject,
the example set by the government
in suspending hereafter all public
works on holidays and Sundays
The Church in ^bHs and France,
lOI
would of itself have a very happy in-
fluence on the national morality.
Inasmuch as the church chairs are
rented to families and paid for yearly
or half-yearly, thb evil is less glaring
io the provinces. The wealthier par-
ishioners there usually try to secure
places in front, often at high rents,
whidi renders it possible to let the
remainder more cheaply, sometimes
at mere nominal prices, to the poorer
What we have stated above ap-
plies, in many respects, equally to the
larger provincial cities, among which
Lyons, Marseilles, Nantes, and Tou-
louse deserve special mention for
their religious zeal. Nor are Rouen,
Strasbourg, Bordeaux, Lille, and Metz
indifferent to the success of the
church. The other large and small
cities may be judged according to
the state of their respective provinces.
One thing may, however, be safely
depended upon, namely, that every
dty contains a circle of laymen which
sets a praiseworthy example in re-
ligious conduct and social Christian
dq)artment The women cling,
nearly everywhere, with deeper devo-
tion to die church than the men, and
in the provinces even more than in
Paris. The most devout of spirit are
the German provinces, Alsace, Loth-
xiDgen, and Flanders, as well as
Brittany, Auvergne, Limouisin, Dau-
phin^, and the provinces south and
west, where most if not all the adults
falfil the precept of Easter com-
iDunion. Least devout are perhaps
the provinces in the vicinity of Paris,
Normandy, Champagne, Picardie,
(Means, down into the very heart of
France, as far as Tours and Bourges.
Widiin a radius of about sixty miles
from Paris, the condition of the
v^iages is truly deplorable, and in
the towns, the religious sentiment is
only very slowly awakened There
aie locaUties where Suiklay is even
'rwji .habitually disregarded than
at ^^^capital; and if the men go
occasionally to church, they rarely
partake of the Holy Sacrament
This state '6f''*jhii>gs is, however, an
exceptional one,-|L5Ml especially in the
villages near Paris which send their
vegetables, flowers, fhiit^j^-AQd other
produce to market. ThdjKtciilj^ con-
tact of the peasantry witfi; metro-
politan life has had a bad efffectr qjI*.
their morals. At diese points the' / .
church is chiefly attended by Parisi- '
ans who spend a portion of the year
at their villas.
But while we feel constrained to
admit that there is a great deal of
religious indifference among the male
population, it is pleasant to feel justi-
fied in saying that France is able to
boast of a large body of ecclesiastics
whose zeal and piety must command "
the genuine admiration of the Catho-
lic world. In the year 1865, there
were only 837 vacancies in the 31,388
parishes into which France is divided.
The budget for 1869 appropriates
salaries for the incumbents of 106
new parishes, and 50 new vicarages,
The ecclesiastics in France number
4S,ooo— a very high percentage in a
population of thirty-eight millions,
of whom about a million are non-
Catholics. At the same time, the pay
is very small. Not half the parish
priests have an income exceeding
1500 francs per annum, while several
thousands have no more than 1200,
(two hundred and forty dollars in gold.)
Only the incumbents of the com-
paratively few parishes of the first
and second classes — numbering litde
above 3000 all told — have an addi-
tion of from 1200 to 1500 francs
yearly fix>m the state. Tlie income
of the canons varies fix)m 1600 to
1800 francs, rarely reaching 2400,
and thb leaves them pardy depend-
ent on mass stipends and casuals.
Many bishops are obliged to make
I02
The Church in^Raris and France.
extra allowances out of theif 'okn
pockets to the canons of tJieV-cathe-
drals. The archbishops^ "Hnb are
also senators and casdin^ll with extra
• • •
pay attached to th^feSMgnities, enjoy
large revenu«$, ranging from 1 20,000
to i5o,ooQfra*ncs, all of which they
sorely A^(^» -*'Mons. Morlot, the
late CJ^rJiinM Archbishop of Paris,
im^^ai land almonier and peer of
, .'J'l^ce, had an annual income of
.*. ^"56,000 francs. Of this sum he had,
however, set aside from the beginning
30,000 francs for distribution among
the Paris poor. Although this esti-
mable prince of the church enjoyed
his income for several years, he left
not enough at his death to bury him,
and the expenses of his funeral had
to be paid by the emperor. The
demands on the purses of these high
ecclesiastics are so heavy that they
are constrained to practise the most
rigid economy, unless they possess
mdependent fortunes. The house-
hold of a French bishop or arch-
bishop usually consists of a private
secretary, a coachman, a man-servant,
and a cook, who is generally the wife
of the coachman or servant. His
house, furniture, carriage, are all of the
plainest description. A bishop does
not entertain what is called company.
On special occasions he may invite
some clergymen to his table, but
nothing more. If business calls him
to Paris, or some other place outside
of his diocese, he takes his secretary
with him, and puts up at one of those
quiet hotels patronized by religious.
When away from home, he always ap-
pears in public either on foot or in some
hired conveyance. Now and then
he accepts an invitation from some
Christian family, and calls on Catho-
lic laymen who have attested their
real by word or deed. The most
distinguished prelates often love to
surprise the offices of the Parisian
}oiimalSy such as the Monde and the
Vnivers^ by a visit, when they re-
quest the different writers to be
presented to them, throw out valuable
suggestions, and converse with the
greatest freedom and bonhomie.
This cordial intercourse between
bishops, priests, and laymen has con-
tributed no little toward the glory of
the church and the efficiency of the
Catholic press. Except m the sanc-
tuary itself, the Catholic Church in
France is utterly devoid of pomp and
splendor, and by far the largest part
of her resources is set aside for the
maintenance of numerous education-
al, charitable, and other benevolent
establishments, at which it may be
interesting in this connection to cast
here a brief glance.
First in importance and influence
are the Conferences of St Vincent dc
Paul, founded at Paris in the begin-
ning of the third decade of the pre-
sent century. In the metropolis
alone are eighty odd conferences, one
for each parish, besides some national
and special ones connected with va-
rious other religious institutions and
associations. Among the national
conferences may be instanced a Pol-
ish, a Flemish, an Italian, an English,
and two German. The most promi-
nent of the special conferences are
the Cercledu Luxembourg, formed by
the Catholic students, and the Cerclc
de la Jeunesse, formed by the youth
of the higher schools. The total
number of members is probably over
4000. In addition to this, many
other religious associations have been
directly and indirectly promoted by
the Conferences of St Vincent dc
Paul : for instance, the patronages for
promoting the physical and spiritual
welfare of apprentices; tiie work-
shops for young girls belonging to the
working classes, who are not only
furnished with emj^oyment, but in-
structed in their religious duties ; the
society for the relief of the Faubourgs^
Th€ Church in Paris and France.
103
managed by women whose object is
the education of the children of
laboring people who reside in the
wretched hovels of the remoter su-
burbs. The Socidt^ Matemelle, es-
tablished in 1 788, which has in every
quarter of the city its female agent to
relieve working-women who cannot
afibrd to reioain at home to nurse
their infants. This society expends
over 60,000 francs a year, and re-
lieves nearly a thousand mothers. A
similar society is that of the Creches,
where mfants under three years of age
are taken care of while their mothers
earn their daily bread. One of the
greatest evils of our modem system
of economy is the compulsory labor
ctf females. There are in Paris
106,300 working-women who earn
on an average only i franc and
10 centhnes per day, (twenty-two
cents in gold,) and have to sup-
port a family on this pittance. Very
excellent institutions are the Salles
d'Asiles, play-schools for children aged
from two to six years, which already
number over 4000 in France, and are
attended by hundreds and thousands
of childroi. The Child's Friend
Society is designed to save those
children who are in danger of
being demoralized by the evil exam-
ple pf their parents. The Socidt^ de
St Francois Regis aims to counteract
the illicit relations but too fre-
quendy entered into between the
opposite sexes. It labors to supply
the poor who flock to the capital
from every part of the provinces
with the documents which the law
requires for the solemnization of a le-
gal mairiage. The advocates of the
civil marriage contract may learn
from this the beauties of the system
which they praise so highly. No-
thing can be more expensive, trouble-
iome, or attended with greater loss
of time, than the legalization of the
di&ient papers required to be pro-
duced before a marriage can be rati-
fied by the civil authorities. On the
other hand, the church exacts only a
few and simple formalities to unite a
pair in the bonds of holy wedlock.
This society was founded in 1826,
and in 1866 it brought about the
mairiages of no less than 43,256 cou-
ples, who had previously lived to-
gether without being married.
Paris contains fifty-eight nunneries,
the greater part of which make the
education of the young and the care
of the infirm and the aged their main
occupation. The nuns also tend the
sick in twenty-four out of the thirty-
six public hospitals in Paris. An or-
der of more modem origin, but one
that has aheady accomplished much
good, is that of the Sisters of St. Paul,
for the blind of their own sex. Most
of its members are blind themselves ;
but their proficiency in all domestic
employments is such that their pupils
are taught to excel in them. The
founder of this order, a Parisian wi-
dow, has done for this class of the
afflicted what the famous Abb6 de
rGr6e has done for the deaf and
dumb. The sisters are principally
taken from the ranks of the pupils
who cannot be otherwise provided
for. This institution is already self-
supporting. The Littie Sisters of the
Poor, founded in 1840, at St. Servan,
near St. Malo, in Brittany, have in
Paris alone five large establishments
with 1700 sisters, where they support
in comfort 1 1,006 aged poor. Its mem-
bers solicit broken victuals in the
kitchens of the rich, and unsold ve-
getables from the market-hucksters,
which they take home in small carts
drawn by donkeys. They also take-
up collections on stated days at the
doors of the churches. Not content
with constituting themselves the
guardians of the helpless, they also,
relieve them of the trouble and hu-
miliation of soliciting alms. Is not
104
The Church in Paris and France,
this conduct worthy of the best days of
Christianity ? Though not yet quite
thirty years old, the Little Sisters of
the Poor are already widely known
and honored. Recruited at first
firom the lowest classes of society,
many women of the higher have lat-
terly joined the order, though the
majority of the sisters are still work-
ing-women and servant-girls. We
would here incidentally remark that
the French servant-girls rank far
above those of the other continental
countries in a moral and religious
point of view. This is mainly due to
the strictness with which good beha-
vior and chastity are enforced in all
French households, where no promis-
cuous intercourse between the sexes
is countenanced. However indiffer-
ent master and mistress may them-
selves be to religion, they neverthe-
less invariably insist that their ser-
vants should be regular communi-
cants and church-goers. The status
of the female domestics is therefore
higher than that of the average work-
ing-woman, whose independence of
control but too often proves her ruin.
This also explains why servant-girls
should be so much more eagerly
sought in marriage than working-
girls. In France, the domestic, and
especially the female one, is treated
almost as a member of the family.
The difference between master and
servant is not so marked, and the re-
sult is that the latter has more self-
respect and pride. Indeed, the man-
ner in which servants are treated by
their employers in France is a highly
creditable feature in the national cha-
racter.
But to return to the religious and
other societies. A very useful associ-
ation is a woman's society founded
by a dozen ladies, " Invalid Working-
Woman's Aid Society," which numbers
in 27 parishes 600 members, and cordi-
ally co-operates with the sisters of St
Vincent de Paul in visiting and tend-
ing the sick in their own habitations.
In 1865, its members had paid 158,-
368 sick calls to 52,748 suff(niCTS.
Another female society attends the
sick poor in the public hospitals, and
seeks to assist feeble convalescent
girls and boys in procuring employ-
ment. "The Church Aid Society"
furnishes churches destitute of means
with vestments worked by the hands
of its members. Still another society
of women keeps on hand stocks of
clothing for the needy, its members
sewing for this purpose several hours
each day. One society has set itself
the laudable task of returning to their
relatives and friends the destitute
and forsaken orphans who have
come with their famOies to the city
from the provinces. Several orphan
schools have been opened for the
same purpose by laymen and the
rural clergy in different parts of
France. Many of the orders labor
to a similar end, especially that of
the Trappists, who own now twenty-
two extensive agricultural settlements,
mostly in France, some of them with
a hundred brothers. Some of the
most barren and unhealthy districts
were taken in hand by the Trappists,
and the results which they there
achieved are really marvellous. At
the abbey of Staoueli, in Algeria,
they fed during the last famine 600
Arabs a day for several months, with-
out materially lessening the provisions
sent for sale to the markets. Though
the brothers work from ten to twelve
hours daily, besides devoting scvcrd
hours at night to their religious da-
ties, they eat nothing but bread,(i| lbs.
per diem,) vegetables seasoned widi
salt, and drink only water. The
Bemhardines also follow agrioriture;
but their rules are less severe, for
they are permitted to use milk, fi^,
and a little wine. Four flourishing
settlements have been established by
The Church in Paris and France.
105
this order in the most sterile districts
of Southern France. The Brothers
of the Holy Ghost (Frferes du Saint
Esprit) make foreign missionary en-
terprises and the ameliorarion of the
condition of the convicts their spe-
cialty. The Brothers of St. Joseph
educate th^ deaf and dumb, and the
Brothers of St. Gabriel vagrant boys.
The CEuvre des Campagnes is a so-
ciety which strives to provide for the
spiritual and material wants of the
poorer rural parishes. Its main ob-
ject is to awaken the dormant reli-
gious feelings by popular missions,
devotional works, etc. Several soci-
eties have been organized in Paris
and the provinces for the better ob-
servance of Sunday. The societies
called " Reunion of the Holy Family "
consist of the poor who meet on
Sundays in chapels and halls for
mutual instruction and prayers. A
special society under the patronage
of St Michael has charged itself with
the distribution of pious publications,
tracts, etc. The colossal missionary
enterprise of France is well known.
No nation furnishes so many mission-
aries, gives such large contributions
as the French, a people among
whom a centiuy ago tiie Catholic re-
Egion was, during several years, for-
mally abolished. Of the 8000 mission-
aries distributed over the globe more
than one third are Frenchmen. The
Lyons-Paris Society for the Propaga-
tion of the Faith extends all over the
earth, and possessed in 1867 an in-
come of 5,149,918 fr., of which sum
3,582,659 fr. had been collected in
French dioceses. During the pre-
ceding year the Society of the Holy
Infimcy could afford to disburse
1,603,200 fr. for 59 missions supported
by it alone. It has baptized 383,206
dnldren, and educated 41,226 more.
A separate mission exists for the
Hdy Land and the Orient, (CEuvre
in EcoUs ttOrient) The society
mainly applies itself to suppl)ang the
missions established in these regions
by the Franciscans and Lazarists with
money and other aid. The return of
the Nestorians, Armenians, and other
eastern schismatics to the bosom of
the mother church is one of its prin-
cipal objects, and has already made
considerable progress.
It must seem almost incredible that
the greater number of these benevo-
lent and religious societies should en-
joy no fixed or only very inadequate
revenues. Yet such is actually the
fact. Except their buildings,- many
of which are heavily mortgaged, very
few of the societies have any proper-
ty or capital. Under these circum-
stances it naturally requires the most
untiring exertions and the closest
economy to sustain themselves.
Aside from the regular collections in
the churches, these organizations are
mainly dependent on the charity
sermons, by which funds are raised, as
well as on the lotteries and bazaars
gotten up for religious and charitable
purposes. We see therefore that
they have had a severe struggle
for existence. The church is the only
institution in France which can never
be centralized, and the future belongs
for this reason all the more surely to
her.
These results show the great and
many-sided actinty of the French Ca-
tholics. There is no known ailing or
misery, no human evil, caused by our
short-sighted legislation or social poli-
cy, which is not met and alleviated by
the church and her servants. These
eflforts may not be crowned with the
desired success in all instances; but
when we consider the opposition
which every religious project encoun-
ters in France, it must be confessed
that the church has accomplished
more in that country than in any
other. Nor should it be forgotten
that this is largely owing to a fact
io6
The Total Eclipse of August Seventh.
which neither the sophistries of modem
scepticism nor the equality of all de-
nominations under the constitution
of the empire can do away with,
namely, that the Catholic Church
still remains the national one. For
the same reason we venture to predict
that the occurrence of any extraordi-
nary events, of any great public ca-
lamity, would rather tend to promote
than retard the growth of the reli-
gious sentiment among the masses.
It is a remarkable circumstance that
in times of national distress and suf-
fering, the attachment to the church
is strengthened. Never were the
sanctuaries so crowded as during the
disturbances of 1 848 and 1 849. How
many of those who had until then
worked for the overthrow of church
and state were not converted when
they saw whither their principles led
them ? Will thb not agiLin be the
case at the next revolution? It
often requires such violent shocks to
check the baneful passions and to
open the eyes of the people.
THE TOTAL ECLIPSE OF AUGUST SEVENTH.
The recent solar discoveries, of
which mention has been made in
past numbers of this magazine, have
on the whole increased the interest
attached to the observation of eclip-
ses, though in some respects the im-
portance of these phenomena as op-
portunities of extending our know-
ledge of the constitution of the sun
has been diminished. It will be re-
membered that immediately after the
total eclipse of last year in India, it
was found that the great prominences
on the rim of the sun which are
never seen with any ordinary appli-
ances, except on these occasions,
could be observed at any time with
the s]>ectroscope, and that by means
of this admirable instrument their
shape as well as the spectral lines in-
dicating their chemical composition
could be determined ; and since that
time many observations of them
have been made, and interesting con-
clusions arrived at on both these
points, as stated in the article transla-
ted in the last number. The princi-
pal ones as yet established with cer-
tainty are, that they are gaseous, and
mainly composed of hydrogen, and
that they change their shape with as-
tonishing rapidity, some of their par-
ticles perhaps moving with the incon-
ceivable velocity of one hundred
miles a second. At any rate, im-
mensely energetic forces and rapid
movements must be required to
change essentially the shape and po-
sition of these masses — which often
have ten times the diameter, or a
thousand times the volume of the
earth — in a quarter of an hour.
So we are not now obliged to wait
a year or more and travel several
thousand miles to observe for a few
minutes these peculiar and still some-
what mysterious bodies; still, it does
not follow that they cannot be better
examined at the time of an eclipse,
or that new appearances may not be
noticed on such occasions, now
that we are accustomed to these,
from which the other more startling
phenomena for a long time diverted
attention. Success has excited hope
of yet greater successes; and ecllpsesi
\
\
\
\
The Total Eclipse of August Sevetith.
lo:
though affording but a short time for
actual observation, arc undoubtedly
the best occasions for the observer to
learn in what direction his labors
should be turned There are also
other things, such as the corona,
BaOy's beads, possible new planets
inside of the orbit of Mercury, etc.,
which can only be seen at these
times.
The eclipse of this year, therefore,
was by no means neglected by the
scientific men of the United States ;
in fact, it was felt that the reputation
of the country depended upon the
skill shown in preparing for and in
observing it, and a large number of
parties were formed, to be stationed
at various points of the path of the
moon's shadow or line of totality, so
that if clouds should prevent success
at one place, it might be obtained at
another.
The first point touched by the sha-
dow proper, and at which conse-
quently a total eclipse occurred, was
in longitude 165® west from Wash-
ington, latitude 53° north, being in
Siberia ; the last, in longitude 10° east,
latitude 31** north, being off the
coast of North Carolina. At the
former the sun rose totally ob-
scured at half-past four, at the lat-
ter it set in that condition, at a
quarter to seven; and at the inter-
mediate points the eclipse took
place at all the intermediate hours of
the day. It is rather singular that,
owing to the necessary skip of a day
in going round the world, it was
Sunday morning in Siberia, but Sa-
turday afternoon in the United States;
so diat the eclipse may be said, to
have been one of the longest on re-
cord. Its actual duration was, how-
ever quite short, half-past four A.M.
in Siberia, and a quarter to seven
P.M. at the ending point, being about
four and half-past six p.m. respec-
tively in New York ; giving an inter-
val of two and a half hours in which
the shadow passed over the long line
connecting these points, which it will
be perceived are nearly opposite in
longitude.
If it had travelled by tlie shortest
route, it would have passed within
three degrees of the north pole, and
the eclipse would have been invisible
in this country; but, fortunately, it
lengthened its course, reachipg its
highest latitude near Behring's Straits,
which it crossed, and then swept to
the south-east, crossing the territories
of Montana and Dakota, and
the States of Minnesota, Iowa, Illi-
nois, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee,
Virginia, and North Carolina. It
could hardly have taken a better
route for us.
The length of the line was over
seven thousand miles, and the conse-
quent average velocity in passing
over it about fifty miles a minute,
though in the United States it exceed-
ed that amount considerably. The
breadth of the belt traversed was
somewhat variable; in this country
it was about one hundred and^ fifty
miles. Of course, the sun was par-
tially hidden by the moon over a
very large portion of the globe; but
the region from which its light was at
any time completely excluded was
comparatively quite small.
Observers stationed themselves at
numerous points, even as far west as
Alaska and Siberia; but of course
most chose positions within the Unit-
ed States. The writer was connect-
ed with a party which was established
at Shelbyville, Kentucky.
The general diffusion of intelli-
gence, both subjective and objective,
as we may say, had of course excited
great interest in the eclipse among
the people, especially in that part of
the country actually within or bor-
dering upon the limits of totality;
and though, of course, the nature of
The Total Eclipse of August Seventh.
^ent was fully under-
j educated portion of
', and by many of the
all there were some,
4ie rural districts, who
vaguely apj^^hended some great
event, to be probably of a disastrous
nature, (a hailstorm was the most popu-
lar;) and perhaps were as much terri-
fied in anticipation as any entirely
ignorant people have ever been at
the actual occurrence of this most
impressive and sublime spectacle.
Of course, excursions were planned
by railroad companies and others to
points on the line of the shadow, the
usual directions for observing were ex-
tensively circulated, and the eclipse was
made the catch-word for many ad-
vertisements whose substance had no
connection with it We are afraid
that many persons may have lost the
most beautiful features of the scene
by a too persistent use of smoked
glass, which of course was not neces-
sary during or even near the time of
the total obscuration.
The weather for some days pre-
vious was not very promising — not on
account of too much rain, but owing
to the absence of it ; and every eve-
ning the sun set in a bank of haze,
which each day seemed to increase,
and no storm occurred to clear the
air of the burden accumulated by the
drought This was particularly un-
promising for the photographers, who
needed really clear air for good work ;
the times of beginning and ending, to
which, formerly, great importance was
attached, could probably have been
observed nearly or quite as well
through haze, or even thin cloud.
We have just implied that less con-
sequence is now attached to the time
observations than was formerly the
case; this is due to the great per-
fection which the lunar and solar theo-
ries have now attained, which is such
that the prediction of the positions of
the sun and moon, and even of the
beginning and ending of an eclipse,
can be made with greater accuracy,
perhaps, than almost any one ob-
server could note them. Still, by
combination of all the results, some
slight corrections to the tables now
used may perhaps be deduced, and on
the present occasion this portion of
the work was not disregarded, but
provided for with all the appliances
of modem science.
The recording of time is now
usually made by the electric method,
which may be here described briefly,
though many are probably familiar
with it The principle is the follow-
ing, subject to various modifications
in the particular form of apparatus:
A line is described by a pen made to
move uniformly over the paper by
means of clock-work. That this line
may be indefinitely prolonged without
retracing, it is usual to make it a
spiral round a horizontal cylinder,
which revolves, say, once a minute,
while the marking-pen (otherwise
stationary) moves slowly from one
end of the cylinder to the other,
perhaps requiring several hours for
the complete passage.
The pen making this line is held
in its place by the action of an electro-
magnet puUing against a spring; the
circuit through this magnet is broken
every second by the escapement of t
clock or chronometer; the magnet
then for an instant ceases to act, and
the spring pulls the pen aside, making
a break in the line at regular intervals
corresponding to every second of
time. The same interruption of the
circuit can also be made by an ob-
server provided with a key like those
used by telegraph operators, and the
time of his observation thus registered
on the chronograph, as the instrument
is called. For identification of the
clock-mark preceding his observation,
mechanical arrangements can easily
The Total Eclipse of August Seventh.
109
be devised, by which the first second
in each minute shall be omitted, the
circuit not being broken; so that it
will be known what second of every
minute each mark corresponds to;
and the fraction of the second elapsed
from this clock-mark to his own can
casfly be estimated by the eye, or
measured more carefully. The read-
ing of the record is, of course, facili-
tated by having the cylinder revolve
once a minute, so that all the clock-
marks answering to any particular
second (as the twenty-third, for ex-
ample, of each minute) will come in
the same horizontal row; and the
marics are not made on the cylinder
itsdfi but on a sheet of paper fastened
round it, which can be detached when
fined.
Instruments of this character were
used at Shelbyville, and also at the
border stations near the edge of the
path of the shadow, but inside of it,
one of which was at Falmouth, about
diirty miles south of Cincinnati, the
other at Oakland, near the Mammoth
Cave. The observations of time were
especially important at these places,
since, as^ will readily be seen, the
length of time required for a circular
or elliptical shadow to pass a point
near its edge will vary very rapidly
ibr a slight change in the size of the
shadow, or a slight shifting of its path
toward or from the point selected.
Even rough observations, merely of
the duration of the eclipse, made at
two such stations on opposite sides of
the central line, suffice to determine
with great accuracy the dimensions
and precise track of the shadow, and
thus give the elements of the moon's
motion.
We have just spoken of the sha-
dow as being elliptical; this was of
course the case, the sun being quite
k>w at the time, so that the round
cone of darkness, technically known
as the umbra, was cut very obliquely
at the earth's surface. To realize the
amount of this ellipticity or distortion,
one would only need to hold some
spherical body so as to cast a shadow
on the ground about an hour and a
half before sunset. The elongation
was also continually increasing as the
sun sunk toward the horizon, and its
direction changed as the sun at the
same time changed its direction or
bearing, the longer axis of the ellipse
always pointing toward the sun.
This axis was, in Kentucky, about
three hundred miles long ; the shorter
nmety; and this elliptical patch of
darkness was moving in a course
some thirty degrees south of east, or
about twenty-three degrees south of
its own longer diameter; its speed
was about seventy-five miles a min-
ute, or more than the average
on the whole track, as before stated,
and it required rather less than three
minutes to pass any given p>oint
on the central line ; this was conse-
quently the duration of the totality ;
and short enough it certainly was, for
the amount of work which was to be
done by the observers.
For the stations on or near the
central line, it was important to ob-
tain the absolute times of the con-
tacts, and for this purpose transits
were observed, to get the error and
rate of the chronometer, for some
time before and after the eclipse.
The border observations locate the
path on which the shadow travels,
and determine its breadth; but to
obtain the position of the shadow on
this path at any fixed time, the true
times of its arrival and departure at
fixed points must be observed. But
on the border no such preparations
were necessary, only the interval
being required ; and a simple pendu-
lum, without clock-work, was set up
for this purpose, which broke the
circuit at each second, and thus left
its record, serving to count the num-
no
The Total Eclipse of August Seventh.
ber of seconds and the fraction
between the beginning and end
of the totality, which were observed
and similarly recorded by means of a
break-circuit key. This pendulum was
so arranged as to break the circuit on
the main telegraph line, and thus to
be heard, and record its beats at a
number of stations in different towns ;
but the main circuit did not itself
mark upon the registers used by
the observers, but mechanically (by
means of what is called a relay mag-
net) broke short circuits set up at
their stations, which could also be
broken in another place by their own
keys, without, of course, interfering
with the main circuit itself; so that
every observer could receive the pen-
dulum beats upon his own record,
without receiving those made by
observers at other stations.
On Thursday afternoon, the 5th
of August, some showers occurred,
but not sufficient, according to ordi-
nary experience, to have much effect
in clearing the atmosphere ; and on
Friday morning the sky became over-
cast with mackerel clouds of a most
unpromising character. All the prepa-
rations were, however, hopefully con-
tinued, and the photographer, Mr.
Whipple, of Boston, took on that day
some very successful views of Shelby-
ville, of the college buildings, and of
the party of observers. The princi-
pal station had been established in the
grounds of the college, the instru-
ments being protected by a large
tent ; close by was the Coast Survey
station, where the chronographs just
described for recording time, as well
as a transit instrument for observing
it, had been placed.
Friday evening was cloudy at
Shelbyville, but without rain, and the
chance seemed to be gradually di-
minishing of any thing like a good
observation of the eclipse.
The plans for photographing the
successive phases were most perfect
The movement of the sun from east
to west of course made it necessary
that the plate should also move cor-
respondingly, but this was readily
accomplished by connecting it with
a telescope mounted on an axis par-
allel to the earth's equator, which
axis is itself fixed to another at right
angles to it, or parallel to that of
the earth; this second axis being
turned by clock-work once in twenty-
four hours in a direction opposite to
that of the earth's rotation, all the
parts of the instrument evidently fol-
low the movement of the heavens or
of any celestial object to which the
telescope jnay be directed. The axis
around which the telescope turns
can be rotated by hand or clamped
in position, and in connection with
the other, which can be disengaged
from the clock-work, enables the in-
strument to be pointed in any direc-
tion at pleasure. This style of
mounting is known as the equatorial,
and is almost always used for astro-
nomical telescopes. It is similar to
the ordinary jripod used for small
instruments, except in the addition
of clock-work, and in having the
principal axis inclined towaxd the
pole-star instead of being vertical.
But it was necessary not only to
take photographs, but to know the
time at which they were taken, that
they might accurately measure the
movement of the lunar disc over that
of the sun. This might have been
secured by simply noting them from
the face of the chronometer ; but the
object was more neatly and certainly
attained by having the slide itself, at
it dropped at the end of the expo-
sure, break the electric circuit, and
record its own time on the chrono-
graph.
The spectroscopic work was the
most difficult and important of alL
Professor Winlock, the director of
The Total Eclipse of August Seventh.
Ill
Harvard College Observatory and
chief of the party, had charge of this.
Though, as above stated, it has been
found that the prominences can be
lecn with the spectroscope at any
time, still the probability that they
could be better observed at the time
of the eclipse than at other times
made it a duty to try the experiment,
and the result has, as will soon be
seen, proved that such is the case.
Another observation was obtained
with a spectroscope at Bardstown.
A large number of persons had
come in, some from considerable dis-
tances, to observe the expected phe-
nomenon. Among them was Mr.
Frankenstein, of Springfield, Ohio, an
artist, who hoped to paint the ap-
pearance of the eclipse and its effect
on the landscape. This seemed an
admirable idea, and it is quite remark-
able that attempts of this kind have
not been previously made; as they
have not, at least to our knowledge.
The circumstances of the present one
made it eminently suitable for picto-
rial effect, owing to the small altitude
of the sun ; and the landscape, seen
from the point selected, (some high
hills east of the town,) is certainly
one of great beauty.
T1»e clouds broke away at about
midnight and the thermometer fell
considerably, reading about 59 at
sunrije. The observing party im-
proved the opportunity for final ad-
justments of instruments and prepa-
ratory observations, and hope revived
in the hearts of all.
The sun rose unobscured on the
rooming of the 7th, and the day was
cloudless till about ten o'clock, when
some small cumuli drifted for about
an hour across the sky, which then
rcMimed its unbroken blue. The
weather was also delightfully cool
^ a light breeze, which increased
in the afternoon, and at four was
blowing quite freshly. There were no
signs of the predicted hailstorm, and
strong feith would certainly have
been needed for one to retain a be-
lief of its arrival.
As the prospect of fine weather
improved, and in fact seemed almost
certain, the people, citizens and
strangers, assembled on the observa-
tory hill, and a rope was drawn round
the tent where the instruments were
mounted, to prevent a natural but
dangerous curiosity on the part of
those not immediately engaged in
the special observations.
Every one now felt that they would
be fiilly repaid for the time and labor
devoted to the journey.
At about half-past four the edge
of the sun was visibly indented;
some persons maintained that they
could see the moon some time pre-
vious to the contact; but this must
probably be ascribed to a lively im-
agination. Smoked glass now came
into demand, and all eyes were anx-
iously watching the rapidly decreas-
ing orb. I had secured, through the
kindness of an influential friend, an
excellent position on the court-house,
itself a high building and situated on
the highest point in the town, com-
manding a fine view in all directions,
particularly toward the north-west,
fi-om which quarter the shadow was
sweeping toward us at the rate of
more than a mile every second.
Some fiWQ or six gentlemen had
followed me to the roof of the build-
ing, after which the ladder leading to
the cupola was drawn up, to prevent
a general ascent by the crowd below.
At a quarter or twenty minutes past
five, the wind began to abate, and
the darkness was quite noticeable,
and of course from that time continu-
ally increased, the general effect be-
ing like that of moonlight some time
before the totality. The darkness
was much more striking than at any
time during the annular eclipse of
112
The Total Eclipse of August Seventh.
1854; this was probably owing to
the total absence of any cloud, which
would have reflected and multiplied
the light of the unobscured portion of
the sun, as on that occasion.
A minute or so before the totality,
the complete circle of the moon was
easily visible, with faint brushes of
light streaming from it in all direc-
tions, which were soon to assume
much larger dimensions, and, appa-
rently, though not really, a greater
brilliancy.
I cast now my eyes to the north-
western horizon, and saw a brick-red
tinge on the sky evidentiy caused by
the rapidly approaching umbra. The
long-expected moment had come;
the last direct beam from the sun
vanished, and a magnificent corona
of rays, faint, of course, compared
with the solar light, but bright in the
prevailing gloom, shot out round the
disc of the moon. These rays were
prolonged in four directions at right
angles to each other much more than
elsewhere ; having in these directions
a length about equal to the sun's di-
ameter, making the corona or aureola
obviously cruciform in its shape.
Venus and Mercury appeared con-
spicuously on opposite sides of the
moon, and Regulus could be seen,
though with some difficulty. Several
other first magnitude ' stars appeared
in other parts of the sky, Arcturus,
Vega, and Saturn being specially no-
ticed by the observers at my side;
and undoubtedly fainter ones could
have been easily discerned, could one
have been willing to divert his eyes from
the beautiful sight placed before them,
which seemed to surpass the expecta-
tions of every beholder To all our par-
ty, I think, it conveyed little or no idea
of horror or dread, but only of inex-
pressible beauty. The moon was at
about one sixth of the distance to the
zenith above the horizon, so that no
straining of necks was necessary to
look at it, as it hung over the daik-
ened landscape. Certainly, as it so
hung or floated, surrounded by the irre-
pressible splendor of the great source
of light which lay behind it, and at-
tended by its two bright planetary
companions, one on each side, it was
no unfit type of the glorious mystery
which the church had just commemo-
rated on the preceding day. The dark-
ness was not so great as that of moon-
light, but of course of a somewhat dif-
ferent character, the light not coming
from one definite direction. I think
it probable that no shadows were cast,
but was too much occupied in other
observations to be sure of this point.
The birds around the building flew
about wildly ; and it was said that the
fowls went to roost, and the cows
started for home, and that the cocks
crowed on the reappearance of the
sun.
The eclipse had not lasted many
seconds when I saw, without special-
ly looking for it, a bright light red or
orange drop on the lower edge of the
moon, which of course was one of
the famous protuberances. It was
easily seen with the naked eye,
though probably many who had not
heard of these appearances did not
notice it. Before the end of the ob-
scuration, another appeared on the
right where the sun was about to
emerge. A third was also visible to
the telescope above. Possibly they
may have had some connection with
the long rays of the corona.
Before we had fairly begun to sat-
isfy our curiosity, a well-marked
boundary between the general dark-
ness and a bright portion of sky to
the north-west gave warning of the
end of the eclipse, and immediately
afterward the sun flashed out on the
right.
The separation of the discs of the
sun and moon during the following
hour was probably carefully observed
The Toted EcUpS€ of August Seventh,
"S
by few except the astroQomeis and
photographers ; the moment of inte-
rest had passed, and few cared to do
more than exchange congratulations
on the success of the display. I for-
got to notice whether the corona and
prominences were visible ailer the to-
ulity ; the latter were still seen, ac-
cording to accounts received from
dsewhere, and I met with one gen-
tleman some days afterward who
bad seen the great protuberance on
Ae lower edge of the sun at Shelby-
rille, Indiana, a point some fifteen
miles from the outside line of totali-
ty; he had, of course, no previous
suspicion of its existence.
The eclipse was naturally the prin-
cipal topic of conversation during the
evening, and every one was anxious
to report his own observations and
learn those of others. I found that
eleven sp)ectral lines had been seen by
Professor Winlock in the great promi-
nence, some of them characteristic
of the metal magnesium. He saw
only three before and after totality;
thus confirming the idea previously
entertained, that solar eclipses, though
not the only occasions on which
these interesting objects may be seen,
are, with our present apparatus, far the
best The photographers had taken
some eighty pictures, several during
the totality, and the times of begin-
ning and ending had been accurately
observed both at Shelbyville and, as
ve afterward learned, also at the
stations on the border line, FalmoiJth
and Oakland ; which border observa-
tions give the position and breadth
of the path of the shadow within
some eight or ten rods ; the southern
edge can even be determined with
much greater accuracy, owing to a
6>rtunate selection of the station,
which proved to be extremely near it.
The precise amounts by which these
lesults differ from the previous compu-
tations have yet to be determined;
VOL.
but it is probable that the corrections
to the tables now used will be very
small.
An ingenious method of observing
the time of the external contacts, or
beginning and end of the whole
eclipse, was, as I heard, devised by a
gentleman at another station. These
phenomena, especially the first, are
very difficult to observe accurately,
owing to the invisibility of the moon
when off of the sun's disc, and the
waviness of the sun's limb, making it
doubtful that an indentation has been
made in it till it has become quite
deep, which is, of course, some time
after the actual meeting of the two
bodies. He observed it with the
spectroscope by noting the time of
disappearance of one of the lines only
visible on the extreme edge of the
sun's disc.
Every one not engrossed in some
special work had, of course, seen the
planets Venus and Mercury; and
many had seen others of the first
magnitude. The darkness was not
so great as was hoped for by those
who were searching for intra-Mercu-
rial planets ; no candle was necessary
for examining the charts which had
been prepared. One observer at
Shelbyville reported having seen a
star of the third magnitude with the
naked eye, and as he had no previ-
ous knowledge of the existence of
such a star in the place in which he was
looking, the fact seems indubitable.
Dr. B. A. Gould, of Cambridge, who
observed at Burlington, Iowa, has
since informed me that he saw a star
of the fifth magnitude, with a tele-
scope of five inches aperture, near
the sun ; the star is a well-known one,
and the observation shows that, had
any planets of that brilliancy (about
one fiftieth of that of Mercury) been
within three degrees of the sun, with-
in which Hmits he was restricted in
his search by the shortness of time^
114
Religion in Prisons.
he would not have failed to detect
them.
" Baily's beads " do not appear to
have been considered as extraordinary
by any of the observers. The limb of
the sun just before the totality was of
course more or less broken up by the
irregularities of that of the moon ; but
the fragments had no remarkable ap-
pearance; and this phenomenon, which
has been the subject of so much dis-
cussion, seems probably due to ir-
radiation and the difficulty of deter-
mining the precise shape of small and
brilliant objects.
An able astronomer, who was the
chief of the party at Oakland, and
who owing to his station being very
near the southern edge of the shadow,
saw them for fifteen or twenty seconds,
says that they presented most clearly
the phenomena which he should ex-
pect to be caused by the irregular con-
tour of the moon, when its indentations
were exaggerated by irradiation.
No discoveries of equal importance
with M. Janssen's last year have yet
been reported ; but as no eclipse has
ever been so thoroughly observed,
the results cannot fail, when tho-
roughly collected and compared, to
be of great scientific value.
RELIGION IN PRISONS.*
For the last quarter of a century,
a society has existed in this city en-
titled the " Prison Association of
New York." It counts among its
members a large number of the weal-
thy and influential men of the State.
Its object is to improve our prison
systems and to effect as far as p)ossi-
"ble the permanent reformation of our
•criminals. With so humane and
CJiristian an object we most heartily
sympathize.
Its Twenty-fourth Annual Report,
which .we recently received, is a very
•interesting and comprehensive docu-
ment. Accompanying it is a circular
in which we are told that the associa-
tion desires " that the public attention
may be directed to this question, and
the public sentiment in relation to it
-enlightened and invigorated, so that
our prison systems and our adminis-
• Txttemty Fourth A nmtal Report o/iJu ExMdiv*
CemmitUt of the Prison Auocu$4ton of New Vork,
mmd mccomftmying Doeuments^ for 1868. Transmit-
ted to the LeguUtur« Jaa. xjth, 1869. Albany : Tb«
Anp» Company, Piintcrt 1869.
tration of criminal justice may every-
where be improved and brought into
harmony with the advancing civiliza-
tion of the age."
We shall, therefore, offer a few sug-
gestions on this subject.
A criminal is a man morally diseas-
ed. As such he should be consider-
ed — as such be treated. In a right
prison system, the punishment of
past offences should be but the se-
condary object; the prevention of
future offences, the main one. No
permanent outward change can be
effected till an inward reformation has
been wrought ; and that reformation
must come through mental but espe-
cially through moral development.
We learn from this rejjort, with
much pleasure, that, in the prisons of
the chief States, libraries have been
established; and that, in many of
them, instruction is regularly impart-
ed to the inmates, through classes
and lectures. Ignorance is a fruitful
source of vice. The Catholic Church,
Religion in Prisom,
"5
which alone raised the world from
the intellectual darkness into which,
at the fan of the Roman empire, the
inpouring of northern barbarians had
plunged her, stands to-day the fore-
most champion of enlightened Chris-
tian education. She regards know-
ledge as an aid to virtue. She courts
the light of science, that in its beams
the truth of her dogmas may appear
with brighter resplendence.
But experience has clearly shown
that virtue is not a necessary con-
sequence of education — that moral
does not always follow mental devel-
opment. To prove this, we need
not go outside of this report, in
which, page 373, we read the follow-
ing words of Amos Pilsbury, " the
Nestor of jailers on this continent;
an officer whose name is almost as
wdl known in Europe as it is in Ame-
rica
t«
"Experience has, unhappily, de-
monstrated that the possession of edu-
cation is not incompatible with the
commission of crimes of every kind ;
and we have seen many melancholy
examples of very highly educated
men falling victims to drunkenness
and other degrading vices." Daniel
Webster therefore truthfully said :
** Man is not only an intellectual, but
he is also a moral being ; and his re-
ligious feelings and habits require cul-
tivation. Let the religious element
in man's nature be neglected ; let him
be influenced by no higher motive
than low self-interest, and subjected to
no stronger restramts than the limits
of civil authority, and he becomes
the creature of selfish passions and
hlind fanaticism. The cultivation of
Ac religious sentiment represses licen-
tiousness, incites to general benevo-
knce and the practical acknowledg-
nient of the brotherhood of men ; in-
sfwres respect for law and order, and
gnres strength to the whole social fa-
Wc] atthe same time it conducts the
human soul upward to the Author of
its being."
Afler quoting these words. Rev.
David Dyer, chaplain of the Albany
Penitentiary, adds, page 348 : " Of aH
the attributes of man, the moral and
religious are the most important and
influential. They, by divine arrange-
ment, have this precedency. They
are designed to be the mainspring of
thought and action, the director of
the whole man. Let them be ne-
glected, debased, or treated as of se-
condary importance, and the whole
system will be deranged. Reac^ust-
ment and reformation will be impossi-
ble. There may, indeed, be induced,
under the power of seclusion or phy-
sical force, a servile fear; perverse
passions may, for a time, be checked,
and the developments of a depraved
will may be staid; but let these ap-
pliances be removed, and it will soon
become apparent that instead of pro-
moting reformation they have induc-
ed spiritual hardness, recklessness,
and hate, and made the man a more
inveterate slave to his passions and a
greater injury to the state. The
moral and religious improvement of
convicts should, therefore, be the first
and constant aim of all to whose care
they are committed. Their chief ef-
forts should be directed to the sancti-
fication of the springs of thought and
action ; and this secured, through the
benediction of God, those objects of
Christian solicitude will go forth to
exemplify in virtuous lives the wis-
dom and utility of these efforts."
It being plain, therefore, that upon
religious and moral influences chiefly
we must rely for the reformation of
criminals, the question next arises,
What should be the nature of those
influences? Should they be in ac-
cordance with the conscience of the
criminal or not ? Should the clergy-
man who is to minister to his spiritual
wants, possess his confidence, and
ii6
Religion in Prisons.
lead him to good, be a clergyman of
his own church, or of a church from
which the prisoner was, is, and will
be throughout life, fundamentally
separated, in thought and feeling?
Should the books which are placed
in his hands, with a view to his mo-
ral improvement, be such as will at-
tract, because written in accordance
with the principles of his church, and
recommended by its teachers, or
such as will raise suspicion, if they
do not actually repel, because com-
ing from a doubtful source, and full,
perhaps, of expressions and state-
ments at variance with his religious
sentiments ?
The proper answer to these ques-
tions is, we think, self-evident No
man who has to build a house on a
foundation already laid begins by at-
tempting to weaken that foundation.
Last year, in the city of New
York, 46,476 were committed to pri-
son. Of this number, 28,667, neariy
two thirds, were of foreign birth. A
statistical view of all the prisoners of
the United States, page 149, shows
that twenty-seven per cent of the in-
mates belong to the same class. A
large share of these are undoubtedly
Catholics. So, likewise, are many
who are put down as of native birth.
Now, we ask, how much is done
to bring to bear on these unfortu-
nates the salutary influences of their
own religion ?
How many prisons in the United
States have Catholic chaplains ? In
how many is a priest invited to mmis-
ter at stated times to the spiritual
wants of this great number of in-
mates ? In how many cases, not so
much in this as in other parts of the
country, is the priest not only not in-
vited, but with difficulty allowed, if
allowed at all, to say mass and ad-
minister the sacraments of penance
and the eucharist to the prisoners
who are of his own faith f
We read in this report, with much
pleasure, that libraries have been
established in our chief prisons ; that
"the aggregate number of volumes
is 15,250;" that "in some States, a
fixed annual sum is appropriated of
the increase of the prison libraries ; in
others, additions are made by special
grants. New York appropriates for
her three prisons, $950; Pennsyl-
vania, for her two, $450 ; Michigan,
$300; Massachusetts, $200; Con-
necticut, $200." Of this large and
annually increasing supply of books,
intended as an aid in the mora]
reformation of criminals, of whom
probably one third are Catholics, what
portion is written by Catholics ? What
portion is Catholic, either in its tone or
in its teaching ? How many of these
books are not more or less anti-Cathh
iicy and hence repulsive to the reli-
gious feelings of those for whose bene-
fit they are intended ?
We have no desire to make prose-
lytes in our prisons. We do not wish
to interfere with the religious convic-
tions of prisoners who do not belong
to our faith ; but we claim as a right,
and maintain in the name of justice
and of philanthropy and of true states-
manship, that our Catholic criminab
should, as far as possible, be attended
by Catholic clergymen and be supplied
with Catholic books. As the Russian
Count SoUohub says, page 572, in
his paper on "The Prison System
of Russia," "Religion is, beyond
contradiction, the first principle d
all human perfection. It is this
alone which consoles, this alone
which replaces the passions by bo-
mility, and a disordered life by a hfe
without reproach. But every rchgion
has its forms. Let Catholicism pur-
sue its propagandism (?) in the pn-
sons — ^nothing better; for this it has
its orators. Let Puritanism shut up
its criminals and cause them to enter
into themselves by the reading of t^e
Religion in Prisons.
117
Bible; it has for that the education
which it gives." And again, page
573, " Missionaries, special brother-
hoods, the enthusiastic propagandists
of Bible societies, and prison visitors
are certainly worthy of the most re-
^)ectful sympathy; but they belong
to a different order of ideas."
In reading the article on " Religion
in Prisons," by the Corresponding
Secretary of the Association, Mr. E.
C Wines, we were much struck by
the following words, page 390 : " The
benefit to convicts is obvious and
incalculable of frequent conversation
with an earnest, kind, godly, sympa-
thizing, and judicious chaplain, when
the prisoner can express his feelings
and the pastor can give his coimsels
and admonitions, with no one by to
check the free outpourings of the
heart on either side. One special
reason for such visits and conversa-
tions is, that the chaplain is thereby
enabled the better to direct his in-
quiries and instructions to each pri-
soner's particular case.
Here the gendeman has, perhaps
without knowing it, clearly depicted
a Cathoik confession. Catholic pri-
soners will thus open their hearts to
a Catholic priest and to a Catholic
priest only ; and from his lips words
of counsel and of kindness will have
vasUy more weight than when they
come from any other source whatso-
CVCT.
Of Mettray, in France,* a Catho-
lic institution, and the model re-
formatory of the world, we read,
page 258, that " the church doors
stand always open, and whoever
seeks an opportunity for private
prayer is free to enter," and, page
, 259, " the founders of the institution
have laid great stress on the influence
of religion as affording the only solid
foundation for the reformation of cri-
^ Sm Catholic Wobuh Jaauarjr, 1869.
minals; and the words, * Maison de
Dieu^ are inscribed in front of the
church as an acknowledgment that,
unless the Lord build the house, their
labor is but lost that build it. The
proportion of communicants is con-
siderable, and it is noticeable that on
the approach of the great festivals,
there is always a marked diminution
in the number of infractions."
The necessity of bringing Catholic
religious influences to bear on Catho-
lic prisoners has been acknowledged
in the Irish prison system, which is
considered of all prison systems the
most perfect; for we are told, page
336, that, besides the Protestant,
there are Catholic chaplains who " say
mass daily, and hold religious services
twice on Sunday."
In the most friendly spirit, we re-
spectfully recommend the considera-
tion of these facts and suggestions to
the Prison Association of New York,
and to all, throughout the country,
who take an interest in our prison
system and desire the reformation
and welfare of our unfortunate cri-
minals. They are generally the vic-
tims of ignorance and wretchedness.
Had they been willing to exchange
faith for falsehood, and to bartar
their birthright for a mess of pottage,
they might now be prosperous in
their native land. Thus is a certain
glory found even in their shame.
For the sake of principle they have
embraced poverty and exile. They
are poor; and the poor sin publicly
and are punished. Surrounded by
countless temptations, when they fall
they are more to be pitied than
blamed. We could not disown them
if we would, and we would not if we
could. The church never disowned
them. On the contrary, she has per-
formed miracles of mercy in their fe-
vor. The Saviour never disowned
them, for we read that he ate with
publicans and sinners.
Ii8
Catholicity and Pantheism.
Much has been done toward re-
forming this unfortunate class. Much
more may yet be done. Their souls
are not dead but sleeping ! Let the
Prison Association of New York see
that the influences of their own reli-
gion are brought to bear upon them.
Wherever there is a considerable num-
ber of Catholics confined in any pri-
son, penitentiary, reform-school, or
school-ship, let a Catholic priest be
invited to administer to their spiritual
wants and to perform the religious ser-
vice of their church. Let the asso-
ciation see that in the selection of
books for prison libraries, a fair share
are Catholic books ; not dry theologi-
cal treatises, nor dull books of piety,
but books such as are calculated to
divert, to instruct, to elevate; to
make better men, better citizens, and
better members of society ; to
strengthen conscience and loyalty to
the great principles of divine reli-
gion and eternal right
We entirely agree with the asso-
ciation as to the end to be attained,
and we have endeavored, in a few
words, to point out the means best
calculated for the attainment of that
end with a very large part of our
criminals. We trust that our ideas
will receive a trial, and that narrow-
minded and bigoted intolerance will
not be allowed to put obstacles in
the way.
Catholic criminals can be perma-
nently reformed only by Catholic re-
ligious influences.
CATHOLICITY AND PANTHEISM.
NUMBER EIGHT.
UNION BETWEEN THE INFINITE AND THE FINfTE, OR FIRST MOMENT OF GOD*S
EXTERNAL ACTION
The result of our preceding arti-
cle was a supreme duality — ^the infi-
nite and the finite. The one abso-
lutely distinct in nature from the other.
The first self-existing, necessary, eter-
nal, immutable, infinitely perfect, and
absolutely complete and blessed in his
interior life ; the other, created, con-
tingent, mutable, imperfect, and on the
way to development. How can this
duality, so marked and so distinct,
the terms of which are so infinitely
apart, be harmonized and brought
together into unity ?
Such is the fifth problem which
pantheism raises, and which it under-
takes to solve.
Let us investigate more deeply the
nature of the problem.
We do not now inquire whether
there be any kind of union between
the infinite and the finite, because
they are already united by means of
the creative act.
The infinite creates the finite, sustains
and directs it, three moments which
constitute the finite and cause it to act.
This is the first and fiindamental union
between the infinite and the finite.
After what union, then, do we seek
when the problem is raised, Is there
a union between the infinite and the
finite already perfect as to being, or, in
other words, between the infinite and
the finite already united by the crea-
tive act ?
We inquire after a imion which may
mark and express the highest possible
Catholicity and Pantheism.
119
dcvation of perfection which the cos-
mos, or the assemblage of all finite
beings, may attain ; and as the finite, as
we shall see, cannot acquire its highest
possible perfection except by a union
with infinite perfection, it follows that
the problem inquires after the highest
possible union between the infinite and
the finite.
We shall, according to our wont,
give the pantheistic solution of the
problem, and then subjoin the an-
swer of Catholicity. The pantheistic
solution is as follows : The infinite is
the highest possible indetermination
and indefiniteness in the way to de-
velopment. It becomes definite and
concrete in the finite, and this by a
gradual process.
First, it assumes the lowest possible
fiwm of existence in the mineral king-
dom. Then it begins to show life in
the vegetable kingdom. It acquires
sensation and perception in the ani-
mal, and shoots up into intelligence
and consciousness in humanity. Yet
is this intelligence and consciousness
essentially progressive, and begins
from the minimum degree to rise to
die highest. This principle explains
aO the stages of more or less civiliza-
tion of which history makes mention.
At first the infinite acquires those fa-
culties in humanity which border on
and are more akin to the senses, such
as the imagination and the fancy ;
hence the primitive state of nations
is marked with very imperfect devel-
opment of the reasoning faculties, and
with a superabundance of imagina-
tion ; consequently, this primitive state
abounds in national bards, who dis-
charge all those offices which, in na-
tions more civilized, are fulfilled by
others, such as historians, orators, etc
It is also the age of myths, when
people with young and robust fancy
are apt to give flesh and blood and
personality to any striking legend in
vogue, until the legend, so dressed up
and personified, is mkunderstood for
a historical fact and real person. Then,
in proportion as the development ad-
vances, the infinite acquires a better
explication of the reasoning faculties,
and hence the ages of philosophy.
Of course the development is gradual
and slow, and is perfected by time and
continued development, until the in-
finite arrives not only to the fullest
explication of the reasoning faculties,
but also to the full consciousness of
its infinity, and of its eternal dura-
tion.
The infinite, arrived at the fullest
explication of its intelligence, and to
the full consciousness of its infinity,
is humanity, or the cosmos arrived to
the highest possible perfection. This
humanity, dressed up by the imagina-
tion of the people, with individuality
and personal traits, is the Christ, or
the myth which Christians adore.
"The subject of the attributes,"
says Strauss, " which the church pre-
dicates of Christ, is not an individual,
but a certain idea, though real, and
not void of reality, like the Kantian
ideas. The properties and perfections
attributed to Christ by the church, if
considered as united in one individual, '
the God-man, contradict each other,
but may be reconciled in the idea of
the specUs, Humanity is the collec-
tion of two natures, or God made
man ; that is, the infinite spirit trans-
formed into a finite nature who is
conscious of his eternal duration. This
humanity is begotten fi'om a visible
mother and an invisible father, that is,
spirit and nature. It is that which
performs miracles, enjoys impecca
bility, dies, and rises again, and goes
up to heaven. Man, believing in this
Christ, and especially in his death and
resurrection, may acquire justification
before God."*
According to pantheism, then, the
• StnuiM, Lm VUdtyhmt, Par Littr^ Paris.
120
Catholicity and Pantheism.
infinite, acquiring the full conscious-
ness of his infinite perfections in hu-
manity, is the highest possible per-
fection of the cosmos, and the union,
therefore, between the two is the union
of identity.
We are dispensed fi'om attempting
any refutation of this theory, seeing
that it rests on premises which we
have already demonstrated to be false
and absurd. We only beg the reader
to observe how utterly futile and use-
less is this theory for the solution of
the problem which has called it forth.
The problem is, how to raise the cos-
mos to the highest possible perfection,
or' in other words, how to establish
the highest possible union of the finite
and the infinite, fi'om which the high-
est possible perfection of the finite
may result.
Pantheism answers by proclaiming
the absolute identity of the infinite
and the finite, by marking the highest
possible perfection on the cosmos,
when the infinite in its finite form of
development acquires a consciousness
of its infinity. Now, it is evident in
this answer that one term of the prob-
lem is swept away, that no real cos-
mos exists, that it is but a phenomenon
of the infinite, and that, consequently,
in the pantheistic solution the prob-
lem of the highest possible union of
the infinite and the finite cannot
exist, because the second term of the
union does not really exist
In the preceding article we raised
the question. Is there a means by
which to raise the cosmos to the
highest possible perfection, a perfection
almost absolute and beyond which we
cannot go ? And we answered that
the problem cannot be solved by
human reason, being altogether super-
intelligible, and that the solution of it
must be left to the Catholic Church,
the repository of divine revelation.
Now, the church answers the prob-
lem by laying down the first moment
of the external action of God, the
hypostatic moment By jt the human
nature, and throu^ it the cosmos, is
elevated to the highest possible perfec-
tion — a perfection beyond which we
could not go ; and thus die problem is
resolved, and the aspiration of the
finite to the highest possible union
with the infinite is satisfied. That the
reader may ftilly understand the doc-
trine of Catholicity in answer to the
problem, we shall beg leave to recall
a few principles which will pave the
way to the very heart of the answer.
I St. Every work of God, before it
exists in itself, has an objective exist-
ence in God's Word.
We remarked, in the sixth article,
that every contingent being must have
a two-fold state of existence, one ob-
jective, the other subjective. The
objective is the ideal and intelligible
state of every being residing eternally
in the mind of God. Now, all .God's
ideality or intelligibility is centred in
the Word, whose constituent is to be
the very ideality or intelligibility of
God. Consequentiy, the cosmos, be-
fore it exists in itself has an objective
and intelligible state of existence in
the Word. In other terms, the Word
is the subsisting and eternal intelligi-
ble expression of every thing that
God is, and every thing that resides
within God. He is, therefore, essen-
tially the expression of all divine ideas«
Now, all the works of God are a
divine idea. Therefore, the Word by
his personal constituent is the repre-
sentation, the type of the general sys-
tem of God's external works.
2d. All the works of God, inas-
much as they reside in the Word in
a typical state, are infinite.
For whatever is within God is
identified with his essence, which is
absolute simplicity. Therefore, the
cosmos, in its typical state residing in
the Word, resides in God, and is thus
identified with the essence of God,
Catholicity and Pantheism,
121
asd is consequendy infinite. St.
John, with the sublimest expression
ever uttered by man, renders this idea
when he says, " All that was made in
him (th^ Word) was life,"* indicating
that the Word, consisting of all the
intelligibility of God and that which
was made belonging to the ideality
and intelligibiKty of God, was the
very life of the Word, and conse-
quently infinite.
3d. The Word is not only the type
but the efficient cause of the cosmos.
The truth of this follows from the es-
sential relation of the Word to the
Father.
The Father, knowing himself, knows
also whatever is possible. But what-
ever he knows he utters and expresses
by hb Word. Therefore, the Father,
through his only Word, utters himself
and things outside himself. But his
utterance of creatures is also the
cause of their subjective existence,
since God is pure and undivided act.
Consequently, through his single Word
he affirms himself and his exterior
works, and consequently he is also
their efficient cause.
4th. The external action of God
tends to express, exteriorly, the divine
idea of the cosmos, as perfectly as it
is uttered interiorly.
We have shown in the preced-
mg article that, although it was not
necessary that God should effect the
best possible cosmos, for the reasons
which we have therein given, yet it
was most agreeable to the end of
creation that God should effect the
best possible cosmos. Now, the best
possible cosmos is evidently that
which draws as near as possible to its
intelligible and typical state. Conse-
quently, the external action of God
has a tendency to express, exteriorly,
Ac divine ideas as perfectly as he
otters them interiorly. St. Thomas
* We read tbU passage as St. Cyril of Alexan-
A^ St Aogostine, Beda, and others read it
proves the same truth with a some-
what similar argument. Every agent,
he says, intends to express his own
similitude (the interior idea) on the
effect he produces, and the more per-
fect is the agent, the better and
stronger will be the similitude between
him and his effect. Now, God is
most perfect agent. It was, therefore,
most agreeable to him to stamp his
own similitude on his external works
as perfectly as possible ; that is, it was
most agreeable to him to render his
external works as like their typical
state as possible.
5th. This supreme or best possible
expression of the typical state of
God's external works could not be
substantial or ontological.
We have seen that the typical
state of the cosmos, residing eternally
in the Word of God, is identified with
him, and is therefore infinite. It fol-
lows, therefore, that if we suppose a
supreme, substantial, and ontological
expression of this typical state, we
must suppose a supreme, substantial,
and ontological expression of the in-
finite. Now, this is absurd ; because
a supreme and ontological expression
of the infinite would be the very sub-
stance of God. On the other hand,
the expression, requiring necessarily
to be created, would be essentially
finite. Consequently, on the supposi-
tion, we should have a finite infinite
substantial expression of God, which
is a contradiction in terms.
6th. The supreme expression can-
not be effected except by an incorpo-
ration ot the infinite into the finite.
Having excluded the identity be-
tween the finite and infinite natures,
an identity which would be a neces-
sary consequence if the expression
were substantial and ontological, if a
supreme expression of the infinite is
to be eflfected, if the cosmos, in its
subjective state, is to be elevated and
made as like as possible to its typical
122
Catholicity and Pantheism,
state, there are no other means of
effecting this than by an incorporation
of the infinite into the finite. For let
it be remembered that the finite, in
force of its nature, is indefinitely pro-
gressive. You can add perfection to
perfection, but imless you transform
it into the infinite, it will never change
its nature, and will continue to be
finite. Thus, the only possible way of
elevating it to the highest possible
perfection, is to raise it to a union
with the infinite greater than which
you cannot conceive.
7th. This union or incorporation
must be effected by the Word.
Because, first, the Word is the na-
tural organ between the Father and his
exterior work, since, with the same ut-
terance, the Father speaks himself and
his external works. Secondly,- this
union is required in order that the
external works may draw as near to
their typical state as possible. Now,
the Word is the living and personal
typical state of the cosmos, the intel-
ligible life of the external works; it
is necessary, therefore, that he should
enter into the finite, and bring into
harmony the interior infinite type of
the cosmos, with its finite external ex-
pression ; unite together the ideal in-
telligible state with the real subjective
state of the cosmos.
From all we have said, it follows
that all the external works reside in
the Word ; that inasmuch as they re-
side in the Word in their typical state,
they are his very life, and consequent-
ly infinite ; that the Word is not only
the typical but efficient cause of the
cosmos; that the external act tends
to express exteriorly the typical state
of the cosmos as perfectly as it is ut-
tered interiorly ; that this supreme ex-
pression could not be substantial and
ontological; and that, consequently,
the only means of effecting it was an
incorporation of the infinite into the
finite, to be executed by the Word as
the natural organ between God and
his external works.
Now, this is the answer which Ca-
tholicity affords to the problem,
What is the union by which the finite
attains its highest p>ossible perfection ?
It answers in the sublime expres-
sions of the Eagle among the Evan-
gelists, and which resume, in a few
words, all we have hitherto said.
" In the beginning (the Father) was
the Word.
" And the Word was with God.
" And the Word was God. The
same was in the beginning with God.
All things were made by hinty and
without him was made nothing.
" That which was made in him was
tife,
" And the Word was vazA^flesh^ and
dwelt among us." ♦
The Word of God, the subsisting
ideality of the Father, the living type
of his external works, united himself
to human nature, the micro-cosmos,
or abridgment of the cosmos, in such a
close and intimate union as to be him-
self the subsistence of human nature,
and thus exalted the cosmos to its
highest possible perfection. This
union of the Word with human na-
ture is called hypostatic or personal
imion.
We must now study its nature and
properties, draw the consequences
which flow fi-om it, and point out how
well it answers all the requisites and
conditions of the problem.
And in the first place, we remark
that the subsistence of finite beings is
also contingent and variable. We
have before given an idea of subsis-
tence and personality; but we beg
leave to recall a few ideas about these
most important notions of ideology,
that the reader may better perceive in
what the nature of the hypostatic
union really consists. We shall ex-
•StJohnL
Catholicity and Pantheism.
123
plain the following notions: possi-
bility, actuality, nature, substance,
subsistence, and personality.
Possibility is the non-repugnance
of a being. It is intrinsic or exterior.
• When the essential elements which
constitute the idea of a being do not
clash together or contradict each
other, the being is intrinsically possi-
ble. When, besides the intrinsic pos-
sibility, there exists a principle which
may give the being actual existence,
the possibility is external.
The intrinsic possibility of a being
in the mind of the cause or principle
of this being is called intelligible ac-
tuality. Actuality or existence, pro-
perly speaking — ^that is, subjective ac-
tuality — is the existence of the being
outside of the intelligent cause which
perceives it ; or, in other words, the
external expression of the intelligible
actuality.
Nature is the radical, interior prin-
ciple .of action in every existing be-
ing.
Substance is the existing of the be-
ing in itself, or the permanence and
duration of a being in itself. Now,
a being which is a substance may be
united with another substance, and
the union may be so close that one
of them may become the natural, in-
separable, intrinsic organ of the other.
In this case the being which is thus
imited with the other and has become
the organ of the other, although not
ceasing to be a substance, possesses
no subsistence of its own. What,
then, is the subsistence of a being ?
It is not merely the existing in itself;
it is the exclusive possession of the
existing in itself and whatever flows
from this e)cclusive possession. A be-
ing is possessed of existence in it-
self and of its operations, when the
union of which we have spoken does
not exist But whenever such union
exists, though the being continues to
be substance or to exist in itself, it
has yet no exclusive possession of it-
self.
Hence, subsistence is defined the
last complement of a substance which
makes it an independent whole, sepa-
rate or distinct from all others \ makes
it own and possess itself, and renders
it responsible for its operations. Per-
sonality adds to this the element of
intelligence; so that a person is that
supreme and intelligent principle in
a being which knows itself to be a
whole, independent of all others;
which enjoys the possession of itself,
and is responsible for its actions.
Consequentiy, every substance which
is complete — that is, detached from
and independent of all other substan-
ces in such a manner as to constitute
a whole by itself, and alone to bear
the attribution of its properties,
modifications, and functions — ^is a
subsistence.
The subsistence or personality of
a contingent being is also contingent,
and may be separable from it so
as to give rise to a two-fold suppo-
sition, either that the contingent
being never had a subsistence of its
own, or, if it had, it may be deprived
of it, and its own subsistence may be
substituted by another.
In the first place, wc remark, in
vindication of this statement, that it
is impossible that any substance could
really exist without a subsistence.
Because, as we have said, subsistence
is the last complement of substance,
and consequently without it the sub-
stance could not be actual, but would
be a mere abstraction. That for
which we contend in the proposition
just laid down is, that it is not neces-
sary that a substance should have
a subsistence of its own, but diat it
may subsist of the subsistence of an-
other.
For it is evident that every being
comprised within the sphere of the
contingent and the finite may cease
124
Catholicity and Pantheism,
to be a whole by itself, and may con-
tract with a nature foreign to itself
a union so intimate and so strong as
to depend on this foreign nature in all
its functions and its states, and no
longer to bear the attribution and
solidarity of its actions and modifica-
tions. If, for instance, a hand de-
tached fi'om the whole body were to
trace characters, this action would be
attributed to it exclusively; it would
be a subsistence, a whole by itself,
and we should say, That hand writes.
But if it should become a part of,
and we should consider is as depen-
dent on, a human nature and will, it
would then lose the solidary attribu-
tion of the function of which it is the
organ ; and then we could no longer
say, That hand writes; but, That man
writes,
A contingent substance may be de-
prived of the possession of its subsis-
tence by a union with a substance
even inferior in nature to itself Be-
cause its superiority over this nature
would not prevent its being depen-
dent on it in its functions and in its
states, as is the case with the human
soul, which presides over the body,
which produces in it continual chan-
ges, and which, in spite of the excel-
lence which distinguishes it from the
mass of matter which it animates, yet
depends on the body in its most inti-
mate situations, and finds itself bow-
ed down by the continual evil which
it suffers thereby.
Hence is it that in man the posses-
sion of subsistence belongs neither to
the soul nor to the body, and there is
no other subsistence in him but the
sum of the two natures of which he
is composed, but the whole of the
two extremes united together, and
which is at the same time spirit and
body, incorruptible and corruptible,
the intelligent and the brute.
Hence, neither the soul nor the
body are denominated separately by
their respective functions; but it* is
the whole man who receives the attri-
bution and the different appellations
of the actions and states of either na-
ture, and we say, man thinks, man
walks, man wills, man grows. Con-
sequently that axiom, Actiones et de-
nominationes sunt suppositoruMy Ac-
tions are to be attributed to the sub-
sistence. We remark, in the second
place, that in the infinite alone the
subsistence and personality is neces-
sary, and consequently can never be
separated from him or be dependent
on any other. Because in this order
personality affects a nature essentially
complete, total, and of its o\^ti intrin-
sic nature absolutely independent in
its action and in its eternal and
immutable state, of all external sub-
stance.
It follows, therefore, that if a divine
personality enters into a finite nature, it
must necessarily preserve its own sub-
sistence, since it is evident that, if a
divine person is united to a created
nature in a manner so close and inti-
mate as to form one single individu-
ality, the created nature, in force of
the principles above stated, would
have no individuality of its own, and
the divine personality would, in such
case, necessarily be the supreme
and independent principle constitut-
ing the new individual, the infinite
term and completion of the two na-
tures. Now, such is the hypostatic
union. The infinite person of the
Word united to himself human nature
in a manner so close and intimate
as to form one single individuality,
Christ Jesus, the Theanthropos ; so
that the human nature of Christ had
no subsistence of its own, but subsist-
ed of the personality of the Word.
Hence, in Christ the Word of God
was the only supreme and independent
principle, who knew himself to be a
whole apart, composed of the human
and divine natures, who bore alone
Catholicity and Pantheism.
135
the attribution and solidarity of the
actions springing from either nature,
and who was, consequently, the only
person in Christ
But to make the nature of the hy-
postatic union more intelligible to the
reader, we shall dwell upon it a litde
longer.
We may reduce all the unions be-
tween the infinite and the finite to
three. The first is the action of God
creating finite substances, maintaining
tiiem in existence and directing all
their movements, permitting, however,
their defects and shortcomings.
This is the first and fundamental
union between the infinite and the
finite. It begins the moment the
finite is created, and continues in exis-
tence by preservation and concur-
rence. All this in the natural order.
In the supernatural order there is also
a first and fundamental union, as we
shall see, by which the action of
God effects, as it were, a new and su-
perior term, preserves and directs it
m its development. Thus, the first
union between the finite and the in-
finite is the action of God effecting a
finite term, maintaining it in exis-
tence and directing it in its develop-
ment, both in the substantial and in
the sublimative moments. However,
thb union not only leaves whole and
entire the individuality and subsis-
tence of the two terms united, but is
not even so close and intimate as to
prevent the finite term of the union
fixim occasionally failing in its action,
and of falling short of the aim to
which it naturally tends. Hence a
second and more excellent species
of union. By it the infinite is so
closely united with the finite as not
only to preserve it, and to direct it in
all its actions, but also to prevent
it firom falling into defects and er-
rors.
This second kind of union, though,
as it is evident, fiur exceeding the
former in intimacy and perfection,
since it implies an extraordinary em-
ployment of activity on the part of
the infinite, and a special elevation
of the finite, is yet not so close as to
deprive the finite term of its own
subsistence and individuality.* We
may, therefore, conceive a third kind
of union, whereby an infinite person-
ality may be united to a finite nature
so closely and so intimately as not
only to move and direct it in all its
actions, as not only to prevent it
fh>m falling into failings and imper-
fections, but as to make it the intrin-
sic instrument, the intimate organ of
his own infinite action in such a
manner as to form of the finite nature
and of the infinite personality a new
and single individuality.
This supposition is eminentiy pos-
sible. For, on the one hand, the infi-
nite personality being possessed of
infinite energy, and, on the other, the
finite nature being endowed with an
indefinite capacity of sublimation,
nothing can detain the first from
communicating itself to the second
with such energy, power, and intensi-
ty of communication as to render it
its own most intimate and dependent
organ of action. In fact, let the
communication of an infinite person
to a finite nature be carried to its
highest possible degree of union
short of absorbing and destroying
the real existence of the finite, its
substantiality, so to speak; let this
finite nature be, accordingly, raised
to the highest possible intimacy with
the infinite person; let the latter take
such intense possession of the former
as to make it its own mtrinsic organ,
the immediate and sole instrument of
his own infinite operation, and what
will the result be? Why, that the
finite nature will no longer possess
* Tliia species of nnkm is what, in theological Ian-
guage, would be called confirmation in grace, and
took place in the Bleaed Viigm and in some saints.
126
Catholicity and Pantfuism,
itself, no longer form a whole by
itself separated from and independent
of any other; no longer bear the at-
tribution of the actions springing
from its nature; in short, it will no
longer be a subsistence and an indi-
viduality by itself, but will form one
single individuality with the divine
pc;rson, or rather the infinite person
will be the only single subsistence of
the two natures united, the infinite
and the finite. The finite nature in
this supposition would stand, with
regard to the infinite person, in the
same relation in which our body
stands with regard to our soul. For
the union of body and soul, which
constitutes the individual called man,
takes place according to this kind of
union. The soul is united to the
body in a manner so close and so in-
timate as to render the body its own
most intrinsic, dependent instrument,
the organ of its operations in such a
manner that, in force of this opera-
tion, the body does not possess itself,
does not form a whole apart, nor is
it accountable for the actions which
immediately flow from its nature.
In other words, it has no subsistence
of its own, but subsists of the subsis-
tence of the soul and the whole indi-
vidual man. The result of this
union is possessed of the subsistence
and forms one person.
The Incarnation of the Word is
like to this union, hence called hy-
postatic or personal union. The se-
cond person of the Trinity united
himself to the entire human nature,
constituted of body and soul, in a
manner so close and intimate as to
be himself the subsistence of the hu-
man nature; the latter never enjoy-
ing a subsistence of its own, because,
contemporaneously to the very first
instant of its existence, it became the
internal, the immediate, and the most
intimate organ of the Word of God,
and subsisted of the subsistence of
the Word, so that it never bore tfie
attribution and solidarity of those ac-
tions which have an immediate ori-
gin in human nature, but the attribu-
tion and solidarity,^nd, consequently,
the moral worth, of those actions
belonged to the personality of the
Word, according to the axiom that
Adiones sunt suppositorum.
Hence the union between the
Word of God and his human nature
was not a moral union, which always
implies the distinct individuality and
personality of the two terms united,
as Nestorius thought, and many
would-be Christians of the present
day seem to hold.
Nestorius was ready to grant that
the union between the Word and hu-
man nature was as high and intimate
as possible, so far as moral union can
permit ; but never would he concede
that it was any higher than simple
moral union, which kept whole and
entire the two individualities united.
Consequently, he admitted two per-
sons and two individualities in Christ
— the Word of God, and the man
called Christ. From which theory it
follows that our Lord was a mere
man — a saint, if you will, the highest
of all saints, yet simply a man.
Catholic doctrine, on the contrary,
teaching that the union of the Word
and the human nature was personal,
inasmuch as the divine person of the
Word was the subsistence in which
his human nature subsisted, teaches
consequently, at the same time, that in
Christ there is one person, one indivi-
duality — ^the divine personality of the
Word; that therefore Christ, the new
individual, is God, being the second
divine person, in which both his di-
vine and human natiue subsist Nor
was the human nature of this new in-
vidual so absorbed by the divine per-
sonality as to cease to be a sub-
stance, as Eutyches affirmed, who
upheld, it would seem, a fusion and a
Catholicity and PantJieism.
127
mixture of the two natures altogether
inconceivable and absurd.
From all we have said we may
fonn quite an accurate idea of what
the hypostatic union really means.
It is the union, or the meeting, so to
speak, of tlie human and divine na-
tures in the one single point of con-
tact, the infinite personality of the
Word of God; the human nature
having no personality of its own, but
subsisting of the identical personality
of the Word.
The new individual possessed of
the divine and human nature in the
unity of the single personality of the
Word is Jesus Christ
To complete now the idea of the
hypostatic union, we shall point out
some consequences which evidently
flow fix>m that union :
1. We should consider that nature
being transmitted through generation,
and Christ being possessed of two
natures, the human and the divine, it
is necessary to admit in him a two-
fold generation ; one eternal, accord-
ing to which he received the divine
nature fi-om the Father; the second
temporal, by which he received his
human nature from the Virgin Mo-
ther.
2. As nature is the radical princi-
ple and source of operation in every
being, it follows that, as Christ is pos-
sessed of two natures, we must predi-
cate of him a double operation— one
human, the other divine.
3. In force of the same principle,
we must predicate of him whatever
necessarily belongs to the two dis-
tinct natures. Hence, as intelligence
and will, together with their respec-
tive perfections, belong both to the
human and to the divine nature, it is
clear that we must attribute to Christ,
first, a divine intelligence and a di-
vine will with their perfections, such
as infinite wisdom and knowledge,
infinite holiness, goodness, justice,
etc.; second, a human intelligence
and a human will, together with the
perfections of these faculties, as
knowledge, wisdom, holiness, etc.
4. As actions, though immediately
proceeding from nature, are to be at-
tributed to the subsistence and per-
sonality, because nature could not
act without being possessed of sub-
sistence, and as the subsistence and
personality of both natures of Christ
is one — the personality of the Word
of God ; and as this personality is in-
finite, it follows that the actions of
Christ, whether immediately spring-
ing from his human nature, or pro-
ceeding fi-om his divine nature, have
all an infinite worth and excellence,
on the ground of the infinite worth
of the person to whom they must be
attributed. This principle, so evi-
dent, and grounded on the axiom of
ideology to which we have alluded —
Actiones sunt suppositamm — has been
denied by some, especially Unita-
rians. But happily the most abstract
principles of ideology have such a
bearing upon human dignity that it
is easy to refiite such would-be philo-
sophers on the strong ground of the
dignity of the human species. Let
us give an instance. How are the
actions immediately proceeding fi^m
the corporal nature of man, such, for
instance, as those of locomotion, dis-
tinguished from the actions of locomo-
tion in the brutes? And why is it
that the actions of locomotion of the
first may attain the highest and most
heroic moral worth, while the same
actions in the brute may never have
a moral dignity ? Ontologically
they are the same. An animal may
move its foot ; I may do the same ;
both movements may save the life
of a man. In me, the stirring of my
foot may have the dignity of a moral
and heroic action. In the brute, it
can never have it. What causes the
difference? The difference lies in
128
Catholicity and Pantheism.
the fact that I am a person, the brute
is not. ly being a person, the su-
preme, first, and independent princi-
ple of action of both my natures,
corporal and spiritual, it follows that
all actions radically flowing from
either of my natures are to be attri-
buted to me as person, as the su-
preme and independent principle of
them ; and as I, as a person, am ca-
pable of moral dignity, all the actions,
whether proceeding from my corpo-
ral or my spiritual nature, become
capable of moral worth and dignity.
In Christ, the personality or the
supreme and independent principle
of action of both his natures, hu-
man and divine, being one, it is evi-
dent that whether his actions radically
proceed from his human nature, or
spring from his divine nature, they
must all be attributed to his one and
single person; and as the person is
infinite, the worth and dignity of all
his actions is simply infinite. As in
man the personality of both corporal
and spiritual natures being capable
of morahty, the action springing firom
either nature may have a moral dig-
nity and worth. We shall conclude
this article by answering a few objec-
tions raised by Unitarians against the
hypostatic union. We shall take
them verbatim firom Dr. Channing's
lecture on Unitarian Christianity :
"According to this doctrine, (the doc-
trine of those who hold the hypostatic
union,) Jesus Christ, instead of being one
mind, one conscious intelligent principle,
whom we can understand, consists of two
souls, two minds : the one divine, the other
human ; the one weak, the other almighty ;
the one ignorant, the other omniscient Now,
we maintain that this is to make Christ two
beings. To denominate him one person,
one being, and yet to suppose him made up
of two minds infinitely different from each
other, is to abuse and confound language,
and to throw darkness over aU our concep-
tions of intelligent natures. According to
the common doctrine, each of those two
minds in Christ has its own consciousness,
its own will, its own perceptkmi. They
have, in £ict, no common properties. The
divine mind feels none of the wants and
sorrows of the human, and the human is in-
finitely removed fi-om the perfections and
happiness of the divine. Can you con-
ceive of two beings in the universe more
distinct ? We have always thought that
one person was constituted and distinguish-
ed by one consciousness. The doctrine
that one and the same person should have
two consciousnesses, two wills, two souls
infinitely different from each other, this we
think an enormous tax on human creduli-
ty."*
We are not, of course, aware firom
what source or teachers Dr. Chan-
ning learned the doctrine of the hy-
postatic union. Of one thing we are
fully assured, that the Catholic
Church never taught, first, that in
Christ there are two souls. He is
endowed with a human soul, belong-
ing to the human nature of which he
is possessed. The infinite and divine
nature of the Word, of which Christ
is also preserved, has never, in theo-
logical language, been called a soul^
nor can we denominate it by that
name except in loose and metaphori-
cal language, unworthy of a philo-
sopher and theologian who is stating
points of doctrine.
Again, the Catholic Church never
taught that the human soul of Christ
was ignorant. This may have been
the opinion of those firom whom Dr.
Channing may have drawn the theory
of the hypostatic union ; but in stat-
ing a doctrine in which all Christen-
dom concurs, Protestant as well as
Catholic, we should have thought it
more honest if Dr. Channing, not
satisfied with his own teachers, would
have taken the pains to ascertain
what two hundred and fifty millions
of Christians hold about it.
The first real objection of Dr.
Channing b as follows :
*< We mainuin that this (to attribute to
Christ two natures in one person) is to
make Christ two beings."
* l/mUmHmm CkruHmmiH, Bl io6w
Catholicity and Pantheism.
129
The same looseness and want of
accuracy of philosophical language.
What does Dr. Channing mean by
hdngt If by being is meant nature,
of course we do all attribute to Christ
two natures, the human and the di-
vine.
If by being is meant person, we
deny flady that to attribute to Christ
two natures is to make him two per-
sons.
Let the reverend doctor prove the
intrinsic impK>ssibility of two distinct
natures being united in one single sub-
sistence and person, and then we shall
grant him that Christ, being possess-
ed of two natures, is two persons also.
Bat such impossibility can never be de-
monstrated ; for the fact of the union
between soul and body in man, in
the unity of one single personality,
is a contradiction to all such pretend-
ed impossibility. We have, moreover,
shown in the course of this article the
intrinsic possibility of such supposi-
tion.
Dr. Channing continues :
**To denominate him one person, one
^eii^ 2nd 3ret to suppose him made up of
two minds infinitely different from each
other, is to abuse and confound language,
and to throw darkness over all our concep-
tions of intelligent natures.'*
If our reverend opponent chooses
to look with contempt and slight on all
distinct and accurate notions of ideo-
logy, which he calls, in another place,
vain philosophy ; if he prefers to form
cnidc and undigested ideas ; if he will
not sound to the very depth the na-
ture, the faculties of mtelligent beings,
their acts, the genesis of their acts,
thdr distinctions from other faculties
and their acts; but loves rather to ar-
gue from ideas common to men who
have never thought and thought
deeply on these subjects, and distin-
guished them carefully, and classified
them, is it any fault of ours if, when
ve propound the true philosophical
VOL.
doctrines about these subjects. Dr.
Channing's ideas should become con-
fused, and that darkness should spread
over that which was never clear ?
" According to the common doctrine, each
of these two minds in Christ has its own
consciousness, its own will, its own per-
ceptions. They have, in fact, no common
properties. Can you conceive of two be-
ings in the universe more distinct?"
If by being the doctor meant na-
tures, we cannot conceive any thing in
the universe more distinct, for which
reason Catholicity teaches that there
are two distinct natures in Christ.
If by being the doctor means that
those two natures must make two
persons, we cannot grant the asser-
tion, and ask again for proo&.
" We have always thought that one per-
son was constituted and distinguished by
one consciousness. **
This is the only show of reason we
can find in the whole passage we
have been refuting ; and we have no
hesitation in affirming that, if our op-
ponent thought that one person is
constituted by one consciousness, in
the sense that when an intelligent na-
ture is endowed with consciousness it
must necessarily possess a personality
of its own, so that consciousness and
personality may be said to be iden-
tical, as the doctor supposes, he was
wrong in thinking so, and should stu-
dy more deeply into the distinctive
essence of consciousness and person-
ality. We may make the following
suppositions, according to true ideo-
logy:
I St. An intelligent nature, having
consciousness of itself, may have a
personality of its o^vn, as is the com-
mon case m human nature.
2d. An intelligent nature, having
the consciousness of itself, may be
deprived of its own personality and
subsist of the personality of another,
simply because consciousness and
130
Thi Siven Bishops.
personality are two distinct things,
and may either go together or be
separated, without one being affected
by the other.
Personality is the last complement
of an intelligent nature, by which it
forms a whole apart from all others,
possessing itself, and being solidary
of its actions.
Consciousness, or the me^ is noth-
ing more than the notion of an intel-
ligent activity which perceives the
identity of itself, thinking and reason-
ing with the act which perceives such
identity. It nses in man in that first
moment on which he becomes aware
that the act which perceives the rea-
soning activity is not something dif-
ferent from itself, but something iden-
tical with the reasoning activity. In
that first instant in which he perceives
himself, man may pronounce, I.
He that says I, in uttering that
monosyllable testifies of being con-
scious that there is an activity, that
this activity is the same which reflects,
speaks, and announces itself, perceiv-
ing this activity.
Now, it is evident that the two
notions of personality and conscious-
ness are absolutely ^tistinct, and as
such they may be separated; and
that the one can exist without the
other in the sense already exf^ained.
Consequently, supposing an individu-
al composed of two natures, one di-
vine, the other human, both brou^t
together in the unity of one divine
person, it follows that the divine na-
ture has consciousness of itself; in
other words, is conscious that there is
an infinite activity which perceives it-
self, and is conscious of the identity
between the activity and the percep-
tion of that activity. It follows, in the
second place, that the human mind of
the human nature has also a conscious-
ness of itself; that is, that in itself there
is a finite activity, and that activity per-
ceives itself, and is conscious of the
identity between the activity and the
act of perception.
The divine nature in this one di-
vine person would be conscious of
being that supreme and independent
principle of action of the natures;
whereas the human nature would not
be conscious of being such a supreme
and independent principle of action,
but dependent and subject
THE SEVEN BISHOPa
Wb found, in a leading daily paper
of New York the other day, an edito-
rial remark which illustrates so well
the propensity of Protestant journal-
ists toward inconsistency whenever
they deal with the relations between
civU government and the Catholic
Church, that we here cite it in full :
"Spain," said Tht THbune, "is going to
have a trial of the seven bishops. There
will be some difference, however, between
tbe question at issoe in the Spanish trial
and that in the famous English cause which
Macaulay describes as the most important
recorded in the history of England. In the
Spanish case, the cause of freedom will be
represented rather by tbe government, who
prosecutes seven bishops for resbtance of
the secular authority, than by the prelates
who are to be placed on their defence. It
seems to us a good omen when they ven-
ture to put bishops on trial for any thing in
Spain."
Now, The Tribune has always been
a foremost advocate for comjJete
The Seven Bishops.
131
separation of church and state.
When the new government of ^in
decreed freedom of religious worship,
The Ttibune^ in common with other
American journals, hailed the mea-
sure with delight, as a great step to-
ward the mutual independence of the
two orders. But here, in this Spa-
nish af£ur, there is a more absolute
ind oppressive assertion of their
union than even Henry VIII. ever
ventured upon in the creation of the
Anglican establishment Only, since
tiie union is effected by a t3rrannical
assertion of the supremacy of the
secular over ecclesiastical authority,
Protestant writers see in it an evi-
dence of progress and liberality. It
makes so much difference whether it
is my bull that is gored, or your ox.
The parallel, however, between the
seven bishops under James II., and
Ae seven bishops under Serrano,
(their number has been increased to
ten since that paragraph was written,
and before our readers see these
pages may be raised still higher,) is
such a fortunate one that we purpose
looking at it a little more closely. It
win be found, we think, to tell strong-
ly for oiff side, and to teach some les-
sons which the Spanish regency can
ill afford to disregard.
In 1687, King James II. published
his celebrated Declaration of Indul-
gence, by which, after expressing his
conviction that consciences could
not be forced, and religious persecu-
tion always fisiiled of its object, he
proceeded to suspend the execution
of all penal laws against the Catho-
lics and Dissenters alike, to authorize
aU religious bodies to hold public
worship after their own fashion, and
to dispense with all religious tests as
qualifications for any civil or military
office. Whatever may be said of the
constitutionality of this declaration,
it was unquestionably in accordance
with the principles of freedom and
justice which have since been recog-
nized completely in this country, and
are gradually becoming estaUished
in Great Britain and all other consti^
tutional states. The Declaration of
Indulgence might to-day be accept-
ed in every particular as the platform
of the English liberals or The New
York THbune. The Protestant par-
ty in James's day, however, was any
thing but the party of religious free-
dom or liberal ideas. Church and
state, in their minds, must be one —
and that one the Protestant church.
The declaration was violendy resist-
ed. A year later (April 27th, 1688,)
James issued a second declaration,
repeating the points of the former
one, and proclaiming his unalterable
resolution to carry it into effect. By
an order in council he subsequently
commanded that this paper shoidd
be read on two successive Sundays at
the time of divine service by the offi-
ciating ministers of all the churches
and chjipels of the kingdom. " The
clergy of the Establbhed Church," says
Macaulay, "with scarcely an excep-
tion, regarded the indulgence as a vio-
lation of the laws of the realm, as a
breach of the plighted faith of the
king, and as a fatal blow levelled at
the interest and dignity of their own
profession." The order was general-
ly disobeyed. The Archbishop of
Canterbury and six of his suffiragans
presented a petition to the king, re-
counting their objections to the de-
claration and their reasons for re-
fusing to order its publication in
church. For this they were commit-
ted to the tower, and tried before the
court of king's bench on a charge
of seditious libel. In the midst of
the most intense popular excitement
they were acquitted, and that day,,
the 30th of June, 1688, is often refer-
red to as the crisis of the English,
revolution. So far as it was a politic
cal movem^it, this afOur of the bish-
132
The Seven Bishops,
ops represents a victory of the people
over the arbitrary authority of the
crown. So far as it was a religious
movement, it represents a triumph of
the secular power over what are called
the great Protestant principles of Hber-
ty of conscience and freedom of wor-
ship. Though the bishops may have
been pohtical martyrs, they stand
nevertheless as the representatives
of religious intolerance, proscription,
and persecution.
And what is the case of the bish-
ops in Spain ? Since the overthrow
of Isabella, the country has been in
a state little better than anarchy.
The regency of Serrano, though it
probably commands the adhesion of
a majority of the people, has never
been generally acquiesced in. Re-
publicans, Carlists, Isabellistas are
strong enough to cause the regency
grave apprehension, and are only
kept down by military power. The
Carlists especially display a vitality
which proves them to possess % strong
hold of some kind upon the coimtry,
and to be much more than the little
bond of miserable conspirators which
Madrid despatches represent them. It
is difficult to know the truth about
them; for we get little news from
Spain, except such as filters through
ithc offices of the regency at Madrid.
It is said, however, that the clergy in
general are favorable to the Carlists,
which, considering the manner in
which the churches and convents
have been plundered by the existing
authorities at the capital, is not at all
unlikely. To put the clergy entirely
at the mercy of the civil power, the
xeg^it issued, on the 5th oi August,
the following extraordinary decree :
4<
DBCRES.
" At the proposal of the minister of grace
and justice, and with the approbation of the
•council of ministers, I ordain as follows :
" Article ist That an exhortation shall be
made, and I hereby make it to the most
reverend archbishops and the right rererend
bishops to send immediately to the govern-
ment, as is their bounden duty, a circum-
stantial account of all those ecclesiastics of
their respective dioceses who have aban-
doned the churches to which they were ap-
pointed, in order to combat the politioU
situation established by the Constitutional
Cortes.
** Article 2d. The most reverend archbish-
ops and right reverend bishops are charged
to send to the government, immediately after
their acquaintance with this decree, and with-
out delays or excuses being listened to, a state-
ment of the canonical and public measures
they may have adopted, during the separa-
tion and abandonment of the rebel priests,
with a view not only to correct and restrain
them, but also to repair the most grievous
scandal produced among the faithful by
such disloyal and reckless conduct ; and
the government reserves to itself^ after ex-
amining the reports which the prelates may
transmit to the ministry of grace and justice,
the adoption of such other measures as it
may consider expedient
** Article 3d. It being notorious that many
ecclesiastics excite the innocent minds of
some people against the laws and decisions
voted by the Cortes, and also against the
order which I have issued for their fulfil-
ment, let the most reverend archbishops, nght
reverend bishops, and ecclesiastical ad-
ministrators rend round their dioceses for
circulation, within the precise term of eight
days, a short pastoral edict, exhorting their
flocks to obedience to the constituted au-
thorities ; and the said prelates shall, with-
out loss of time, transmit a copy ofthe said
edict to the secretary of the said ministry,
"^ rticlf 4M. Tk€ most reverend archbishopt
attdthe right reverend bishops are likewise charg.
ed to withdrcno the faculties of confessing and
preaching from those priests who are notorious^
ly displeased with^ who have not hesitated to
make an ostensible display of opposition to the
constitutional regimen,
" Article 5th. The government will render
account of this decree to the Cortes.
" Francisco SERRAwa
" Manuel Ruiz Zorrilla,
" Minister of Grace and Justice^
It is difficult to imagine a bolder
usurpation of authority. If priests
are found guilty of political ofiences,
the regent has the power (we do not
speak of the right) to proceed against
them just as he would against lay citi-
zens. Not satisfied with that, he wish-
The Seven Bishops.
133
C8 to impose ecclesiastical penalties
also fat political heterodoxy, to consti-
tute himself the hierarchical superior
of all the bishops and archbishops in
Spain, to dictate the terms of their pasto-
ral addresses, and to make the church a
mere instrument of oppression in the
hands of the civil power. He orders
the prelates to tirni informers. He
instructs them to lay punishments
upon the parochial clergy in plain
violation of canon law. Worse than
an, in the 4th article of his decree,
he commands the bishops to take
away the faculties of hearing confes-
nons and preaching from all priests
who are even "displeased with the
constitutional regimen." Comment
upon such an order is entirely super-
fluous. If it were obeyed, probably
three fourths of the parishes in Spain
would be without pastors. As a
matter of course, the bishops have
tacitly refused to comply with this
decree, and Serrano threatens to pro-
ceed against the most obnoxious of
them for disobedience.
Now, let any impartial person com-
pare the cases of the English and the
Spanish bishops, and tell us which re-
presents the more perfectiy the cause*
of just government and enlightened
prindples. Both refused obedience
to an order of the chief civil authori-
ty of the realm because they held it
to be an imwarrantable intrusion
upon the dignity and independence
of their order, and a violation of the
laws. Herein the cases are parallel.
The difference between them is just
this, that the order of James, though
it was unconstitutional, was a good
and liberal measure in itself, while
the order of Serrano is not only ille-
gal but tyrannous. How can The Th'-
bune say that " in the Spanish case, the
cause of freedom will be represented
rather by the government who prose-
cutes seven bishops for resistance of
the secular authority, than by the
prelates who are to be placed on
their defence " ? To our view, Serra-
no appears as the champion of civil
and ecclesiastical despotism, and the
bishops are martyrs in the cause of
political freedom and religious inde-
pendence.
James II. calculated that the pow-
er of the throne would be sufficient
in any case to insure the conviction
of his seven bishops ; but the prosecu-
tion failed ; the dissenting sects, which
would have benefited from his in-
dulgence equally with the Catholics,
united with the Anglican Church to
withstand him; the people fell on
their knees before the bishops in the
streets; and in six months the king
was a fugitive. Will Spain pursue
the parallel to this point ? No gov-
ernment can afibrd to be imjust. No
government, especially which bases
its authority upon the consent of the
people can last long after it has be-
come arbitrary and oppressive. Men
love equity instinctively, and the de-
cree of the Spanish regent will be
worth more to the Carlists than aoi
army of soldiers.
134 Lines on the Pontifical Hat.
LINES ON THE PONTIFICAL HAT PRESERVED IN
MADAME UZIELLrS PRIVATE ORATORY,
O HIGH exalted instinct of the soul I
That evermore doth find
A grace and hidden splendor not their own
In things of curious kind ;
Casket, or signet-ring, or coat of mail,
Or ermined robe of state,
That once belonged to history's champions.
The good, the wise, the great !
This relic fair, which love most Catholic
Devoutly treasures here.
To me, beholding it, than rubied crown
More glorious doth appear.
For cinctured round with spiry wheaten ears
And clustering grapes of gold,
Types of the pure oblation offered now
For bloody rites of old,
Here, (by no fi'eak of fancy,) underneath
Its rim of mystic red.
It shaded from a Romai^ summer's sun
The sacred snow-white head
Of our dear Pius ; as from church to church,
Amidst the kneeling throng,
Serene he passed — a vision of delight.
The ancient ways along !
Angels of Rome I oh ! shield that head beloved
From danger and all fears ;
Watch o'er the pontiff brave, the sovereign good.
The priest of fifty years !
And when his hour arrives, so long postponed
By Christendom's fond prayer.
May he in heaven's own hierarchy throned,
Be still our glory there 1
Oratory^ Birmingham. E. Caswall.
\
\
Foreign Literary Notes.
FOREIGN LITERARY NOTES.
In his latest historical work, (Tsabelle
de Castille, Grandeur et Dicadence de
PEspagne^) the distinguished histonan,
M. Capefigue, says that, besides Qther
debts to Isabella of Castile, Spaniards
also owe an association that saved
Spain from disorder and anarchy — La
Santa Hermandad, the holy brother-
hood, whose law was that of absolute
solidarity. Cervantes, in Don Quixote,
never lets an occasion pass of piaising
the brotherhood, with which Isabella
also introduced the holy office — the In-
quisition. It is our habit, says M. Cape-
figue, in matters historical, to avoid the
adoption of ready-made opinions, and
more especially declamations. We must
examine with judgment the customs, the
institutions, of a period — the necessities
of an epoch. Then, frequently, every
thing is justified and explained. Power
b not inflexible through pleasure or
caprice, but through necessity. Ogres
only exist in &iry tales. In political
history there are no men who from mere
caprice eat human flesh. There are
two periods in the history of the Inqui-
ation. In the first, it rendered im-
mense services. Ferdinand and Isa-
bella had just delivered Spain. But
the Moors still covered the land, and
had to be watched. In constant com-
munication with the Arabs in Africa,
they ceased not to invoke the aid of
their brethren across the strait To-
gether they conspired to reconquer
Andalusia, the promised land of the
Arabs, who never ceased longing for the
lovely countries watered by the Guadal-
quivir. Theirs it was to hope and to
^ot Spain's it was to detect and pun-
ish them. In times of peril for a state,
exceptional powers are given, extraor-
dinary tribunals created. At a period
exclusively religious, the sign of Spa-
nish nationality was Catholicity. Chris-
tian was the synonym of citizen, and
the holy office was charged with the
police of the state against those who ac-
cepted not the law of the land. Not
only France but other countries have
had their committees of public safe-
ty and their revolutionary _
In the second period, the Inquisition
— no longer useful to the state — be-
came a tribunal of theology. It pur-
sued heresy, which, in societies based
on religious principles is always a dan-
ger. Most remarkable is it that even
in its decline the Inquisition preserved
its popularity so largely among the
great men of Spain. Lope de Vega was
the chief of familiars of the holy office.
Calderon was one of its most ardent
members, bearing its banAers at autos da
fe, Velasquez gloried in the title. Mu-
rillo paints the flowers — the saints that
ornament the san benito — and Zurbaran
takes his grandest heads from the Do-
minican fathers of the santa fide.
Without the guard and protection of
the Inquisition, Spain would not have
eflTected the great things in her history.
Tom by interior dissensions, she would
not have had the Americas ; the reign
of Charles V. would not have been so
glorious, nor would she have gained
the battle of Lepanto and saved Chris-
tian Europe.
The French publisher, V. Palm6, an-
nounces as in press the celebrated work
of Cardinal Jacobatius, De Concilio,
forming the introduction to the grand
collection of councils.
The 14th, 15th, and i6th volumes of
the Bullarunty diplomatum et privi-
legiorum sanctorum Romanorum pon-
tificum Taurinensi editio have just
been published at Turin. The 14th
volume includes the years from the
sixth to the sixteenth of the pontificate
of Urban VIII. (1628-39 ;) the 15th ter-
minates that pontificate and contains
that of Innocent X. (1639-54 ;) and the
1 6th embraces the first seven years of
Alexander VII. (1655-62.) The bulls
and constitutions are published in
chronological order. Some idea of their
number may be formed from the fact
that of Urban VIII. there are 829, of
Innocent X. 199, of Alexander VII. 385.
Each volume has index ncminum et r<r-
136
Foreign Literary Notes.
rum prcBcipuarum^ index initialise in*
dex rubricantm.
Late French papers announce the
death of the Baron de Croze, formerly
deputy from the department of Charente
Inii^rieure, father-in-law of Count Ana-
tole Lemercier, and for some years Ca-
meriere of his holiness Pius IX. The
holy father was nuich attached to Ba-
ron de Croze, and frequently held with
him long and familiar conversations on
politics and history. Some ten years
ago, the Baron addressed a memorial
to Pius IX., strongly urging his holi-
ness to restore the Coliseum and to ap-
peal to the entire world for the immense
simis necessary for so great a work as
the restoration of the noblest monu-
ment of the antique grandeur of the
Romans. " My dear son," replied Pius
IX., " I have seen your memorial, and
thank you for it ; but do you not know
that there are two kinds of vandalism, the
one of destruction, the other of restora-
tion? Never has the Coliseum been
more beautiful than in the moving con-
trast of the splendor of its past and the
magnificence of its ruins. To restore
them would, it seems to me, be an artis-
tic sacrilege, and would annihilate the
work of ages only to produce a poor
and colorless counterfeit Think no
more of it, caro ntio^^ And the baron
thought no more of it
The Parisian publishing circulars an-
nounce in press and soon to appear
the celebrated Theology of Salamanca,
ColUgii Salamanticensis Cursus Theo-
logicus.
In a late German bibliographical ca-
talogue we remark the name of a saint
we now see for the first time, and con-
cerning whom we acknowledge our-
selves utterly ignorant It occurs in
the title of a work thus announced :
Sainct Velociped, Eine Modtme Riise-
legende — Saint Velocipede, A Legend
of Modern Travel
Saint Agobard, Archevique di Lyon,
sa Vie et ses Ecrits, par M. TAbW P.
Chevallard, is the tide of a handsome
ectavo volume just published at Lyons.
Saint Agobard's life covered the period
from 779 to 840, and, with his writings,
forms an important page of the histo-
ry of the church in France during the
ninth century. His episcopal career
was active, and his influence on the re-
ligious questions and discipline of his
time considerable. The history of this
holy man is necessarily attached to
that of the reign of Louis le D^boo-
naire. St. Agobard's reputation for ta-
lent and learning has never been coo-
tested, and historians and critics unite
in the opinion that he was the first
mind of his period in France. It is not
exclusively within the church, nor by
Catholics alone, that St Agobard is
thus highly appreciated. MM. Guizot
and Ampere have spoken with great
admiration of him ; Ampere particularly
mentions his inteUigent efforts in com-
bating a widely spread and deeply
rooted belief that a disastrous epidemic
which carried off thousands of cattle
was caused by the emissaries of the
Duke of Benevento, who — said popular
report — scattered powders over the
fields and in the fountains, thus pro-
ducing sudden death of the animals.
Something similar is recounted by
Manzoni in his Promessi Sposi, where
he describes the Untori and the pre-
tended cholera poisoners. Besides the
essays of St Agobard on theology,
liturgy, and ecclesiastical discipline, his
writings on the superstitions of his
period, and on the pernicious influence
of the Jews in Lyons, are remarkable
and of high value in an historical point
of view.
Much indignation has been express-
ed in several European and English
papers concerning an imaginary prohi-
bition of the pope to the physicians of
Rome from attending any person who,
after three days' medical attendance,
should refuse the sacraments. The
paragraphs containing the indignation
have been widely copied in the United
States, and we therefore notice the silly
statement The existence and validity
of an old brief of Sixtus V. is probably
the origin of the singular blunder. The
brief in question orders doctors, under
pain of excommunication, to warn the
I
Foreign Literary Notes.
m
parish priest of the patient's danger, if^
afiter three days, he appears in peril of
life; but beyond that the doctor cannot
act, and continues his attendance to the
last, irrespective of the patient*s re-
ligious state or dispositions. And
the provision is evidently wise and
humane. In very many cases it is
dangerous for the patient to know that
his physician considers him in peril of
death. To advise his family is much
the same as to tell the patient ; and the
obvious prudence of the matter is to
notify the parish priest, who can act ac-
cording to the necessities of the case.
So much for one of the many false-
hoods of the day. Like many others, it
has travelled £ist and bs. Will this re-
citation overtake it ? Doubtful.
A new history of Pope Pius IX, is
announced as almost ready for publica-
cation : Histoire de Pie IX. et de son
Pontificate par M. Alexandre de Saint
Albin.
The distinguished Father Theiner, of
Rome, has lately given his friends occa-
sion to regret that he had not remained
known to the literary world by his
Monumenta alone. No words but those
of praise and admiration could then
have been found for him. Our occa-
sion for this remark is his late con-
troversy—or series of controversies
— ^with M. Cr^tineau-Joly, concern-
ing the Cardinals Consalvi and Caprara,
and Bishop Bemier, touching their
connection with the concordat of 1801.
The matter has culminated in an oc-
tavo volume lately out, Bonaparte^ le
Concordat de 1801 et le Cardinal Con-
salvia suivi des deux Lettres au Phre
Tkiiner sur le Pape Clement XIV., par
J. Cr^dneau-Joly ; and of which we made
mention in our August number. M.
Cr6tineaa-JoIy is a terrible adversary,
and wields a trenchant blade. Such
t rapid shower of cut, thrust, back, for-
ward, and circular strokes is rarely seen.
It is to be regretted, however, that M.
Joly, in the abundance of his power of
ftf^ication and retort, should not have
been content with telling Father Thei-
ner, as he does, •* You have been given
a bad cause to sustain, and you defend
it with bad arguments.'* But blood be-
comes as hot in literary quarrels as in
physical combats, and M. Joly goes en-
tirely too far when he talks about sur-
prising his adversary, " Vingtfois, trente
fois, en flagrant dibit de mensonge.^^
Those who know Father TheiilCr are
satisfied that he is in this case the vic-
tim of his imagination and of his sim-
plicity, and that, moreover, he has been
badly advised.
Dr. F. W. Kampschulte, Professor of
History at the University of Bonn, has
hitherto been known as an author
only by a few works of secondary im-
portance, such as his History of the.
Ancient University of Erfurt. He
has, however, just taken rank quite sud-
denly among the best historians of Ger-
many by his lately published Johann
Calvin, seine Kirche und sein Staat
in Genf (John Calvin, his Church and
his State at Geneva.) The first volume
alone is as yet published. But this one
is quite enough to display remarkable
erudition, and an amount of literar)' la-
bor nothing less than enormous. Dr.
Kampschulte asserts on good grounds
that, without the assistance of Berne,
Genevan Protestantism would never
have succeeded as it did, and he has,
accordingly, thoroughly and successful-
ly searched the archives of Berne for
new and valuable documents. Finally,
the author has not, like too many of
his predecessors in the same field, been
content to take for Calvin's correspon-
dence Beza's edition of the Epistolce
t Responsa Calvini, which really con-
tains but a small portion of Calvin's
correspondence, but has with wonderful
labor and perseverance collected a large
amount of Calvin's letters hitherto un-
known, and which were dispersed
throughout Europe.
A second edition of the Bibliotheque
des icrivains de la Compagnie de ydsus^
par le P. Angus tin de Backer, is
announced as soon to be published.
It will be in three volumes in folio,
each volume to contain about three
thousand columns, and will be placed at
the very low price of forty-five francs.
It will not be for sale in the usual man-
13«
New Publicatums.
ner by booksellers, and we therefore
make special mendon of it Persons
desiring to obtain it may address the
author, (College Saint Servais, Li^e,
Belgique,) or the publisher of the
Etudes Religieuses^ Historiques et Lit-
Urairesy {No. i8 RueLhomond, d Paris,)
The first edition, commenced by Fa"
tbers Augustin and Alois de Backer^
appeared in 1855, in seven Tok. 8to.
The new edition, besides being in a sin*
gle alphabetical series, will contain nu-
merous corrections and additions. It
also contains articles on controversies
of special interest, such as the publi-
cation of the Acta Sanctomm^ the ori-
gin of the order of Carmil^ etc.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Lectures and Essays on Irish
AND OTHER SUBJECTS. By Henry
Giles. New York : D. & J. Sadlier
&Co.
Besides biographical lectures on
0*Connell, Curran, Dr. Doyle, Oliver
Goldsmith, and Gerald Griffin, this vol-
ume contains other lectures on the
spirit of Irish history, Irish social cha-
racter, etc., which many of our read-
ers have, doubtless, heard delivered by
the author in his pleasant and effective
style.
Mr. Giles is of Irish birth, and for
many years officiated and preached as a
Unitarian minister. There can be no
doubt that his Irish patriotism is sin-
cere and enthusiastic, and yet, as we
read, we feel as though something were
wanting. For reasons that can be per-
fectly well understood without detailed
explanation, Irish patriotic character
always appears incomplete without
Catholicity. Oliver Goldsmith and the
Duke of Wellington are as much of
Irish birth as Dr. Doyle and Daniel
O'Connell ; but how much more essen-
tially Irish to every one are the two lat-
ter rtian the two former. The Catholic
reader of these lectures sadly misses
what he feels to be most essential
Take, for instance, the lectures on
O'Connell, Gerald Griffin, and Dr.
Doyle, which are among the best, and he
perceives the absence of an element of
appreciation that nothing but Catholic
sympathy could supply. These papers
have high merit as oral lectures, and
precisely because of this merit they fall
short of their reputation when read.
The eflfective lecture is not necessarily
an eflfective essay. There are certain
elements nowadays almost indispensa-
ble to the success of a lecture, and they
happen to be precisely those which de-
tract from its literary merit. The re-
dundancy of anecdote is one of these
elements, and Mr. Giles n^ strongly
given to it
The book is, nevertheless, pleasant
reading, although such essays as **' The
Christian Idea in Catholic Art and in
Protestant Culture" afibrd additional
proof— if any were needed — of the bar-
renness of Protestantism in art
Order and Chaos: A Lecture, de-
livered at Loyola College, Baltimore,
in July, 1869. By T. W. M. Marshall,
Esq. Baltimore: John Murphy A:
Co. 1869.
Mr. Marshall, who is both one of
the most solid and altogether the witti-
est of English writers, delivered this
lecture in Baltimore before a select au-
dience, on the eve of his return to Eng-
land. It is a well-reasoned argument,
clothed in the author's usual choice and
happy style, and spiced with a seasona-
ble amount of his humor. Its topic is
the order prevailing in the Catholic
Church contrasted with the disorder
which rules among the sects, as a proof
New Publications,
139
diat the fionner is of God, while the lat-
ter are of man. We quote the folk>wing
eztracty which contains a well-delivered
blow at the disonionists :
** You are asked to believe, by those who
preiier the temple of chaos to the sancta-
ary of God, this monstrous propositioo ;
that although disorder is inexorably banish-
ed, as we have seen, from every other part
of his dominions, as a thing abhorrent to
the Divine Architect, it finds its true home
and congenial refuge precisely in that spiri-
tual kingdom of which he is at once the
hwgiver and the life. Brute matter knows
nothing of it ; earth, and sea, and sky re-
fine to give it a place ; the very beasts of
the field obey a law which regulates all the
conditions of their existence ; but confusion
and chaos, which can find a home nowhere
else, reign, and ought to reign, in the Chris-
tian church, and in the kingdom of souls I
That is the proposition which is deliberate-
ly maintained, at this hour and in this land,
by men whose profession it is to teach others
eternal truth. They gravely assert that re-
ligion — which, when it is divine, is a bond
of onion stronger than adamant, and when
it is homan, is the most active dissolvent*
the most powerful disintegrating agent
which divides and devastates modern socie-
ty— ^u/ivx by ceasing to be one, and that
Christianity derives its chief vitality from
the very divisions which make it contemp-
tible in the sight of unbelievers, and had
ofien provoked the scorn and derision even
of the pagan world. As this statement may
seem to you impossible, even in this nine-
teenth century, which is tolerant of all ab-
snrdities in the sphere of religion, I will
qnote to yon the very words of one of the
OMWt conspicuous preachers of this land,
who holds a high position in the hierarchy
of chaos. I take them from one of your
own local journals, of the second of this
month, (June.) You know that of late
years many Protestants, weary of their
ceaseless conflicts and ashamed of their un-
ending divisions, have begun at last to sigh
kx the unity which they have lost, and that
in England they have even formed a society
widi the express object of bringing together
what they ignorantly call 'the different
bran ch es of the church.' We are told, how-
ever, by the journal to which I allude, that
the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher, vehe-
neatly rejecting every such project, lately
'preached against the schemes of church
onion, whether planned by pope, protestant,
or pagan' — ^pray understand that these are
■oC my words — and added this characteris-
tic dissuasive fi'ora unity. * The strength of
the Christian religion lies,' he said — in what
do you suppose ? in its truth, its holiness,
or its peace ? no, but — ' in the number of the
existing denominations,^ The hands fall down
in reading such words. ' I pray,' said He
who will judge the world, * that they may
all be one^ as thou, Father, art in me, and I
in thee.' I sincerely trust, replies Mr.
Beecher, that they never will be one. * Be
perfect,' said St Paul, *in the same mind
and the same judgment,^ It is much more
important, rejoins Mr. Beecher, that you
should maintain your divisions and perpetu-
ate your differences, for in them lies the
strength of Christianity. * Sects,' observed
the same apostle, ' are the work of the flesh.'
Mr. Beecher judges them more leniently,
and warns his hearers, as you see, against
the mistake of St Paul. Yes, these human
teachers have come at last to this. They
know so well that supernatural unity b be-
yond their reach, that they have come to
hate it, and to call it an evil I Yet even
they will not deny that it was the unity of
the first Christians which conquered the
heathen world ; and when the victory was
accomplished, and the surviving pagans had
only strength enough left to beat themselves
against the ground where they had fallen,
they also cried out in their impotent rage,
* Execranda est ista consensio '—cursed be this
unity of the Chrisdans. They had found
it to be invincible, but did not know that it
was divine. Mr. Beecher dares not say
openly, 'Cursed be the unity for which
Christ prayed,' for even his disciples, though
they can l>sar a good deal, could not bear
that ; but he is not afraid to say, ' Blessed
be chaos V ' Confusion, thou art my choice I'
' Disorder, be thou mine inheritance I' Let
us wish him a happier lot, both in this world
and the next"
In Heaven we know Our Own ;
OR, Solace for the Suffering.
From the French of the Rev. Father
Blot, S.J. New York : The Catho-
lic Publication Society. 1869.
We would call special attention to
this delightful little book. The lady
translator has conferred a very great
service on English-speaking Catholics ;
nor on Catholics alone, but also on all
professing Christians "of good-will,"
who,
" Here in the fetble twnigfat «r tlw world
Gropinf,"
'
I40
New Publications.
in order to satisfy one of tlieir deepest
and holiest cravings, and not having
known the Catholic Church, nor there-
fore ** the communion of saints," have
turned — and most naturally — into paths
which only lead to deception and de-
spair.
The book before us supplies to " the
afflicted " who mourn the loss of friends
a consolation as solid as it is abundant :
a proof on unshakable grounds of
truths which seem to be forgotten
even by some among Catholics ; that
human ties do survive the grave ; that
" There the cherished heart is fond.
The eye the same, except ia tears ;*'
and that the knowledge and love of
creatures must necessarily form an in-
tegral part of the happiness of heaven.
The reader will be astonished to see
what Catholic saints and doctors have
said on this subject ; and what a stress
they have laid on it as a part of their
own hopes and anticipations. To those,
too, in particular, who are tempted to de-
spair of the departed, an antidote is here
offered for this poison of their rest ; an
antidote which, we are sure, has long
been needed by many an anxious heart
In commending this book, then, to
Catholics, we would urge them to put
it as much as possible in the hands
of non-Catholic friends. The success
of a recent work, entitled The Gates
Ajar^ is evidence enough of the hunger
that exists in all souls for food of this
kind. And why should any be left to
pick up crumbs, when a full table in-
vites them ? A perusal of In Heaven
We Know Our Own may open the
eyes of many to the glorious fact it is
our privilege to know — that the Catho-
lic religion embraces all truth, and
alone can satisfy all the souPs crav-
ings :
** An endless fountain of immortal drink.
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.*'
MOPSA THE Fairy. By Jean Ingelow.
With illustrations. Boston : Roberts
Brothers. 1869.
If the children wish to visit fairy-land,
they could have no better guide than
Jean Ingelow; yet even she fiiils to
make the £iiry-world half so £ur or in-
teresting as our own every-day world.
However, Jack learns some good les-
sons in his visit to fairy-land; for be
found a whole nation of fairies turned
into stone for being unkind and selfish.
Let the little ones take care lest the
fate of the fairies befall them. The
book is beautifully illustrated, and is al-
together a very pleasant book for chil-
dren.
Two Years before the Mast. A
Personal Narrative by Richard Henry
Dana, Jr. New edition. Boston:
Fields, Osgood & Co. 1869.
Twelve years ago we determined
upon a voyage similar to that the author
describes, and from a similar motive.
This recital of bis two years' expe-
rience before the mast was put into our
hands to deter us from going. We re-
collect reading it with the greatest inter-
est, and being afterward more anxious to
go than ever. After three years' expe-
rience, during which we shared all the
sailor's toils and pleasures *' fore and
aft," we returned to a student's life. It
was therefore with some curiosity we re-
opened this book to see what our judg-
ment would be of this sailor's yam as
compared with our own experience.
Before, it had the charm of adventure
untried ; now it gave the pleasure of
again, in ihiagination, riding the topsail
yard-arm amid the wild storm, hauling
out the " weather earing," and " send-
ing her" off the Cape with all hands
lashed to the rigging. We have never
read so vivid yet truthful a description
of a sailor's life. It is refreshing to see
for once nautical terms correctly and
naturally used. We suspect that the
author's estimate of the character and
religion of the people he visited has
changed since he wrote. The con-
dition of the Mexicans now, as com-
pared with their peace and prosperity
under the paternal care of the Catholic
missionaries, would surely warrant it
We heartily sympathize with the au-
thor in his desire to better the condition
of seamen. They are a noble, large-
hearted class of men. We never ex-
New Publications,
141
pect to meet more courageous, gene-
rous, faithful men than our comrades at
sea. Yet their life, which must be full
of toil and danger, is made unnecessarily
bard and laborious by unjust treatment
They are over-worked and half-fed at
sea, and swindled on shore. If among
the various protective societies, one
were organized to protect seamen from
shipping masters, brutal officers, and
** boarding-house runners," it would be
a praiseworthy act
The author's account of his later visit
to the Pacific cbast is very acceptably
added to this new edition, and shows
the great change that has taken place in
the condition of our commerce and of
otir country.
DuRY, Reminiscences, and Corre-
spondence OF Henry Crabb Ro-
binson. Selected and edited by
Thomas Sadler, Ph.D. 2 vols.
i2mo. Pp. 496, 555. Boston:
Fields, Osgood & Co.
In the United States, it is only the
readers of the literary biography of the
last generation that know Henry Crabb
Robinson even bv name : for althou£rh
be was intimately acquainted with some
scores of distinguished men, and mo-
Tcd in the best literary society of
England, he left little or nothing to re-
call his memory after he was dead, ex-
cept the immense piles of manuscript
from which these two volumes have
been selected. These, we venture to
predict, will enjoy a permanent place in
literature, not much below the Diary
of Pepys and BoswelFs Life of John-
iOH. Mr. Robinson, however, had no-
thing of the Pepys or the Boswell in
his character. He was a man of sharp
natural faculties, excellent scholarship,
abundant wit, eminent social accom-
pjtshments, and strong character. In
his youth he was a foreign correspon-
dent and sub-editor of TAe Times.
Afterward he practised at the bar.
Bot for the most important part of his
fife, covering a period of some thirty
yttrs before his death, he had no pro-
fcsrion, and passed his time in the so-
ciety of literary and other celebrities,
with whom, for his extraordinary con-
versational powers and more sterling
qualities, he was always a welcome
guest It is to his anecdotes and re-
collections of such men — Lamb, Words-
worth, Southey, Byron, Coleridge,
Moore, Rogers, Goethe, Lady Morgan,
Lady Blessington, Landor, and others
— told with spirit and discretion, that
the Diary ami Reminiscences owe
their value. The work of selection
and arrangement has been performed
with excellent judgment, and no one
who takes up the volumes will readily
lay them aside.
The Elements of Theoretical and
Descriptive Astronomy; for the
use of Colleges and Academies. By
Charles J. White, A.M., Assistant
Professor of Astronomy and Naviga-
tion in the United States Naval
Academy. i6mo, 272 pp. Philadel-
phia: Claxton, Remsen & Haffel-
finger, 819 and 821 Market street.
186^.
Most writers of text-books, probably,
are impelled to their task by an impres-
sion that a void exists which only can
be filled by a work answering to a con-
ception which they have formed in the
course of their studies. This arises
from the fact that few subjects of study
can be thoroughly mastered by merely
imbibing the ideas of another person,
and that consequently every one who
spends much time in acquiring, or par-
ticularly in teaching, any science, is
obliged to think a good deal upon the
subject, and hence to arrange it almost
necessarily in his own mind in a differ-
ent shape, and probably one better
adapted to himself^ than that in which
it was presented to him. Finding noth-
ing just like this among existing text-
books, he naturally concludes that the
really systematic arrangement has yet
to be given, and by himself.
This every teacher perhaps is tempt-
ed to do; but unfortunately, the best
teachers, who perceive what difficulties
are met with by the mass of students,
sometimes deny themselves the plea-
sure, or are perhaps unable to indulge
142
New Publications.
in it, while others supply books suited
only to a few. Sometimes, also, no
void remains, having been already
filled. But in this subject of astronomy
there certainly was a need of a new
work sufficiendy precise and condensed
to present salient points to the mind of
the student, and form matter for a reci-
tation, without being unnecessarily tech-
nical and uninteresting. HerschePs
Outlines^ though an interesting and
thoroughly scientific work, and clear in
its explanations, is rather fit to be read
than to be studied or recited from ; yet
this was undoubtedly the best book for
those not wishing to pursue astronomy
professionally, but merely to acquire a
su6icient knowledge of it for a liberal
education, or to understand navigation
and other branches of knowledge in
which it is involved.
Mr. White's book is exactly what was
wanted for this purpose, supplying all
HerschePs defects for the student, being
nearly or quite as clear, and much more
concise. It also contains other matters
which would not usually be found ex-
cept in works on what is called practi-
cal astronomy, but which are necessary
for any one who desires to make use of
his knowledge ; which end is also se-
cured throughout by the precise and
definite form in which every thing is
treated. One often fancies he under-
stands a subject, but finds that his
knowledge is unavailable from not being
sufficiently in detail
The author has a thorough acquaint-
ance with his science, and remarkable
natural ability as a teacher, developed
by long experience. It will be a deci-
ded waste of time for any one to under-
take a similar book till the progress of
science renders large additions to this
absolutely necessary; and this is
brought up to the actual date of publica-
tion, containing the latest results of the
spectroscope, and the most recent de-
terminations of the astronomical con-
stants.
DiOMEDE. From the Iliad oi Homer.
By William R. Smith. New York :
D. Appleton & Co.
This version of the Fifth Book of
the Iliad is as successful, perh^w, as
any similar attempt yet maide. If not
as smooth and polished as Pope's, it is
at least more accurate. But we venture
to think that the author has mistaken
the true metre for translating Homer.
We believe the blank-verse of Tenny-
son the only one capable of render-
ing it adequately. Much as we appre*
ciate the version before us, we have not
yet seen any thing to equal Tennyson's
<' specimen translation" of the celebrat-
ed moonlight scene, {Iliad^ Book viiL)
Patty Gray's Journey from Bos-
ton TO Baltimore. By Caroline
H. Dall. Boston : Lee & Shepard.
1869.
A pleasant and interesting story of
Patty's journey to and stay in Balti-
more. Though Patty was a little girl,
she was nevertheless a true Yankee,
and thought ''that people must talk
and act as they did in Boston, or they
could not possibly talk and act right"
She thought, too, " she could never love
a 'Secesh ;'" still, like a dear little girl
as she was, she soon learned to love
her uncle Tom and other relatives
dearly. If the preface had been left
out, the book might be a good one for
children; it certainly cannot be good
for them to have all the abuses of sla-
very served up again and again. That
evil has been done away with, and, at
least as far as the children are concern-
ed, " let us have peace."
Ecclesiastical Map of the United
States of America. Arranged by
Rev. E. H. Reiter, S.J., of Boston,
Mass. For sale by Fr. Pustet, Book-
seller and Publisher, 52 Barclay st.,
New York ; 204 Vine st, Cincinnati,
Ohio.
On this large and excellent map of
the United Sutes the seven Ecclesias-
tical Provinces into which the country
is divided are distinguished by differ-
ent ground colors, and the boundaries
of the several dioceses in each province
and of the vicariates apostolic are indi-
New Publications.
X43
tttod by red lines. All the episcopal
ices are marked by a line, either red
or blue ; while the archiepiscopal sees
are shown by a combination of these
two colors. We regard this map as a
very useful publication.
Autobiography of a Shaker, and
Revelation or the Apocalypse.
With an Appendix. F. W. Evans,
Mount Lebanon, Columbia County,
N. Y.June, 1869.
No man in our day should attempt
to solve the religious question without
a competent knowledge of the basis of
the claims of the Catholic Church to
being the church of God and her faith
the true Christian £iith. Her claim is
prior to all others as an historical fact,
and must be fairly set aside before
another can be allowed to come into
court The author of the above auto-
biography is, as is usual with the oppo-
nents of the Catholic Church, sadly
lacking in this knowledge. Among
other absurdities, he tells us gravely that
"the Roman Catholic Church was
founded by Leo the Great "! Well, af-
ter all, that is an improvement on Rev.
Jostin D. Fulton, of Boston, who af-
firms, '* Romanism is the masterpiece
of Satan."
The author appears to possess a
smattering knowledge of several things,
and an exact and thorough knowledge
of none. His book is a jumble of mate-
rialism and spiritualism, of infidelity.
Protestantism, and credulity.
The language attributed, on page 80,
to the late Archbishop Hughes, we veiv-
turc to say was drawn from the writer's
imagination*
Hospital Sketches, and Camp axd
Fireside Stories. By Louisa M.
Akott With illustrations. Bos-
* ton: Roberts Brothers. 1869. Pp.
379.
Hospital Sketches originally appear-
ed in the columns of the Boston Com*
•wwfwa/M, over the signature of Tri-
bulation Periwinkle, and are *' simply a
brief record of one person's expe-
rience,'* as an army hospital nurse*
They are written in a pleasant, gossipy,
natural style ; the incidents, a judicious
admixture of the " grave and gay," the
humorous and the pathetic, being alike
removed from the extremes of levity
and gloom.
Camp and Fireside Stories^ though
more pretentious in style and elaborate
in plot, are not, in our opinion, of equal
merit
Bible History ; containing the most
remarkable events of the Old and
New Testament. Prepared for the
use of Catholic Schools in the United
States. By Rev. Richard Gilmour.
With the approbation of the Most
Reverend J. B. Purcell, D.D., Arch-
bishop of Cincinnati. Cincinnati and
New York: Benziger Bros. 1869.
Pp. 336.
We can heartily recommend this as
an excellent "intermediate" text-book
in sacred history. Nor must we omit a
special commendation of the publishers,
who, as far as the paper and typography
are concerned, are deserving of all
praise. The illustrations are nume-
rous, always pertinent to the text,
and, generally speaking, satisfactory.
An appendix contains " Maxims from
the Sacred Scriptures," "The Christian
Doctrine as seen in the Narrations of
the Bible," and " A Bird's-Eye View of
the Holy Land," the key to which last,
strange to say, omits the city of Jeru-
salem.
The Letters of Placidus on Edu-
cation. London : Richardson &
Son. For sale by The Catholic
Publication Society, New York.
We commend these Letters of Placi-
dns to the careful consideration of edu-
cators. They are from the pen of a
sound Catholic, an accomplished scho-
lai-, and one who evidently speaks from
a thorough experience. Some, indeed,
may think them boki in places ; but all
144
New Publications,
will find them to contain suggestions
worthy of their deepest attention.
The Emerald. An Illustrated Litera-
ry Journal. Vol III. New York:
The Emerald Publishing Company.
1869. Pp. 412.
This volume, in many respects supe-
rior to its predecessors, comprises an
immense amount of interesting and en-
tertaining reading matter, and is pro-
fusely illustrated.
The Office of Vespers ; Containing
the Order of the Vesper Service, the
Gregorian Psalm Tones harmonized,
with the Psalms for all Vespers dur-
ing the year pointed for chanting.
By Rev. Alfred Young. New York :
The Catholic Publication House.
1869.
Father Young has given us, we are
glad to see, strictly Gregorian melodies,
both in the ritual of the vesper service
and in the psalm tones, such as are to
be found in authorized editions of the
Aniiphonale Romanum, This is some-
thing we commend with all our heart.
The melodies commonly found in our
" choir books," " vesperals," and " ser-
vices," are for the most part so garbled,
both in the inflections and arrange-
ments, as to leave very little of the
original Gregorian tone standing. The
chief merit of the book, however, con-
sists in a new division of the tones, and
of the psalms, by which but one point-
ing of the psalms is needed for chant-
ing any one of the tones with their
varied concluding cadences. Father
Maugin attempted something of this
kind in his Roman Vesfieral^ but suc-
ceeded only in reducing the different
pointings to four. The simplicity of
Father Young's arrangement cannot
fail to be appreciated by organists as
well as by the singers. With his book
in our choirs we need not be condemn-
ed to hear the tiresome repetition of the
same five psalms sung to the same five
tones on every Sunday and festival in
the year. We hope the author will find
sufficient success with the present pub-
lication to give us, as he proposes, the
Hymnal and AntiphonaL With these
we can have our vespers chanted as
they should be, in their truly effective
style and religious spirit, in comparison
to which our so-called ''musical ves-
pers " are tame, unmeaning, and, spiri-
tually, unprofitable.
The Two Women: A Ballad By
Delta. Milwaukee: The Wisconsin
News Company. 1868.
This somewhat curious effusion gave
us much pleasure as we read it The
smoothness and grace of the verse, and
sometimes the diction, too, remind us
strongly of Tennyson.
The Life of Henry Dorie, Martyr.
By the Abb^ Ferdinand Baudry.
Translated by Lady Herbert Lon-
don : Burns, Oates & Co. For sale
by The Catholic Publication Society,
New York.
This neat little book is full of inter-
est, as giving not only an admirable
sketch of its noble hero, but also a
view of the Corea and its inhabitants,
for which the reader will be grateful
who is eager to know more of that
strange region, and the wondrous work
that is doing there.
The Catholic Publication So-
ciety has just published a new and
complete classified catalogue of all the
American and English Catholic books
now in print To be had/r^^ on appli-
cation at 126 Nassau Street
The Catholic Publication Socie-
ty has in press and will publish in a
few weeks: The IVritings of Ma-
dame Swetchine, i vol. i2mo, I1.50,
uniform with Life of ^fada^^u Sweich-
tne. Hymns and Songs for Catholic
Children^ containing the most popular
Catholic hymns for every season of
the Christian year, together with May
songs, Christmas and Easter carols,
and for the use of Sunday-schools, so-
dalities, etc
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD
VOL. X., No. s6.— NOVEMBER, 1869.
THE LIFE OF FATHER FABER.*
In the life of Father Faber there
was no sudden and violent change
from the excitement of worldly affairs
to the quiet of the cloister, no strik-
ing intervention of divine Providence,
such as that which in a single day
converted Ignatius from a courtier to
a saint He suffered, it is true, from
spiritual conflicts and that rupture of
natural ties which for so many con-
verts to the faith is little short of a
species of martyrdom; but the ten-
der piety which beams from all his
maturer devotional works seems to
have filled his heart from boyhood,
and his progress from heresy to faith
was like the gradual development of
a seed planted in his breast in early
youth. Yet it is hardly in the Faber
family that we should have looked
for a phenomenon like this. They
were of Huguenot origin, and proud
of their religious ancestry ; and their
exiled forefathers, who settled in Eng-
land after the revocation of the Edict
of Nantes, we may fairly presume
were honored in the family as con-
fessors of the faith. The grandfather
of the subject of these pages was the
Reverend Thomas Faber, vicar of
' • The Li/t (md LetUra of FrteUrkk WiUtam
Fmhtr^ D.D., Priest of the Oratory of Si. Philip
Ntrt By John Edward Bowden, of the same Con-
Plitiu o. Boltiiwire : John Murphy & Co. 1869.
VOL, X. — 10
Calverley, in Yorkshire. Frederick
William was bom at the vicarage,
on the 28th of June, 1814. His fa-
ther, Mr. Thomas Henry Faber, was
soon afterward appointed secretary to
the Bishop of Durham, and removed
with his family to the episcopal do-
main of Bishop Auckland. Durham
had not yet lost its dignity as a
County Palatine, and in the glories of
the ancient city, where the bishop held
his court with all the pomp and some-
thing of the power of royalty, there
was much to impress a warm poeti-
cal imagination, like that of young
Faber. The poetical faculty was af-
terward fostered by the beautiful sce-
nery of the Lake country, when he
was sent to school at Kirkby Stephen,
in Westmoreland. There it was his
chief delight to ramble alone among
the hills and meres, and fancy the
chases filled again with deer, the fo-
rests resounding with the hunter's
horn, the ruined halls and castles re-
sonant with feast and song, and the
deserted abbeys vocal with prayer
and chant. He shows his familiarity
with this region in some of his pub-
lished verses. Subsequently, he stu-
died at Harrow, under Doctor Long-
ley, afterward Archbishop of Canter-
bury, by whose kindness and influ-
146
The Life of Father Faber,
cnce he was reclaimed at a time
when he. had adopted infidel views.
He gave himself with all his heart to
the study of English literature; but
the classics got rather less attention
from him than they deserved, and his
career at Oxford, where he was ma-
triculated at Baliol College, in 1832,
cannot be called a brilliant one. He
was a man of scholarly tastes and of
scholarly attainments as well, yet in
certain of the highest requirements
of the university he seems to have
fallen short ; for we hear of his failing
once or twice, not indeed in his ex-
aminations, but in competition for a
distinguished place. The fact pro-
bably was, that he applied himself
with undue partiality to favorite stu-
dies, such as poetry and divinity.
He was remarkable even at this time
for graces of person and manner, fine
conversational powers, and a rare
faculty of attracting firiends, notwith-
standing a certain dangerous keen-
ness in his perceptions of the ludi-
crous, coupled with great frankness
in the expression of his feelings. " I
cannot tell why it is," said one of his
schoolmates at Harrow, "but that
Faber fascinates every body." This
remark was repeated to him after-
ward, and filled him with a sense of
obligation to use the gift in promot-
ing God's glory.
The temporary eclipse of faith to
which we have alluded was of very
short duration ; and when he came to
Oxford, he was keenly alive to religious
impressions, with a strong Calvinistic
tendency. The tractarian movement,
however, was just beginning, and
Faber became an enthusiastic admi-
rer — "an acolyth," as he expressed
it— of John Henry Newman, who
was then preaching at St. Maiy's,
♦Oxford. He did not make Mr.
Newman's acquaintance till several
years later; but under his influence
^iie forgot his evangelicalism, and
threw himself eagerly into the great
movement for the revival of church
principles as expounded in the JYacts
for t/ie Times. " Transubstantiation
has been bothering me," he wrote to
a friend; "not that I lean to it, but J
have seen no refutation of it. How
can it be absurd and contradictory to
the evidence of our senses, when they
cannot by any means take cogni-
zance of the unknown being, sub-
stance, which alone is held up as the
subject of this conversion ?"
This tendency toward Catholic
truth was but slight, however, and
evanescent. There came a reaction
in the course of a litde while, and
Mr. Faber wrote to one of his
friends :
" I have been thinking a great deal on
the merits and tendency of Newmanism,
and I have become more than ever convinc-
ed of its ^sehood. . . What makes me
fear most is, that I have seen Newman him-
self growittg in his opinions ; I have seen
indistinct visions become distinct embodi-
ments ; I have seen the conclusion of one
proposition become the premiss of a next,
through a long series : all this is still going
on — to my eyes more like the blind march
of error than the steady uniformity of truth
— ^and I know not when it will stop."
How thoroughly his mind and
heart were taken up with religious
problems we can see in almost every
letter. One of the correspondents to
whom he seems to have expressed
himself with the fullest freedom was
Mr. John Brande Morris, and to him
he writes, in 1834:
•* When, after writing to you, and one or
two other relations and friends, I turn to
pen a letter to my literary intellectual
friends, you cannot conceive how weak and
uninteresting the topics of discussion be-
come. It is like one of Tom Moore*s melo-
dies after an Handel ian chorus, at once In-
dicrous and disgusting from its inferiority."
He read a great deal of religious
biography, and when he saw "the*
maturity of faith and the religious
perfection to which many good men
The Life of Father Faber.
147
arrive so early,** he felt disheartened
at his own condition. " It is true,"
be said, " I have often had hours of
ecstatic, enthusiastic devotion; but
the fever has soon subsided, and my
feelings have flowed on calmly and
soberiy in their accustomed chan-
nels,** He looked for the fruits of
his faith and found none. Yet in his
ignorance of what constitutes the
tnie spiritual life, Faber, in his ear-
nest search after perfection, was
doubtiess much nearer to God than
the evangelical saints whose condi-
tion he so envied. He was soon sur-
rounded at Oxford by a little circle
of admirers, who made him, in some
sort, the exemplar and guide of their
xeligious hfe. He was about twenty
or twenty-one years of age when he
began a systematic effort to improve
the opportunities for doing good
Which he believed had thus been pro-
videntially opened to him. " I pro-
ceeded,** he wrote soon afterward, " to
dictate, to organize, so to speak, a
system of aggressive efforts in favor
of religion ; and under my guidance
a number of prayer-meetings was
^)eedily established; and by God*s
grace I was enabled to do it with
little noise or ostentation." In an-
odier letter he describes the perplexi-
ty which he suffered during a vaca-
tion visit to one of his disciples, who
had "declined from his Christian
profession,** and manifested an unre-
generate fondness for the pleasures
of life, balls, theatres, etc., which are
generally so attractive to the young.
Mr. Faber had litde difficulty in re-
asserting his influence; but his
friend's father had " a violent preju-
dice against what he called Uhe
humbug of evangelicals,*'* and
ttrongly disapproved of the enthusi-
astic views of the little Oxford cote-
ne. Mr. Faber could not hold his
tongue and let the son alone; he
trembled at the thought of breeding
domestic dissension; and he could
not break off his visit without giving
offence. It would be interesting to
know how he got out of the difficul-
ty, but he does not tell us.
There soon came a time when he
discovered that, however Calvinism
might answer for seasons of religious
excitement and spiritual exaltation,
it was not fit for the daily food of the
soul. He could not always be at
a prayer-meeting or an exhortadon.
Secular studies exacted most of his
time, and he ffelt then that there was
nothing for him to lean upon. An-
other change in his religious views
was the inevitable consequence. He
had been for some time an admiring
student of the works of George Her-
bert ; Herbert led him on to Bishop
Andrewes; the necessity of sacra-
ments, the prerogatives of the church,
the " penitential system of the primi-
tive church,** and " the girdle of celiba-
cy and the lamp of watching** became
subjects of frequent recurrence in his
letters ; he confessed that " the evan-
gelical system feeds the heart at the
expense of the head,'* and "makes
religion a series of frames of feeHng ;"
and before long we find him quoting
with approbation the writings of Dr.
Wiseman. He was indeed steadily
advancing toward the Catholic
Church, though he was far enough
from suspecting it. In June, 1836,
he writes :
" Newman is delivering lectures against
the Church of Rome. I have just come
from a magnificent one on Peter*s preroga-
tive. He admits the text in its full literal
completeness, and shows that it makes not
one iota for the jurisdiction of the Bishop
of Rome."
It was well that he was getting even
by these slow degrees to a more
comfortable faith ; for in his universi-
ty career he was destined to suffer,
just at this time, several severe trials.
He had carried off, in 1836, the
148
The Life of Father Fabtr.
prize for a poem on The Knights of
St. yohn; but in the examination
for his degree he made a compara-
tive failure, his name appearing only
in the second class, and, as a conse-
quence of this misfortune, he was
also defeated in a contest for a fel-
lowship in his own college. To di-
vert his mind from this double morti-
fication and recruit his exhausted
strength, he made a short visit to
Germany with his brother, the Reve-
rend Francis A. Faber. Soon after
his return, he secured a fellowship at
University College, and also carried
off the Johnson divinity scholarship,
for which there was a strong compe-
tition. His position being now se-
cure, he began to prepare himself
zealously for orders. He made the
acquaintance of Doctor Newman,
and joined in his scheme for compil-
ing the Library of the Fathers^ un-
dertaking, as his share of the work,
to translate the Books of St, Optatus
against the Donatisis, He obtained
a few pupils, and during the vacation
accompanied a small reading party
to Ambleside, near the head of Win-
dermere. There he was fortunate
enough to form a friendship with
Wordsworth, and used to spend long
days rambling with the poet over the
neighboring mountains — Wordsworth
muttering verses in the intervals of
conversation. His correspondence
is full of admiring allusions to Words-
worth's poetry, " Well or sick," he
says, " cheerful or sad, I can almost al-
ways get happiness and quiet and good
resolves out of the old poet — God
bless him! One may hang on one
sonnet of his by the hour, like a bee
in a fox-glove, and still get sweet-
njess." His opinions of some other
famous poets would be declared un-
questionably heterodox. He ivrote
to his brother from Italy in 1843:
^ I spent a tUlicums evening' at Fiesole,
yesterday, and not being, as I had feared,
tormented by a single thought of the exe-
crable rebel and heretic, Milton, I had no-
thing to disturb the beautiful tranquillity of
the sunset, and the rosy mists of the gir-
den-like Valdarno. . . . England has
no *need* of Milton: how can a country
have need of any thing, policy, courage, ta-
lent, or any thing else, which is unblessed
of God ; and how can any talent in any sub-
ject-matter be blessed by the Eternal Father
for one who, in prose and verse, denied,
ridiculed, blasphemed the Godhead of the
Eternal Son? Milton (accursed be his
blasphemous memory) spent a great part
of his life in writing down my Lord's divini-
ty — my sole trust, my sole love ; and that
thought poisons ComusJ*^
For Byron, "the beast who thrust
Christ into company 'with Jove and
Mohammed" — Byron, " trampling
under foot his duties to his country',
and scorning the natural pieties," his
antipathy amounted to loathing. " I
must say that I cannot comprehend
the anomaly which strikes me both in
guide-books and conversation of quot-
ing and praising men like Milton
and Byron, when a man professes to
love Christ and to put all his hopes
of salvation in him."
Mr. Faber's old master at Har-
row, Doctor Longley, now Bishop
of Ripon, ordained him deacon in
1837, ^"^ Bishop Bagot promoted
him to the priesthood at Oxford in
1839. Meanwhile, he had spent the
long vacations at Ambleside, assisting
there in parochial work, and preach-
ing twice a week, and the rest of the
year he had passed among his books
at Oxford. A devoted Anglican at
this time, and full of hope that the
movement guided by Pusey, New-
man, and their associates would re-
volutionize the whole English estab-
lishment, he had gone so far toward
Catholicism that when, just after his
ordination as priest, he made a second
visit to the continent, he wrote to the
Rev. J. B. Morris the following curi-
ous letter from Cologne ;
Tke Life of Father Faber.
149
" I ku 3^a will think me a sad Protes-
tant I determined, and so did M ^ to
conform to the Catholic ritual here. We
both of us got Mechlin breviaries at Mechlin,
and go to church pretty regularly every day
to saj the boors, and we say the rest of the
hoQis as the priests do, in carriages, or
inns, or anywhere. Also, I have been tutor-
iicd in the breviary by a very nice priest, a
simple-hearted, pious fellow with little
knowledge of theology. But it all will not
do. The careless irreverence, the noise,
the going in and out, the spitting of the
priests on the altar-steps, the distressing
representations of our Blessed Lord — I can-
not get over them. The censing of the
priests, the ringing of bells, the constant
carrjing of the blessed sacrament from one
altar to another — this I can manage ; be-
cause I can say psalms meanwhile. But at
best, when I can get away into a side cha-
pel with no wax virgins in it, and no hide-
oos pictures of the Father, I cannot man-
age well'*
The idea that Anglicans were cx-
comnmnicate from Western Chris-
tendom was a terrible distress to him.
" Would you not like," he writes to
the same friend, ^ to spend six months
among the Munich disciples of Moh-
kr, DOllingcr, etc, etc ? Of course
I diall know more of all this when I
have travelled. I shall strive to real-
ize all such little ways of impeded
communion as are imstopped. It
will sofdj do me good, if no one else."
He soon had the coveted opportu-
nity for more extended travel ; for in
1841, he went abroad as tutor to a
young gentleman from Ambleside,
and spent six months journeying
through the countries bordering on
^Mediterranean and the Danube,
Styria, the Tyrol, and Northern Ger-
many. Memorials of this interesting
tour are found in some of his pub-
fehed poems and in a volume called
^S^ and noughts in Foreign
Chaxkes and among Foreign PeopleSy
which appeared in 1842, dedicated
to Wordsworth. Into this book the
author introduced many reflections
upon religious matters, chiefly in the
ftffm of conversations with an imagi-
nary representative of mediaeval Chris-
tianity, as well as of Mr. Faber*s own
Catholic feelings, whom he calls " the
Stranger." The volume closes with
a dream, in which the author con-
ducts the stranger through English
cathedrals, with their bare altars and
empty niches. "The stranger re-
garded them with indignation, but
did not speak. When we came out
of the church, he turned to me, and
said in a solemn voice, somewhat
tremulous from deep emotion, * You
have led me through a land of closed
churches and hushed bells, of un-
lighted altars and unstoled priests.
Is England beneath an interdict ?' "
The private journal of Mr. Faber*s
journey aboimds with evidences of
the deep impressions which Catholic
customs made upon him, and his se-
cret dissatisfaction with his own cold
church — a dissatisfaction of which
probably he was still himself uncon-
scious. He is at Genoa on the Feast
of the Annunciation, "and not to
be utterly without sympathy with the
Genoese around us, we decorated our
room with a bunch of crimson tulips,
apparentiy the favorite flower, that
we might not be without somewhat
to remind us of her
* Who so above
All mothers shone ;
The Mother of
The Blessed 0ne.»"
In Constantinople he is impressed
with the folly of patching up the An-
glican succession by an alliance with
the Greek Church. " Depend upon
it," he writes, " cast about as we will,
if we want foreign Catholic s)rmpa-
thies, we must And them as they will
let us in our Latin mother." He
witnesses a procession of pilgrims
from Vienna to the shrine of the
Blessed Virgin at Mariazell. " It was
a bewildering sight I thought how
faith ran in my own country in thin
and scattered rivulets, and I looked
ISO
Thi Life of Fatlur Faber,
with envious surprise at this huge
wave which the Austrian capital had
flung upon this green platform of
Styrian highland — a wave of pure,
hearty, earnest faith." He is indig-
nant at the desecration of Sunday by
the Lutheran population of Dresden,
and exclaims, "Yet year after year
are we assured in England of the
connection between popery and what-
ever is disagreeable in the foreign
way of keeping Sunday. No per-
son who has not been abroad, and
heard and seen and investigated for
himself, would credit the extensive
system of lying pursued by English
travel- writers, religious-tract compilers,
and Exeter Hall speech-makers, re-
specting the Roman Church abroad ;
and whether the lies be those of wil-
fulness or of prejudice, ignorance, and
indolence, I do not see much to dis-
tinguish in the guilt These dirt-
seekers scrape the sewers of Europe
to rough-cast the Church of Rome
with the plentiful defilements."
Soon after his return home, he
was offered the college living of
Elton, in Huntingdonshire, and at
first declined it, but afterward, for a
reason which curiously illustrates his
conscientiousness, he determined to
accept. " My chief rock of offence,"
said he, "is the subduing the poet
to the priest.** He would have given
up poetry altogether, but Keble con-
vinced him that he had no right to
bury his chief talent in a napkin.
To cultivate it in moderation was
more difficult, and here he thought
the imcongenial duties of the pasto-
ral office would be a great help in
correcting his inordinate love of lit-
erature, and keeping him within the
bounds of usefulness. " I do not
say you are wrong," was Words-
worth's remark on hearing his deter-
mination ; " but England loses a poet."
If his reason for accepting the
rectory was a strange one, his first
step on taking possesion was still
stranger and still wiser. He deta*
mined to visit Rome and study the
method pursued by the church in
dealing with the souls committed to
her care. " I want to go to Italy,"
said he, " not as a poet, or a tourisl,
or a pleased dreamer, but as a p3-
grim who regards it as a second
Palestine, the Holy Land of the West"
Dr. Wiseman, then coadjutor bishop
of the central district of England,
gave him letters of introduction to
Cardinal Acton and Dr. Grant at
Rome, so that he was enabled to see
much more of the charitable and re-
ligious institutions of the Christian
capital than falls to the lot of the or-
dinary visitor. He studied Italian,
in order that he might undeistand
the numerous lives of saints in that
language, and singularly enough, or
providentially we should rather say,
he conceived a particular devotion to
St Philip Neri, his future £ather. Of
his visit to the room in which the
saint used to say Mass he writes,
"How litde did I, a Protestant
stranger^ in that room years ago,
dream that I should ever be of the
saint's family, or that the Oratorian
father who showed it me should in a
few years be appointed by the pope
the novice-master of the English Ora-
torians. I remember how, when be
kissed the glass of the case in which
St Philip's little bed is kept as a relic,
he apologized to me as a Protestant,
lest I should be scandalized, and told
me with a smile how tenderly St
Philip's children loved their fkther.
I was not scandalized with their rdic-
worship then, but I can understand
better now what he said about the
love, the child-like love, wherewith
St Philip inspired his sons. If any
one had told me that in seven short
years I should wear the same habit,
and the same white collar in the
streets of London, and be preaching
The Life of Father Faber.
ISI
a triduo in honor of Rome's apostle,
I should have wondered how any
erne could dream so wild a dream."
Sensibly as he was affected by
the pious practices and associations
of Rome, his attachment to the
Church of Eng^d was a» yet un-
shaken. He still cherished the delu-
sion that some way could be found of
connecting the Anglican establishment
with this venerable apostolic church.
Controversy on such points of doctrine
as indulgences, etc, he put aside.
** The one thing necessary to prove,"
said he, *' is diat adherence to the
hdy see is essential to the being of a
church: to the wtW-being of all
thurches I admit it essenOalJ^ He
visited the church of the Lateran on
St John's day, and kndt bare-head-
ed in the piazza to receive the holy
fiuher's blessing. " I do not think,"
he writes, " I ever returned from any
service so thoroughly christianized
in every joint and limb, or so right
of heart, as I did from the Lateran
on Thursday." Afterward Cardinal
Acton obtained for him the favor of
a private audience with Pope Gre-
gory XVI., the story of which he tells
in the following words :
** The Rector of the English College ac-
companied me, and told me that, as Protes-
tants did not like kissing the pope's foot,
I should not be required to do it We
waited in the lobby of the Vatican library
fer half an hour, when the pope arrived,
and a prelate opened the door, remaining
outside. The pope was perfectly alone,
without a courtier or prelate, standing in
^ middle of the library, in a plain white
caaock, and a white silk skwU-cap, (white
» the papal color.) On entering, I knelt
tlown, and again when a few yards from
Him, and lastly before him ; he held out
hb hand, bat I kissed his foot ; there seem-
ed to be a mean puerility in refusing the
o»lonury homage. With Ih, Baggs for
interpreter, we had a long conversation ; he
spoke of Dr. Puse/s suspension for defend-
*>g the Catholic doctrine of the Eucharist
with amaxement and disgust; he said to
>Mi 'You must not mislead yourself in
wishing for unity, yet waiting for your
church to move. Think of the salvation of
your own soul.' I said I feared self-will
and individual judging. He said, *You
are all individuals in the English church ;
you have only external communion and
the accident of being all under the queen.
You know this; you know all doctrines
are taught amongst you, any how. You
have good wishes ; may God strengthen
them ! You must think for yourself and
for your soul,' He then laid his hands on
my shoulders, and I immediately knelt
down; upon which he laid them on my
head, and said, * May the grace of God
correspond to your good wishes and deliver
you from the nets {insidie) of Anglicanism,
and bring you to the true holy church !' I
left him almost in tears, affected as much
by the earnest, affectionate demeanor of the
old man as by his blessing and his prayer.
I shall remember SL Alban*8 day in 1843 to
my life's end."
That he did not immediately em-
brace the truth seems to have been
not the effect of cowardice, but of a
genuine scruple such as he expressed
to Pope Gregory. The Anglican
party at this time were sanguine of
their ability to bring their members,
as a body, into communion with the
Roman see, and Mr. Faber was
doubtless conscientious in his delay,
though he suffered terribly from dis-
tress of mind. " I grow more Ro-
man every day," he writes. " I hard-
ly dare read the Articles ; their weight
grows heavier on me daily. I hope
our Blessed Ladfs intercession may
not cease for any of us because we do^
not seek it, since we desist for obe-
dience* sake." He prayed at the shrine
of St Aloysius on the feast of that
saint, and lefl the church as if speech-
less and not knowing where he was^
going. After he became a Catholic,
he told Dr. Grant that on the 21st
of June St Aloysius "had always
knocked very hard at his heart."
Twice he took his hat to go to the
English College and make his abju*
ration, but on each occasion some
trifling circumstance interfered to pre-
152
The Life of Father Faber.
vent the execution of his purpose.
He wore a miraculous medal, and he
obtained some rosaries blessed by
the pope. At last he went home to
Elton, having suffered during his
visit a degree of mental anguish
which actually resulted in physical
injuries that affected him all the rest
of his life.
Dr. Newman's state of mind was
very much like Mr. Faber*s at this
time. The two friends wrote to each
other, and agreed to delay their final
decision for a little while longer ; and
in the mean time Mr. Faber threw all
his energy into his parochial duties,
endeavoring to copy the methods of
pastoral labor which he had gone to
Rome to study. His parish was dis-
orderly in consequence of long ne-
glect, and what religious vitality there
was in the place was found princi-
pally at the dissenting chapel. Mr.
Faber relied for reformation upon
preaching, and what he considered
the sacraments. He cared very little
for ceremonies and vestments, and
compared those who would now be
called ritualists to "grown-up chil-
dren playing at mass, putting orna-
ment before truth, suffocating the in-
ward by the outward." " This is not
the way to become Catholic again;
it is only a profaner kind of Protes-
tantism than any we have seen hith-
erto." When the surplice controver-
sy was agitating the Established
Church, he told his congregation that
he usually preached in a surplice be-
• cause he preferred it, but he " would
preach in his shirt-sleeves if it would
.be any satisfaction to them." He
tried to establish the devotion to
the Sacred Heart of Jesus ; he pub-
lished three tracts on examination of
conscience; he introduced confes-
sions, and out of the most promising
of his young male penitents he form-
ed a confraternity which used to meet
at the rectory every night about twelve
o'clock and spend an hour in prayer.
On the vigils of great festivals, their
devotions lasted two or three hours.
On these nights, and also on Fridays
and every night in Lent, the whole
party used the discipline, each in
turn receiving it from the others.
These devotional practices seem to
have excited the powers of darkness;
for it is related that many times while
the brotherhood were assembled, mys-
terious disturbances were heard, often
apparendy just outside the door of
the oratory. The house was search-
ed with lights, but nothing was ever
discovered which could account for
the noises.
On Sunday afternoons, the rectory
grounds were thrown open to the pa-
rish, and the clergyman mingled freely
with his flock, while games of foot-
ball and cricket were introduced to
make the gatherings more attractive.
Of course the Sabbatarians were
frightfully scandalized at such pro-
ceedings ; but no one could deny that
a great moral improvement was soon
perceptible in the parish, and the
dissenters began to forsake their
chapel to crowd around Mr. Fal)er*s
pulpit. His own austerities were fear-
ful. He fasted rigorously, often eat-
ing for his dinner nothing more than
a few potatoes and a herring, and in
fact never taking a genuine meal ex-
cept on Sunday. He wore a thick
horsehair cord tied in knots about
his waist. Want of food often
brought upon him severe attacks of
sickness, and sometimes he faint-
ed in the church while reading pray-
ers. In such matters as these he
seems to have been his own director;
but in other religious practices he
governed himself a great deal by the
advice of Dr. Newman. " I have a
request to make," he writes to New-
man in November, 1844, "which I
cannot any longer refrain from mak-
ing; but I shall submit at once to a
The Life of Father Faber.
153
JV^, if you will say it I want you to
revoke your prohibition, laid on me
last October year, of invoking our
Blessed Lady, the saints and angels.
I do fed somehow weakened for the
want of it, and fancy I should get
strength if I did it."
It was some relief, perhaps, in this
suffering of mind to give utterance to
his Catholic yearnings with his pen,
ance he durst not pour out his whole
soul in prayer. He had entered into
a scheme for publishing a series of
lives of the English saints, and writ-
ten for it a Ufe of St Wilfnd. All
the volumes had caused more or less
irritation; but in the Life of St, Wil-
frid the Catholic tendencies of the
tractarian school were developed
with the utmost freedom — ^with so
much freedom that we can hard-
ly understand how they could have
come from the pen of any man
who was even nominally an Angli-
can. His difficulties, however, were
now almost over. In the autumn of
1845, many of his friends were re-
ceived into the church. Among
them was Dr. Newman ; and then Mr.
Faber hesitated no longer. He put
himself at once into communication
with Dr. Wareing, the vicar aposto-
Kc of the eastern district, not to be
instructed in Catholic doctrine, for
that he knew and believed already;
but to inquire about various minor
points connected with a formal recep-
tion into the church. To abandon
his work at Elton he knew would in-
volve spiritual injury to many; and
about that he felt at first some scru-
ples. He asked advice of one whose
counsel he had always followed in
times of perplexity — ^we presume Dr.
Newman. " Your own soul," he was
told, " is the only consideration, and
you must save that, because — "
"No," interrupted he, "I have
obeyed you as a Protestant and with-
out the * because,' and I don't want
to hear it now."
Another obstacle in his way was
the state of his pecuniary affiiirs. He
had borrowed a large sum of money
for charitable and other works in his
parish ; and if he gave up his living, he
could pay neither principal nor inte-
rest Was it not his duty to remain
rector of Elton until the debt was
paid? He consulted an Anglican
dignitary of his own party. " De-
pend upon it," was the answer, "if
God means you to be a Catholic, he
will not let that stand in the way."
Confident, therefore, that God would
provide, he wrote to acquaint his
fiiends of his purpose, and had no
sooner dispatched the letters than he
received from a generous anti-Catho-
lic gentleman, who had heard of his
perplexity, a check for the full amoimt
of the debt.
He officiated at Elton for the last
time on the i6th of November. At
the evening service he told his people
that the doctrines he had preached to
them, though true, were not those of
the Church of England ; he could not,
therefore, remain in her communion,
but must go where truth was to be
found. Then he hastily descended
the pulpit stairs, threw off his siuplice,
which he left upon the groimd, and
made his way as quickly as possible
through the vestry to the house. For
a few minutes the congregation re-
mained in blank astonishment. The
chiux:h-wardens and some others fol-
lowed him to the rectory, and begged
him to remain; he might preach
what he pleased, and they would nev-
er question it It was a sorrowful in-
terview, for he loved his flock with
all his heart ; but he was firm in his
resolve. The next morning he start-
ed early for Northampton, hoping to
escape observation; but the people
were on the watch at their windows;
rS4
The Life of Father Faber.
and as he passed through, they waved
thfir handkerchiefs and cried, " God
bless you, wherever you go." Mr.
Faber was accompanied by Mr. T. F.
Knox, a scholar of Trinity College,
Cambridge, and seven of his parish-
ioners. They were all admitted into
the church the same evening by Bish-
op Wareing, and the next day receiv-
ed their first communion and the
sacrament of confinnation. " A new
light," wrote Mr. Faber next day,
"seems to be shed on every thing,
and more especially on my past posi-
tion — a light so dear as to surprise
me; and though I am homeless and
unsetded, and as to worldly prospects
considerably bewildered, yet there is
such a repose of conscience as more
than compensates for the intense and
liery struggle which began on the
Tuesday and only ended on the Mon-
day morning following."
Owing to various circumstances, a
good many recent converts had set-
tled at Birmingham, where the church
of St. Chad, under the charge of the
Rev. Mr. Moore, had become a great
centre of Catholic hfe. Mr. Faber
and his companions went there, Fa-
ber accepting the hospitality of Mr.
Moore, and the others disposing of
themselves in various ways. They
continued, however, to look up to
their former pastor for direction, and
he soon conceived the idea of form-
ing them into a sort of community.
With the approval of Mr. Moore and
Dr. Wiseman, they took possession
of a small house in Caroline street,
Mr. Faber of cwurse joining them..
No definite rule was drawn up at
first, but their general purpose was to
assist the parochial clergy in visitmg
the sick, giving instruction, and simi-
lar duties. Mr. Hutchinson, who
afterward became a member of the
Htde band, has given an amusing ac-
count of a visit he paid them a itvr
days after their establishment. Mr.
Faber, terribly scorched, was stand-
ing over the fire stirring a kettle of
pea-soup. There was hardly any fiir-
niture except a long deal taUe, a
chair, knife, fork, and mug for each
man, some pewter spoons with the
temperance pledge stamped (Hi them,
and a three-legged table, split across
the middle, at which, when he could be
spared fi-om the pea-soup, .Mr. Faber
was engaged writing a pamphlet on
the reasons for his conversion. Up-
stairs there were four small rooms,
one Used as a chapel, the others as
dormitories. There were no bed-
steads; they all slept on the floor.
Such was the beginning of the
Wilfridian Community, or Brothos
of the Will of God, though they took
no distinguishing name until some
time later. At the commencement
of the new year, the generosity of a
firiend enabled Mr. Faber to visit
Italy, where he had reason to think
he could obtain money for the sup-
port of the new community. Dur-
ing his absence, the brethren found
emplo)anent with some of the Catho*
lie tradesmen in the town, returning
to Caroline street every night. The
distinguished convert was of course
received in Rome with great affec-
tion, especially by the ecclesiastics
who had known him on his former
visit. Cardinal Acton fell upon his
neck and kissed him. The pope
gave him a gracious interview. TJie
English College offered him a home.
The superior of the Camaldolese at
Florence expressed a great desire to
see him. " He was ill in bed," says
Mr. Faber, *< and his bed full of snuff;
he seized my head, buried it in the
snuffy clothes, and kissed me most
unmercifully." There is, in fact, a
good deal of fun now and then in
Mr. Faber's letters. He tells, for in-
stance, how " the dear old pope " re-
fused to be angry with the Anglican
Bishop of Gibr^tar, who came to
The Life of Father Faber.
155
Rome to give confirmation, his holi-
ness saying with a chuckle that ** he
really had not been aware hitherto
that Rome was in the diocese of Gib-
raltar;" and how, in " a fit of unholy
mirth/' the holy father mimicked the
way the English Protestants did hom-
age, *' a familiar nod with their chin,
as if they had swallowed pokers."
He was disappointed in the pecuniary
aid which he had come abroad to
seek, but the journey was productive
of much spiritual comfort and im-
provement ; and as money was soon
forthcoming fh>m another quarter, he
was enabled to go back to Birming-
ham with a h'ght heart, and to set
about the more complete organization
of the community according to a
rule which he had devised during his '
absence. Meanwhile, arrangements
had been completed for removal to
more commodious quarters in Birm-
ingham ; and in the course of the year
1846 the brethren moved a second
time to a fine estate at Cheadle,
generously given them by Lord
Shrewsbury. They named it St. Wil-
frid's. Th^ first work here was to
open a school for boys. Pupils came
in rapidly; but the bigotry of the
neighlx)rhood was aroused, and the
most amazing reports were circulated
about the new institution. A relative
of Mr. Hutchinson (who had joined
the community under the name of
Brother Anthony, Mr. Faber being
styled Brother Wilfrid of the Humani-
ty of Jesus) sent a Scotch physician
to examine the establishment, and we
suppose to report upon the sanity of
the inmates. The same relative de-
scribed Mr. Faber as '^ an ambitiousr
villain and a hellish ruler," and de-
dared that wherever he went in Lon-
don <' the finger of scorn was pointed
at him." " I am said to have stran-
gled one of my monks," wrote the
*• h^lish ruler;" " the story is all over
the land, and is believed. Mrs.
R.
— came to see me at St. Wil-
fiid's, * to see the man ;' and glaring
at me in silence like a tigress, she
told Lady Shrewsbury and Lady
Arundel that I was quite capable of
all she heard, and that her fkith in it
was established."
Humility had led Mr. Faber to de-
fer ordination to the priesthood, and
up to this time he had received only
minor orders ; but in the Advent sea-
son of 1846 he was raised to the sub-
deaconship, and at the end of the fol-
lowing Lent he was ordained deacon
and priest by Dr. Wiseman at Oscott
The brothers could now engage much
more effectively in missionary work;
and as, besides having a priest among
them, they received several valuable
converts f^om time to time, they were
enabled to map out a wide extent of
neglected country into districts, and
devote their days to a" systematic
visitation of every house within their
limits. The crowds who came on
Simdays to St Wilfrid's soon over-
flowed the littie chapel, and Father
Faber used to preach to them in a
yard near the house, or under the
beech-trees in the garden. It was
not unusual for him also to preach in
the streets, wearing his habit or cas-
sock and holding a crucifix in his
hand.
In a few months there remained but
one Protestant family in the parish,
and the Protestant chim:h was almost
entirely abandoned I Brother Antho-
ny Hutchinson wrote, " We have con-
verted the pew-opener, leaving the
parson only his clerk and two drunk-
en men." The poor people became
extravagantly fond of "Father Fa-
ble," as they used to call him; but he
was not held in particular affection
by the Protestant clergy, and some-
times was unwillingly involved in
what he tised to call " fighting and
squabbling with parsons." On one
occasion he was followed into the
156
The Life of Father Faber.
room of a sick man by a minister of
the Primitive Methodists, who insisted
on remaining there to hear what was
said in confession, and was with great
difficulty persuaded by the invalid to
leave the house.
It was not only from Protestants,
however, that Father Faber had to
suffer annoyance ; his worst troubles
came from those of his own faith.
About the time of his ordination he
had made arrangements for the publi-
cation of a series of lives of the saints,
translated from the Italian and other
foreign languages, and aflerward so
widely known as the Oratorian Lives.
A part of the literary work he did
himself, but the most of it he com-
mitted to other hands, having at one
time between sixty and seventy trans-
lators at work under his direction.
The series began with a Life of St
Philip Neri, It reached a large sale ;
but so little familiar were English
readers with the supernatural mani-
festations which abound in biograph-
ies of the chosen servants of God
that exception was taken to the work
in various quarters, and when the
Life of St. Rose of Lima appeared,
the opposition became extremely vio-
lent. It was objected that the lives
of foreign saints, however edif3ang
in their respective countries, were un-
suited to England and unfit for Protest-
ant eyes. Undertheadviceof Dr. New-
man, who nevertheless approved of
the work very cordially, the series
was finally suspended. But then a re-
action set in ; it was discovered how
much practical good the publications
had done; some of those who had
criticised them most severely retract-
ed and apologized ; and the transla-
tions were resumed under the auspi-
ces of the Oratorians, with whom Fa-
ther Faber*s community had mean-
while been consolidated.
Mr. Faber and Mr. Hutchinson,
the only priests in the community at
St. Wilfrid's, were on the eve of tak-
ing their vows when news arrived
that Dr. Newman was coming over
rom Rome to establish in England
the Oratory of St. Philip NerL Fa-
ther Faber was at prayer when he
felt suddenly an interior call to join
the new congregation. His final de-
cision was reached only after a long
interior struggle and a free confier-
ence with Bishop Wiseman. Hu-
manly speaking, it was a great sacri-
fice — perhaps the greatest Father Fa-
ber ever made. Besides giving up
the infant community to which he
had devoted so much care, and de-
scending at one step from the posi-
tion of superior to that of novice, he
had to tear himself away fi^om a con-
gregation which was quite as warmly
attached to him as his old fiock had
been at Elton, to give up St. Wilfrid's,
and to face the vehement opposition
of his brethren in the community
and the generous fiiends to whom
he had been indebted for his founda-
tion at Cheadle. " Giving St Wil-
frid*s up," he wrote, "seems to un-
root one alt(^ether fron\. the earth,
and the future is such a complete
blank that one feels as if one was go-
ing to die." " It is Elton over again,"
only, "in my first spoliation I kept
xsiy books and my Elton children;
now I lose these two." To his sur-
prise, however, when once his mind
had been made up, the opposition of
the community of St Wilfrid's sud-
denly ceased. They all professed
their willingness to follow him ; and
the result was, that the Oratorians
took possession of the whole estab-
lishment Dr. Newman came to St.
Wilfrid's in February, 1848, and admit-
ted the entire community to his con-
gregation. " Father Superior has now
left us," wrote Faber, " all in our
Philippine habits with turndown col-
lars, like so many good boys brought
in after dinner. Since my admissicMi
The Life of Father Faber.
157
I seem to have lost all attachment to
every thing but obedience ; I could
dance a^d sing all day because I am
so joyous; I hardly know what to
do with myself for very happiness."
It was not thought necessary to
exact firom him the full period of
three years' noviceship, so at the end
of six months he was dispensed from
the remainder and appointed master
of novices. In October of the same
year, the whole congregation remov-
ed from Birmingham to St. Wilfrid's ;
but Father Faber was not allowed to
remain long in this favorite home;
for in the spring he was sent with five
other fathers, namely Dalgaims, Stan-
ton, Hutchinson, Knox, and Wells,
and two novices, Messrs. Gordon
and Bowden, to found a new house
in London. At the head of this he
remained until his death, and he
never saw St Wilfrid's again but
once.
The introduction of a new order
or a new congregation is so common
an event now that we can hardly un-
derstand how bitter was the ill-feeling
aroused by the opening of the Lon-
don Oratory in a hired house in
King William street in May, 1849.
It was the first public church which
had been served by a religious com-
munity in that diocese since the old
faith was put under the feet of the
English schism. Bishop Wiseman
was a warm supporter of the Orato-
rians, but many of the secular clergy
looked upon them with suspicion,
doubted the discretion of a commu-
nity composed entirely of converts,
disapproved of the public wearing
of their habit, and complained that
their peculiar services, with new pray-
ers, hymns in the vernacular, and a
new style of preaching, were Metho-
dbtical, and ought to be suppressed.
Experience, however, in time showed
the doubters their mistake, and the
clergy became not only
friends but imitators of the Oratorians.
A great deal of popular animosity
continued to be manifested, especial-
ly during the excitement which fol-
lowed the reestablishment of the Eng-
lish hierarchy. The walls of Lon-
don were placarded, " Down with
the Oratorians," " Don't go to the
Oratory," " Banishment to the Ora-
torians," etc. ; the fathers were cursed
in the streets, and even gentlemen
used to shout at them from their car-
riage-windows. The government
finally issued a proclamation reviving
an old statute which forbade Roman
Catholic ecclesiastics to wear the
habit of their order, and thenceforth
the Oratorians always appeared in
the streets in secular garb.
Father Faber was doing an im-
mense amount of labor at this time,
preaching, visiting the sick, giving re-
treats and missions, and conducting
special devotions, besides employing
some time in literary occupations;
yet he was almost constantly a suffer-
er from disease, and was often oblig-
ed to cease for a while from all work
whatsoever. He had long been sub-
ject to very severe and prostrating
headaches, connected with which is
the following remarkable incident
which we shall give in his own words,
written to the Countess of Arundel
and Surrey on tlie 2d of December,
1850 :
*' And now I have so many things to tell
you that I hardly know where to begin.
Some time ago, a lady at prayer in our
church thought it was revealed to her that
St Mary Magdalene of Pazzi wished to
confer some graua on me in connection
with my headache. Her director gave her
permission to act upon this ; whereupon
she wrote to me, begging me when my
headache came on to apply a relic of the
saint to my forehead. Some days elapsed ;
I asked Father Francis, my director, for
his leave to do this ; as it was a merely tem-
poral thing, he took some time to consider. I
became ill, and had a night of g^eat pain.
I thought he had forgotten all about it, and
IS8
The Life of Father Faber,
that it would be a blameworthy imperfec-
tion in me to remind him of it The morn-
ing after, he came to confession, and found
me ill in bed ; he was going away, but I
knew he was going to say Mass, and so I
made him kneel down by my bedside, while
I put on my stole, and with considerable
pain heard his confession ; when he rose, I
gave him the stole, and asked him to hear
my confession, which he did. Afterward
he said, * Well, now, I think it would be
well to try this relic* I answered, *Just
as you please/ I was in great suffering,
and very sick besides. He gave it me, and
walked away to the door to say Mass. I
applied the relic, a piece of her linen, to
my forehead ; a sort of fire went into my
head, through every limb down to my feet,
causing me to tremble ; before Pather Fran-
cis could even reach the door, I sprang up,
crying, * I am cured, I am quite well !* He
said I looked as white as a sheet ; I was
filled with a kind of sacred fear, and an in-
tense desire to consecrate myself utterly to
God. I got up and dressed, without any
difficulty, or pain, or sickness. This was
on the Wednesday. On the Saturday I
had another headache, but I had not asked
Father Francis's leave about the relic, and
felt I ought to take no steps to get rid of
my cross. In the afternoon he told me I
might apply it. Fathers Philip and Edward
were in the room. I was on my i>ed ; I
took the relic and applied it ; there was the
same fire in a less degree, but no cure. I
then said to the saint, * I only ask it to go
to the novena and benediction.' The cure
was instantaneous ; while Father Philip had
such an impression that the saint was in the
room, that he was irresistibly drawn to bow to
her. Well, I said my office ; then in an hour
or so came the novena and benediction ; and
as soon as I returned to my room, I was
taken so ill again I was obliged to go to
bed. Meanwhile I had totally forgotten
what the others reminded me of afterward,
that two years ago Michael Watts Russell
wrote to me from Florence, and said, * The
children send their love, and desire me to
say they have just come from the tomb of
St Mary Magdalene of Paxzi, whom they
have been asking to cure Father Wilfrid's
headache.'
*' AAer all this, I am sure I shall lose my
soul if I do not senre God less lukewarmly ;
to please pray for me."
God had not given him, however,
the favor of a permanent restoration
to health. He was never well in
London. "I have two vocattons,"
he wrote to Father Bowden, "one
for my body and one for my soul;
and they happen to be incompatible,
so the body must do the best it can,
and the soul must rough-ride it for
another sixty years, which is sup-
posed to be the term of incessant
headache still left me. When you
and I sit toothless together, shaking
our palsied heads at recreation, we
shall look down upon the junior fa-
thers who have been only thirty or
forty years in the congregation with
an ineffable contempt ; and when my
dotage comes on, I shall fancy my-
self still novice-master and you a re-
fractory novice, and I shall trip you
up on your crutches, for mortifica-
tion." For the sake of his health he
was persuaded to start on a journey
to Palestine ; but he fell very sick on
the way, and went no further than
Italy. He reached Naples on the
feast of the Immaculate Conception,
(185 1,) and entered the Oratorian
church just as benediction was about
to be given, " which," he says, " was
jolly." In the same letter (to Fa-
ther Hutchinson) he writes, " If I
can get one, I will bring one of the
rum things they put on the altar in
Advent and Lent, when flowers are
forbidden ; they take my fancy huge-
ly." He came home far from well
enough to resume his work ; but there
was a great deal to be done, and he
never had any mercy on himselfl
There was a coimtry house for the
congregation to be built at Syden-
ham Hill, and the fine new Oratory
at Brompton to be erected in phcc
of the little establishment in King
William street, which the community
had long ago outgrown. They took
possession of the Brompton bouse in
March, 1854. The vast cost of this
great institution had been defirayed
principally from the private means of
the individtial members, but there
The Life of Father Faber.
159
had been several donations — ;£'io,-
000 toward the purchase of the site
from a lady who wished her gift to
be anonymous ; ^4000 from the
Earl of Arundel and Surrey ; and
;^7oo collected by a committee for
the erection of the church. The cur-
rent expenses of the house were also
defrayed from the pockets of the
fathers, it being a rule of the congre-
gation that the receipts from their
churches should not contribute in
any way to the support of the house,
and indeed at Brompton the income
of the church did not equal its expen-
diture.
It was while the Brompton build-
ing was under way that Father Faber
began with his All for yesusy or the
Easy Ways of Divine Love^ that re-
maiicable series of spiritual works
which made his name so widely
known and loved throughout Europe
and America. All for yesus ap-
peared in 1853; Bethlehem^ the
eighth and last of the series, was
published in i860. In the mean
time, he had collected a volume of
his earlier and later poems ; complet-
ed his poem of Prince Amadis ; pub-
lished a collection of his hymns,
many of which have become exceed-
ingly popular, and finished a great
deal of minor literary work. He
made preparations for other books,
on Calvary, JTie Holy Ghost, The Fear
of God, and The Immaculate Heart of
Mary, fragments of which appeared
after his death under the title, Notes
on Doctrinal and Spiritual Subjects,
These various writings are too well
known and too fondly esteemed, es-
pecially in the United States, for any
criticism to be called for here, and
we can do nothing better than copy
the just eulogy which Father Bowden
dtcs from The Dublin Revinv :
** We know of no one man who has done
more to make the men of his day love God
aad aspire to a higher path of the interior
life ; and we know no man who so nearly
represents to us the mind and the preach-
ing of St. Bernard and St. Bcmardine of
Siena in the tenderness and beauty with
which he has surrounded the names of Je-
sus and Mary."
All these exquisite works were
written in the midst of the most awful
physical suflfering. " It is plain," he
writes in 1858, "that life can't be
lived at this rate. But my mind is
now like a locomotive that has start-
ed with neither driver nor stoker. I
can think of nothing but being seized,
put on board one of her majesty's
ships of war as compulsory chaplain,
and carried round the world for two
years. If I was on land, I should jib
and come home." Bright's disease
of the kidneys, gout, neuralgia — a
complication, in fact, of numerous
disorders, left him hardly an hour of
ease, hardly a night of rest. Soon
after Easter, in the year 1863, ^^
hope of checking his disease or even
notably relieving his sufferings was
finally given up. He seems to have
been conscious of his condition even
before the physicians had pronounc-
ed their opinion. During the month
of April he made one or two short
journeys, but without experiencing
any relief. By the middle of June
he was so much worse that the last
sacraments were administered. On
the 28th — ^his forty-ninth birthday —
he saw all the members of the com-
munity, one by one, recommending
himself to their prayers, and leaving
with each some parting gift. He
rallied a little after this, and was even
well enough to take one or two short
drives, and to enjoy farewell visits
from Cardinal Wiseman, and Dr.
Newman, and many of his other
friends. His mind continued per-
fectly clear and calm until some time
in September, when attacks of deliri-
um became frequent, and the seda-
tives which had been used to pro-
i6o
The Life of Father Faber.
duce sleep lost their soothing effect.
He received holy communion daily
up to and including the 24th of that
month. The next day his attendants
were able to put him into bed, which
had not been done since June; he
had passed day and night in his
chair, propped up with pillows. He
now lay quite still, gazing at a large
crucifix, and moving his eyes from
one to another of the five wounds.
When told that his death was near,
he only repeated his favorite excla-
mation, " God be praised !" On the
morning of the 26th, Father Rowe
told him that he was going to say
Mass for him. He showed by his
face that he understood what was
said; and just as the Mass must have
ended, he turned his head a little
and opened his eyes with a touching
expression, half of sweetness and half
of surprise. So his spirit passed
away, as if in the act of realizing the
picture which he had drawn in All
for yestis : " Only serve Jesus out
of love, and while your eyes are yet
unclosed what an unspeakable sur-
prise will you have had at the judg-
ment-seat of your dearest Love, while
the songs of heaven are breaking on
your ears and the glory of God is
dawning on your eyes, to fade away
no more for ever !"
We have already alluded in the
first part of this article to Father Fa-
ber's elegance of appearance and
manner, and from a portrait prefixed
to the biography it seems that he re-
tained his advantages of person to a
late period of his life. He was re-
markable for his habits of order and
neatness, and once, when a father re-
marked upon the tidiness of his room,
he replied, " The napkin in the sepul-
chre was ioMxA folded at the resurrec-
tion." As might be imagined from
the narrative of his Ufe, he was al-
ways distinguished for gendeness;
and Father Bowden remarks that he
never was severe in the manner of
correcting the faults of his spiritual
subjects, except possibly in matters
connected with the ceremonial of
divine worship. Any defect of de-
meanor during service, or inattention
to the requirements of the rubric, he
rebuked with marked severity. In
the church he would have every thing
of the best, whether it could be seen
by the congregation or not. When
the new high altar of marble was put
up in the Oratory, he was much dis-
satisfied because the back was not
finished like the front, and he found
fault with the altar rails for the same
reason, complaining that "the side
next our Lord " was not ornamented.
He was very fond of children, and his
correspondence contains some striking
evidences of his tenderness to them.
We have already spoken of his love
of humor — a sense which seems natu-
rally to accompany the poetic in-
stinct. His room was at all hours
the frequent resort of his brethren
who looked upon it as a renewal
of St. Philip's " School of Christian
Mirth." Father Bowden quotes the
language of an old friend, who wrote
at the time of Father Faber's death
of " the indescribable charm of his
private intercourse, of that wonderful
brilliancy of conversation in which
he excelled all those whose social
powers have made them the idols of
London society as far as they have
excelled ordinary men, of the magic
play of his countenance and of liis
voice, of the unprecedented combina-
nation of tenderness in affection, im-
earthliness of aim, and worldly wis-
dom, which characterized his private
intercourse, and of his power of at-
tracting little children and learned
men, one as much as the other."
Father Bowden has told the story
of this beautiful life with appreciation
and affecrion, and with no mean lite-
rary ability. His style is direct and
Angela.
l6l
onaflfected, and he is not given to
the supeiiiuity of pious reflection
with which the biographers of reli-
gious men are so apt to retard their
narratives. The volume contains a
very copioxis selection from Father
Faber's private correspondence, so
that it may be consideied in many
portions virtually an autobiography.
TKANSLATBD FROM TKS CBRM AN OF CO:<BAD VON BOLANDBNf
ANGELA.
CHAPTER v.
THE PROGRESSIVE PROFESSOR.
When Frank returned from the
walk, he found a visitor at Franken-
hohe.
The visitor was an elegantly-dress-
ed young man with a free, self-impor-
tant air about him.
He spoke fluently, and his words
sounded as decisive as though they
came from the lips of infallibility.
At times this self-importance was of
such a boastful and arrogant charac-
ter as to affect the observer disagreea-
bly.
" It is now vacation, and I do not
know how to enjoy it better than by
a visit to you," said he.
"Very flattering to me," answered
Frank. " I hope you will be pleased
with Frankenhohe."
" Pleased ?" returned the visitor as
he looked through the open window
at the beautiful landscape. " I would
Eke to dream away here the whole
of May and June. How charming it
Bl An empire of flowers and vernal
delights."
"I am surprised, Carl, that you
have preserved' such a love for na-
ture. I thought you considered the
VOL. X. — II
professor's chair the culminating point
of attraction."
Carl bowed his head proudly and
stood with folded arms before the
smiling Frank.
"That is evidently intended for
flattery," said he. "The professor's
chair is my vocation. He who does
not hold his vocation as the acme of
all attraction is indeed a perfect man.
Besides, it will appear to you, who
consider every thing in the world —
not excepting even the fair sex — with
blank stoicism; it will appear even
to you that the rostrum is destined
to accomplish great things. Ripe
knowledge in mighty pulsations goes
forth from the rostrum and perme-
ates society. The rostrum governs
and educates the rising young men
who are destined to assume leading
positions in the state. The rostrum
overthrows antiquated forms of reli-
gious delusion, ennobles rational
thought, exact science, and deep in-
vestigation. The rostrum governs
even the throne ; for we have princes
in Germany who esteem liberty of
thought and progress of knowledge
more than the art of governing their
people in a spirit of stupidity."
Frank smiled.
" The glory of the .rostrum I leave
undisputed," said he. "But I beg.
l62
AngelcL
of you to conceal firom the doctor
your scientific rule of faith. You
may get into trouble with the doc-
tor."
" I am very desirous of becoming
acquainted with this paragon of learn-
ing — ^you have told me so much about
him; and I confess it was partly to
see him that I made this visit. Get
into trouble ? I do not fear the old
syllogism-chopper in the least. A
good disputation with him is even
desirable."
"Well, you are forewarned. If
you go home with a lacerated back,
it will not be my fault."
" A lacerated back ?" said the pro-
fessor quietly. "Does the doctor
like to use striking arguments ?"
" Oh ! no. But his sarcasm is as cut-
ting as the slash of a sword, and his
logical vehemence is like the stroke
of a club."
" We will fight him with the same
weapons," answered Carl, throwing
back his head. "Shall I pay him my
respects immediately ?"
"The doctor admits no one. In
his studio he is as inaccessible as ai
Turkish sultan in his harem. I will
introduce you in the dining-room, as
it is now just dinner-time."
They betook themselves to the din-
ing-room, and soon after they heard
the sound of a bell.
" He is just now called to table,"
said Richard. " He does not allow
the servant to enter his room, and for
that reason a bell has been hung
there,"
" How particular he is !" said the
professor.
A door of the ante-room was open-
ed, quick steps were heard, and Klin-
genl>erg hastily entered and placed
himself at the table, as at a work that
must be done quickly, and then ob-
.scrveii the stranger.
" Doctor Lutz, professor of history
in our university," said Frank, intro*
ducing him.
" Doctor Lutz — ^professor of his-
tory," said Klingenberg musingly.
" Your name is familiar to me, if I am
not mistaken ; are you not a colla-
borator on SybeFs historical publica-
tion ?"
" I have that honor," answered the
professor with much dignity.
They began to eat.
"You read SybeFs periodical?"
asked the professor.
" We must not remain entirely ig-
norant of literary productions, particu-
larly the more excellent."
Lutz felt much flattered by this
declaration.
" SybeFs periodical is an unavoida-
ble necessity at present," said the
professor. " Historical research was
in a bad way ; it threatened to suc-
cumb entirely to the ultramontane
cause and the clerical party."
"Now Sybel and his co-laborers
will avert that danger," said the doc-
tor. " These men will do honor to his-
torical research. The ultramontanists
have a great respect for Sybel. When
he taught in Munich, they did not
rest till he turned his back on Isar-
Athen. In my opinion, Sybel should
not have gone to Munich. The stu-
pid Bavarians will not allow them-
selves to be enlightened. So let thera
sit in darkness, the stupid baibarians
who have no appreciation for the pro-
gress of science."
The professor looked astonished.
He could not understand how an ad-
mirer of SybeFs could be so prejudic-
ed. Frank was alarmed lest the pro-
fessor might |>erceive the doctor's keen
sarcasm — which he delivered with a
serious countenance — and feel oflfend-
ed. He changed the conversation to
another subject, in which Klingenberg
did not take part
" You have represented the doctor
Angela.
163
mcorrectly,** said the professor, after
the meal. " He understands Sybel
and praises his efforts — the best sign
of a dear mind."
" Klingenberg is always just," re-
turned Frank.
On the following afternoon, Lutz
joined in the accustomed walk. As
they were passing through the chest-
nut grove, a servant of Siegwart's
came up breathless, with a letter in
his hand, which he gave to Frank.
" Gentlemen," said Frank after
reading the letter, " I am urgently re-
quested to visit Herr Siegwart imme-
diately. With your permission I will
go."
" Of course, go," said Klingenberg.
" I know," he added with a roguish
expression, " that you would as lief
%Tsit that excellent man as walk with
us,"
Richard went off in such haste
that the question occurred to him
why he fulfilled with such zeal the
wishes of a man with whom he had
been so short a time acquainted ; but
with the question Angela came be-
fore his mind as an answer. He re-
jected this answer, even against his
feelings, and declared to himself that
Segwart's honorable character and
neighborly feeling made his haste
natural and even obligatory. The
jMDprietor may have been waiting his
arrival, for he came out to meet him.
Frank observed a dark cloud over
the countenance of the man and
great anxiety in his features.
" I beg your forgiveness a thousand
times, Herr Frank. I know you go
walking with Herr Klingenberg at
this hour, and I have deprived you
of that pleasure."
•* No excuse, neighbor. It is a
question which would give me great-
er pleasure, to serve you or to walk
with Klingenberg."
Richard smiled while saying these
words ; but the smile died away, for he
saw how pale and suddenly anxious
Siegwart had become. They had
entered a room, and he desired to
know the cause of Siegwart's chang-
ed manner.
" A great and afflicting misfortune
threatens us," began the proprietor.
" My Eliza has been suddenly taken
ill, and I have great fears for her
young life. Oh! if you knew how
that child has grown into my heart."
He paused for a moment and sup^
pressed his grief, but he could not
hide from Frank the tears that filled
his eyes. Richard saw these tears,
and this paternal grief increased his
respect for Siegwart.
" The delicate life of a young child
does not allow of protracted medical
treatment, of consultation or investi-
gation into the disease or the best
remedies. The disease must be known
immediately and efficient remedies
applied. There are physicians at my
command, but I do not dare to trust
Eliza to them."
" I presume, Herr Siegwart, that
you wish for Klingenberg."
"Yes — and through your media-
tion. You know that he only treat?
the sick poor ; but resolutely refuses
his services to the wealthy."
" Do not be uneasy about that I
hope to be able to induce Klingen-
berg to correspond with your wishes.
But is Eliza really so sick, or does
your apprehension increase your anx-
iety ?"
"I will show you the child, and
then you can judge for yourself."
They went up-stairs and quietly en-
tered the sick-room. Angela sat on
the little bed of the child, reading.
The child was asleep, but the noise
of their entrance awoke her. She
reached out her little round arms to
her fother, and said in a scarcely audi-
ble whisper,
"Papa — ^papa!"
This whimpered " piqpa " seemed to
i64
Angela,
pierce the soul of Siegwart like a
knife. He drew near and leant over
the child.
" You will be well to-morrow, my
sweet pet. Do you see, Herr Frank
has come to see you ?"
" Mamma!" whispered the child.
"Your mother will come to-mor-
row, my Eliza. She will bring you
something pretty. My wife has been
for the last two weeks at her sister's,
who lives a few miles from here,"
said Siegwart, turning to Frank. " I
sent a messenger for* her early this
morning."
While the father sat on the bed
and held Eliza's hand in his, Frank
observed Angela, who scarcely turned
her eyes from the sick child. Her
whole soul seemed taken up with her
suflfering sister. Only once had she
looked inquiringly at Frank, to read
in his face his opinion of the condi-
tion of Eliza. She stood immovable
at the foot of the bed, as mild, as
pure, and as beautiful as the guardian
angel of the child.
Both men left the room.
" I will immediately seek the doc-
tor, who is now on his walk," said
Frank.
"Shall I send my servant for
him ?"
"That is unnecessary," returned
Frank. " And even if your servant
should find the doctor, he would prd-
bably not be inclined to shorten his
walk. Our gardener, who works in
the chestnut grove, will show me the
way the doctor took. In an hour
and a half at furthest I will be back."
The young man pressed the out-
stretched hand of Siegwart, and has-
tened away.
In the mean time the doctor and
the professor had reached a narrow,
wooded ravine, on both sides of
which the rocks rose almost perpen-
dicularly. The path on which they
walked passed near a little brook,
that flowed rippling over the pebbles
in its bed. The branches of the
young beeches formed a green roof
over the path, and only here and
there were a few openings through
which the sun shot its sloping beams
across the cool, dusky way, and in
the sunbeams floated and danced
dust-colored insects and buzzing flies.
The learned saunterers continued
their amusement without altercation
until the professor's presumption of-
fended the doctor and led to a vdie-
ment dispute.
Klingenberg did not appear on the
stage of publicity. He left boast-
ing and self-praise to others, far
inferior to him in knowledge. He
despised that tendency which pur-
sues knowledge only to command,
which cries down any inquiry that
clashes with their theories. The doc-
tor published no learned work, nor
did he write for the periodicals, to
defend his views. But if he happen-
ed to meet a scientific opponent, he
fought him with sharp, cutting wea-
pons.
" I do not doubt of the final victory
of true science over the falsifying
party spirit of the ultramontanes,"
said the professor. " Sybel's periodi-
cal destroys, year by year, more and
more the crumbling edifice which
the clerical zealots build on the im-
tenable foundation of falsified facts.**
Klingenberg tore his cap from his
head and swung it about vehemently,
and made such long strides that the
other with diflliculty k^t up with
him. Suddenly he stopped, turned
about, and looked the professor sharp-
ly in the eyes.
"You praise Sybel's publication
unjustly," said he excitedly. "It is
true Sybel has founded a historical
school, and has won many imitators;
but his is a school destructive of
morality and of history — a school of
scientific radicalism, a school of
Angela.
165
fidsehood and deceitfulness. Sybel
and his followers undertake to mould
and distort history to their purposes.
They slur over every thing that con-
tradicts their theories. To them the
ultramontanes are partial, prejudiced
men— or perhaps asses and dunces;
70U are unfortunately right when
you say Sybel's school wins ground;
for Sybel and his fellows have brought
lying and falsification to perfection.
They have in Germany perplexed
minds, and have brought their histori-
cal fisdsifications to market as true
ware."
The professor could scarcely be-
lieve his own ears.
"I have given you freely and
openly my judgment, which need not
offend you, as it refers to principles,
not persons."
" Not in the least," answered Lutz
daisively. " I admit with pleasure
that SybePs school is anti-church, and
even anti-Christian, if you will. There
is no honor in denying this. The
denial would be of no use ; for this
spirit speaks too loudly and clearly in
that school. Sybel and his associ-
ates keep up with the enlightenment
and liberalism of our times. But I
must contradict you when you say
this free tendency is injurious to so-
ciety; the seed of free inquiry and
human enlightenment can bring forth
only good fruits."
"Oh! we know this fruit of the
ner heathenism," cried the doctor.
"There is no deed so dark, no crime
so great, that it may not be defended
accordmg to the anti-Christian prin-
ciples of vicious enlightenment and
comipt civilization. Sybel's school
proves this with striking clearness.
Tyrants are praised and honored.
NoWc men are defamed and covered
with dirt." ^
" This you assert, doctor ; it is im-
possible to prove such a declara-
tion."
" Impossible ! Not at all. Sybel's
periodical exalts to the seventh hea-
ven the tyrant Henry VIII. of Eng-
land. You extol him as a consci-
entious man who was compelled by
scruples of conscience to separate
from his wife. You commend him
for having but one mistress. You
say that the sensualities of princes
are only of * anecdotal interest*
Naturally," added the doctor con-
temptuously, " a school that cuts loose
from Christian principles cannot con-
sistently condemn adultery. Fie ! fie J
Debauchees and men of gross sensu-
ality might sit in Sybel's enlightened
school. Progress overthrows the
cross, and erects the crescent We
may yet live to see every wealthy
man qf the new enlightenment have
his harem. Whether society can
withstand the detestable consequen-
ces of this teaching of licentiousness
and contempt for Christian morality,
is a consideration on which these
progressive gentlemen do not re-
flect."
" I admit, doctor," said Lutz,
" that the clear light of free, impartial
science must needs hurt the eyes of
a pious believer. According to the
opinions of the ultramontanes, Henry
VIII. was a terrible tyrant and blood-
hound. Sybel's periodical deserves
the credit of having done justice to
that great king."
" Do you say so ?" cried the doc-
tor, with flaming eyes. " You, a pro-
fessor of history in the university!
You, who are appointed to teach our
young men the truth ! Shame on you 1
What you say is nothing but stark
hypocrisy. I appeal to the heathen.
You may consider religion from the
stand-point of an ape, for what I care;
your cynicism, which is not ashamed
to equalize itself with the brute, may
also pass. But this hypocrisy, thjs
fallacious representation of historical
facts and persons, this hypocrisy be-
i66
Angela.
fore my eyes — ^this I cannot stand;
this must be corrected."
The doctor actually doubled up
his fists. Lutz saw it and saw also
the wild fire in the eyes of his oppo-
nent, and was filled with apprehen-
sion and anxiety. ,
Erect and silent, fiery indignation
in his flushed countenance, stood
Klingenberg before the frightened
professor. As Lutz still held his
tongue, the doctor continued,
" You call Henry VIII. a * great
l^u^g/ you extol and defend this
* great king' in Sybel's periodical.
I say Henry VIII. was a great
scoundrel, a blackguard without a
conscience, and a bloodthirsty tyrant.
I prove my assertion. Henry VIII.
caused to be executed two queens
who were his wives — two cardinals,
twelve dukes and marquises, eigh-
teen barons and knights, seventy-
seven abbots and priors, and over
sixty thousand Catholics. Why did
he have them executed ? Because
they were criminals ? No ; because
they remained true to their conscien-
ces and to the religion of their fa-
thers. All these fell victims to the
cruelty of Henry VIII., whom you
style a * great king.* You glorify a
man who for blood-thirstiness and
cruelty can be placed by the side
of Nero and Diocletian. That is
my retort to your hypocrisy and
historical mendacity."
The stem doctor having emptied
his vials of wrath, now walked on
quietly; Lutz with drooping head
followed in silence.
" Sybel does not even stop with
Henry VIII.," again began the doc-
tor. " These enlightened gendemen
undertake to glorify even Tiberius,
that inhuman monster. They might
as well have the impudence to glorify
cruelty itseli On the other hand, truly
great men, such as Tilly, are aban-
doned to the hatred of the igno-
rant."
" This is unjust," said the profes-
sor hastily. " Sybcl*s periodical in the
second volume says that TiUy was
often calumniated by party spirit;
that the destruction of Magdeburg
belongs to the class of unproved
and improbable events. The peri-
odical proves that Tilly's conduct
in North Germany was mild and
humane, that he signalized himself
by his simplicity, unselfishness, and
conscientiousness.
" Does SybePs periodical say all
this ?"
" Word for word, and much more
in praise of that magnanimous man,"
said Lutz. " From this you may
know that science is just even to
pious heroes."
Klingenberg smiled characteristi-
cally, and in his smile was an expres-
sion of inefiable contempt.
He stopped before the professor.
" You have just quoted what im-
partial historical research informs us
of Tilly, in the second and third vol-
umes. It is so. I remember perfect-
ly having read that favorable ac-
coimt. Now let me quote what the
same periodical says of the same
Tilly in the seventeenth volume. There
we read that Tilly was a hypocrite
and a blood-hound, whose name
cannot be mentioned without a shud-
der; furthermore, we are told that Til-
ly burned Magdeburg, that he waged
a ravaging war against men, women,
children, and property. You see,
then, in the second and third vol-
umes that Tilly was a conscientious,
mild man and pious hero ; in the sev-
enteenth volume, that he was a tyrant
and blood-hound. It appears firom
this with striking clearness that the
enlightened progressionists do not
stick at contradiction, mendacity, and
defamation."
Angela.
167
The professor lowered his eyes and
stood embarrassed.
" I leave you, * Herr Professor/ to
give a name to such a procedure.
Besides, I must also observe that
tfie strictly scientific method, as it la-
bels itself at present, does not stop at
personal defamation. As every holy
delusion and religious superstition
must be destroyed in the hearts of
the students, this lying and defama-
tion extends to the historical truths
of faith. It is taught fi-om the pro-
fessors' chairs, and confirmed by the
scientific journals, that confession is
an invention of the middle ages ; while
you must know fix)m thorough re-
search that confession has existed up
to the time of the apostles. You
teach and write that Innocent III.
introduced the doctrine of transub-
stantiation in the thirteenth century;
while every one having the least
knowledge of history knows that at
the council of 1215 it was only
made a duty to receive the holy com-
munion at Easter, that the fathers
of the first ages speak of transubstan-
tiation — that it has its foundation in
Scripture. You know as well as I do
that indulgences were imparted even
in the first century ; but this does not
prevent you from teaching that the
popes of the middle ages invented
indulgences fi-om love of money, and
sold them fi-om avarice. Thus the
progressive science lies and defames,
yet is not ashamed to raise high the
banner of enlightenment; thus you
lead people into error, and destroy
youth. Fie! fie!"
The doctor turned and was about
to jwoceed when he heard his name
caQed. Frank hastened to him, the
perspiration running from his fore-
head, and his breast heaving from
rapid breathing. In a few words he
made known Eliza's ilbiess, and Sieg-
wart's request.
"You know," said Klingenberg,
" that I treat only the poor, who can-
not easily get a physician."
" Make an exception in this case^
doctor, I beg of you most earnestly I
You respect Siegwart yourself
for his integrity, and I also of late
have learned to esteem the excellent
man, whose heart at present is rent
with anxiety and distress. Save this
child, doctor; I beg of you save it."
Klingenberg saw the young man's
anxiety and goodness, and benevo-
lence beamed on his still angry face.
" I see," said he, " that no refusal
b to be thought of Well, we will
go." And he immediately set off
with long strides on his way back.
Richard cast a glance at the profes-
sor, who followed, gloomy and spite-
ful. He saw the angry look he now
and then turned on the hastening
doctor, and knew that a sharp contest
must have taken place. But his solici-
tude for Siegwart's child excluded all
other sympathy. On the way he ex-
changed only a few words with Lut2,
who moved on morosely, and was
glad when Klingenberg and Richard
separated fi-om him in the vicinity of
Frankenhohe.
Ten minutes later they entered the
house of Siegwart. The doctor
stood for a moment observing the
child without touching it. The little
one opened her eyes, and appeared
to be fiightened at the strange man
with the sharp features. Siegwart
and Angela read anxiously in the
doctor's immovable countenance.
As Eliza said " Papa," in a peculiar,
feverish tone, Klingenberg moved
away fi-om the bed. He cast a
quidc glance at the father, went to
the window and drummed with his
fingers on the glass. Frank read in
that quick glance that Eliza must
die. Angela must also have guessed
the doctor's opinion, for she was very
much affected ; her head sank on her
breast and tears burst fi-om her eyes.
i68
Angela.
Klingenberg took out his note-
book, wrote something on a small
«lip of paper, and ordered the recipe
to be taken immediately to the apo-
thecary. He then took his depar-
ture.
« What do you think of the child ?"
said Siegwart, as they passed over
the yard.
" The child is very sick ; send for
me in the morning if it be neces-
sary."
Frank and the doctor went some
distance in silence. The young man
thought of the misery the death of
Eliza would bring on that happy
family, and the pale, suffering Angela
in particular stood before him.
" Is recovery not possible ?"
" No. Tlie child will surely die to-
night. I prescribed only a soothing
remedy. I am sorry for Siegwart ; he
is one of the few fathers who hang
with boundless love on their children
— particularly when they are young.
The man must call forth all his
'Strength to bear up against it."
When Frank entered his room, he
found Lutz in a very bad humor.
"You have judged that old bear
much too leniently," began the pro-
'fessor. "The man is a model of
' coarseness and intolerable bigotry."
"I thought so," said Frank. "I
know you and I know the doctor;
and I knew two such rugged antithe-
'ses must affect each other unplea-
santly. What occasioned your dis-
pute ?"
" What ! A thousand things," an-
swered his friend ill-humoredly.
"The old rhinoceros has not the
least appreciation of true knowledge.
He carries haughtily the long wig of
antiquated stupidity, and does not
see the shallowness of the swamp in
which he wallows. The genius of
'Christianity is to him the sublime.
Where this stops, pernicious enlight-
enment — which corrupts the people,
turns churches into ball-rooms, and
the Bible into a book of fables — be-
gins."
" The doctor is not wrong there,"
said Frank earnestly. " Are they not
endeavoring with all their strength
to deprive the Bible of its divine
character? Does not one Schen-
kel in Heidelberg deny the divinity
of Christ ? Is not this Schenkel the
director of a theological faculty?
Do not some Catholic professors
even begin to dogmatize and dispute
the authority of the holy see ?"
" We rejoice at the consoling fact
that Catholic savants themselves
break the fetters with which Rome's
infallibility has bound in adamantine
chains the human mind!" cried
Lutz with enthusiasm.
" It appears strange to me when
young men — scarcely escaped from
the school, and boasting of all mo-
dem knowledge — cast aside as old,
worthless rubbish what great minds
of past ages have deeply pondered.
The see of Rome and its dogmas
have ruled the world for eighteen
hundred years. Rome's dogmas
overthrew the old world and created
a new one. They have withstood
and survived storms that have en-
gulfed all else besides. Such strength
excites wonder and admiration, but
not contempt."
" I let your eulogy on Rome pass,"
said the professor. "But as Rome
and her dogmas have overthrown
heathenism, so will the irresistible pro-
gress of science overthrow Christian-
ity. Coming generations will smile
as complacendy at the God of Chris-
tendom as we consider with astonish-
ment the great and small gods of the
heathen."
" I do not desire the realizarion
of your prophecy," said Frank
gloomily ; " for it must be accompa-
nied by convulsions that will trans-
form the whole world, ind therefore
Angela.
169
I do not like to see an anli-Christian
tendency pervading science."
"Tendency, tendency!" said Lutz,
hesitating. "In scieiice there is no
tendency ; there is but truth."
"Easy, friend, easy! Be candid
and just You will not deny that
the tendency of Sybel's school is to
war against the church ?"
" Certainly, in so far as the church
contends against truth and thorough
investigation."
"Good; and the friends of the
church will contend against you in so
fiir as you are in imical to the spirit of
the church. And so, tendency on
one side, tendency oA the other. But
it is you who make the more noise.
As soon as a book opposed to you
appears, — * Partial I* you say with con-
temptuous mien ; ' Odious ! * * Eccle-
siastical ! ' * Unreadable ! ' and it is
forthwith condemned. But it appears
to nie natural that a man should labor
and write in a cause which is to him
the noblest cause."
" I am astonished, Richard ! You
did not think formerly as you now
do. But I should not be sur-
prised if your intercourse with the
doctor is not without its effects."
This the professor said in a cutting
tone. Frank turned about and walk-
ed the room. The observation of
his friend annoyed him, and he re-
fleaed whether his views had actual-
ly undergone any change.
"You deceive yourself. I am still
fte same," said he. " You cannot
mistrust me because I do not take
part with you against the doctor."
Carl sat for a time thinkmg.
" Is my presence at the table ne-
cessary ?" said he. " I do not wish
to meet the doctor again."
"That would be little in you.
You must not avoid the doctor.
You must convince yourself that he
does not bear any ill-will on account
of that scientific dispute. With all
his rough bluntness, Klingenberg is a
noble man. Your non-appearance
at table must offend him, and at the
same time betray your annoyance."
"I obey," answered Lutz. "To-
morrow I will go for a few days to
the mountains. On my return I will
remain another day with you."
Frank's assurance was confirmed.
The doctor met the guest as if no-
thing unpleasant had happened. In
the cool of the evening he went with
the young men into the garden, and
spoke with such familiarity of Taci-
tus, Livy, and other historians of an-
tiquity that the professor admired his
erudition.
Frank wrote in his diary :
"May 20th. — After mature reflection, I
find that the views which I believed to be
strongly founded begin to totter. What
would the professor say if he knew that not
the doctor, but a country family, and that,
too, ultramontane, begin to shake the foun-
dation of my views? Would he not call
me weak ?"
He laid down the pen and sat sul-
lenly reflecting.
" All my impressions of the ultramontane
family be herewith effaced," he wrote fur-
ther. *• The only fact I admit is, that even
ultramontanes also can be good people.
But this fact shall in no wise destroy my
former convictions.'*
TO BS CONTINUBX).
170
The Council and the Raman Congregations,
FROM THB RBVUB DU MONDB CATHOLIQUB.
THE COUNCIL AND THE ROMAN CONGREGATIONS*
The Council of Trent was the
eighteenth general council, and ter-
minated its sessions in the year 1562.
None had preceded it for upward
of a century, and during the three
hundred years which have since
elapsed the church has failed to wit-
ness one of these august assemblies.
Hence it has been objected that,
since the sixteenth century, the safe-
guards of truth and liberty have been
diminished, and that the absence, in
modem times, of those councils,
which were so frequent during the
first ages, manifests an intention on
the part of the popes to exercise
their authority with the utmost rigor,
and to govern alone, without the as-
sistance of those lights to which their
predecessors did not deem it humiliat-
ing to appeal.
* We take pleasure in layinx before oar readers, at
this time, the accompanying translatioo from a recent
number of one of the leading magazines of France.
The eyes of the people of this country, and especially
of our great cities, are being slowly opened to the
necessity of some refonn in the methods of judicial
business. The delay and expense of legal proceed-
ing*— above all, the great uncertainty of their result, is
becoming d lily a matter of more and more serious
consideration. In casting about the world for li$!ht
upcm this vexed and intricate subject, the mind of
the reformer cannot fiul to be guided to the mother
and mistress of all nations, in whose bosom is garner-
ed the experience of twenty-five oraturies, and whose
institut OIK are the development of that wisdom and
sagacity which made pagan Rome the queen of the
world, and has given to Christian Rome a sceptre
whose sway is mightier and mora extensive thaa that
of the sword.
We fed confident, tfttrefere, tfiat in presenting this
attide on Tht R^mmm C^mjyvfmii^ms to the Ameri-
can public and partictiUriy to the legal profession,
we are directing stteniioo to what must, in a great-
er or le«s dqcree, be the model of all permanent
and reliable civ.l tribunals. As applicable to the
exigeocies which pre«s ns most sevrrely at the mo-
ment, we call attention to the following featurvS of
these congiegations as worthy of particular investiga-
tion:
I. The life-tenure of judges and other oftcials,
with the perroarent provisjoo made for their support
of disability.
This imputation is, however, con-
trary to the truth. During the first
three centuries there was no general
council. Since then, as all admit,
the sovereign pontiffs have had the
sole right to summon these assem-
blies, and have been the sole judges
as to when this should be done.
This power was conferred upon them
with the especial design that they might
use it without incurring any blame
from those who never were made
their judges. In the exercise of it
they are influenced by reasons which
we cannot estimate. They know
better than any one else the wants of
the church, the condition of the
world, the inconveniences, the obsta-
cles, and the dangers which oppose
such an assemblage. Possibly, also,
they perceive in history certain rea-
2. The reduction of all pleadings to a simple, defi-
nite issue, expressing in untechnical language the
precise points of law or fact which are in contro-
versy.
3. The reduction of all testimony to the form of
depositions, thereby securing the sworn evidence
without the mistakes and prejudices almost inseparable
from the oral examination of witnesses in court.
4. The reduction of all auguments to writing,
procedure eminently productive of accuracy, brevity,
and completeness; three qualities which, however
desirable, are rarely found in the oral arguments of
counsel.
5. The submisiuon of all questions to a body of
trained and practised judges, not so liable to be sway-
ed by passion, interest, and prejudice as a jury, or
unaided by the coana«l and assistance of ctthcrs,
like a single Judge, but bringii^ to the solution of
every issue a multitude of counsellors, among whoe^
if anywhere on earth, is impartiality and wisdom.
We cwunend these features of Roman jurispm-
dence to those whose interest and duty lead them to
consider seriously the question of legal reform, re-
marking for ourselves that the rapid and accttrate en-
forcement of legal rights and red^'ess of legal wrongs
is the highest mirk of temporal civilixation, and chat
no country can expect prusperity and renown onlesa
the lud.cul ermine is kept free from stain, and unless
all men, nch or poor, have both equal rights and.
equAl means of pn>tecung them before the law. — Ezx,
Catm. Wokux
\
The Council and the Roman Congregations,
sons which modify their action. In
modern times the secular power loves
to meddle with the affairs of the
church. It desires to make religion
a handmaid of poUtics, and, tho-
roughly enamored of its own indepen-
dence, it would sink to the lowest
limit the freedom of the church.
Its manifest impiety, its sceptical
principles, which, under the names of
toleration and hberty of conscience,
have j>enetrated its governments,
have rendered its interference far
more disastrous in modem times
than at any former period in history.
The kings of the middle ages did in-
deed wish to make the church serve
their own ends, but they, at least, were
in their turn faithful to her. They
held fast to her dogmas, and submit-
ted humbly to her discipline. Their
combination was to rule, not to over-
throw and destroy. But such is not
the temper of these modem govem-
ments, all or nearly all of which seek
to hold religion itself in subjection.
For this purpose they establish na-
tional churches, which are attached
to the universal church by a tie which
may easily at any time be broken.
They exalt the authority of bishops,
that thereby they may diminish that
of popes. They exhibit a desire to
lodge the government of the church
in councils, and to use these assem-
blies for the introduction of extensive
modifications into ecclesiastical law.
The councils of Basle and Constance
showed indications of these projects,
and it was through no fault of the se-
cular power that the Council of Trent
did not realize them
Thus also is explained the laudable
design of the sovereign pontiflfe in
contending against these disastrous
tendencies, and in showing to the
world, by long experience, that the
fundamental power in the church
rests with them. They have wished
to remove from princes the means
upon which they had so
for the overthrow of
authority. This is the .,
the popes, during the last three cen-
turies, have convoked no council, but
have sought from different institutions
such assistance as they have required.
It is for the purpose of affording
this assistance that the Roman con-
gregations have been established.
Their origin may be found in those
consistories of cardinals which, from
the ninth to the sixteenth centuries,
constituted the permanent senate of
the pontiff, and assembled twice or
thrice a week in his palace, to con-
sider measures for the reformation of
both clergy and people, to receive the
complaints of all classes of the faith-
ful, and to decide the controversies
and disputes of the entire world.
These consistories were themselves
the offepring of those Roman councils
which were so frequent during the
first ten ages of the church ; for it may
be well remarked that the church,
though based upon the supreme au-
thority of the popes, has never ne-
glected those human institutions
which could increase its influence or
lighten the labors of its head. Its
principles have always been the same,
but it has suited the method of their
application to the necessities of each
succeeding age.
Like the councils, the consistories
were composed of men renowned for
their faith, their leaming, and their
sanctity. The sovereign pontiffs
continually added to the college of
cardinals the most illustrious of the
clergy, and called to Rome, from all
quarters of the globe, those religious,
those ecclesiastics, and those prelates
whose assistance they deemed most
useful in the government of the
church. These men were absolutely
independent of the secular power, and
totally secluded from its influence.
Living in constant intercourse with
r
172
The Council and the Roman Congregations.
the pontiff himself, they enjoyed all
necessary liberty; they exercised for
life the powers confided to them;
they had no worldly care or fear, and
they enjoyed a rank fi*om which they
could not be deposed. They spent
their time in prayer, in charitable
works, in the study of sacred litera-
ture, and in the discharge of theii
duties. Where could be found more
intelligence, greater learning, or more
ample guarantees for the preservation
of truth ?
The principle of the church, that
her power, though essentially resi-
dent in the person of one, should be
disseminated through the instrumen-
tality of many, is applicable to all
degrees of the ecclesiastical hierarchy.
Thus, the bishop and his chapter
are considered as forming but one
body, while yet the decretal novit
of Alexander III. secures to bishops
the management of their own
churches without the consent or co-
operation of their brethren. Thus,
also, the popes have near them a
body of cardinals, an illustrious sen-
ate, composed of the most learned
and holy men of the whole world,
who assist them in the direction of
the church. This senate, collected
in one assemblage under the presi-
dency of the pontiff, forms the con-
sistory, at whose sessions the most
important causes are fi-equently de-
termined.
The extension of the faith, the
multiplicity of appeals to the holy
see, the more complicated develop-
ments of modem life, and the increas-
ed entanglements of the church with
the world have, however, rendered
necessary a more frequent interven-
tion of authority, and added vastly
to the number of those causes on
which the holy see has been obliged
to pronounce judgment.
The government of the chiu^ch is
by far the idost extensive of the gov-
ernments of the earth. It is not
bounded by the limits of any particu-
lar kingdom, but reaches throughout
the globe, as well to those countries
whose heathen populations demand
its constant care, as to those Catholic
states which are directly subject to
the jurisdiction of the apostolic see.
From all these places innumerable
cases constantly arrive at Rome,
each of which demands, for its proi>er
determination, a profound examina-
tion. These are not like cases which
are submitted to the civil tribunals,
in which material interests only are
at stake, and for which a temporary
solution is sufficient. They are ques-
tions of doctrine, which demand an
answer rigorously exact, since these
answers determine faith. They are
questions of administration, which in-
terest secular institutions, great per-
sonages, often entire provinces and
kingdoms. They are questions of
conscience, upon which depend the
peace and salvation of souls. These
decisions, whatever they may be,
will always be received with an un-
qualified respect and a perfect docil-
ity, which impose upon their authors
an obligation to exercise the utmost
care. And yet it is also necessary
to judge quickly, for the affairs are
often of a vital importance which will
not brook delay.
It would be, of course, impossible
for the sovereign pontiff to examine
personally all these various matters,
and to decide upon them in a single
assembly. Hence the college of car-
dinals has been divided into a cer-
tain number of sections, to each of
which pertains the examination of
some particular class of cases. This
division did not take place all at
once. It grew into existence by the
successive erection of different con-
gregations instituted as fast and in
such proportions as necessity seemed
to require.
The Council and the Roman Congregations.
^71
That which is especially remark-
able about these institutions is the
protection which they give to private
interests, since the submission of each
affair to the scrutiny of many persons
is a security for knowledge, indepen-
dence, and impartiality in its deci-
sion. Moreover, these institutions
preserve the customs and the charac-
ter of an ecclesiastical government.
We have mentioned the relationship
of bishops and their chapters. Every
chapter was subdivided into commis-
sions, to each of which a separate
part in the administration of the dio-
cese was assigned. One had the
spiritual and scholastic direction of
the episcopal seminaries; another,
that of the temporalities ; and still an-
other, the examination and reception
of the candidates for the priesthood.
These commissions bear a certain re-
semblance to the Roman congrega-
tions. The latter were established
by the voluntary action of the sove-
reign pontiflfe. The Council of Trent
was not occupied with them. It re-
gulated diocesan administration as it
believed useful, but it left the admin-
istrauon of the universal church to
the wisdom of the popes ; so that pre-
cisely at the time when its enemies
think they can detect tendencies on
the part of the holy see to abso-
lutism, the pK)ntif!s without constraint,
but of their own accord, organize
those institutions which are the best
safeguards against the dangers of ab-
solute power.
In reckoning up the number of
those who, under different titles, take
part in these labors, we discover that
the Roman congregations form an
entire assemblage of five hundred
persons, alt illustrious for their piety
and learning. Many councils have
been less numerous. These consti-
tute a sort of permanent council,
which is in daily communication with
all the churches of the world, and
which, not being limited in duration,
can bring to the questions which are
submitted to it all desirable delibe-
ration. Perfect order presides over
its labors. Like the councils, it is
divided into sections, to which the
members are assigned according to
their peculiar aptitudes. These sec-
tions, which are the congregations
properly so called, are permanent
also, and consequently are enabled
to devote themselves to the study of
all the branches of ecclesiastical ad-
ministration for the purpose of deter-
mining its principles. Finally, like
the councils themselves, they draw
their authority from the sovereign
pontiff, and their decisions are subject
to his approval.
The attributes of these congre-
gations are manifold and various.
They may be arranged under three
principal heads: administrative, de-
liberative, and judicial.
The Roman congregations are the
supreme directors of ecclesiastical
administration. The sovereign pon-
tiff adopts no measures which affect
the government of dioceses, the com-
munities of religious, the missions, or
the ceremonies of the ritual; he
grants no faculties or dispensations;
he fills no important position in the
church, until the congregation to
whose sphere the case belongs has
been summoned to consider it. Of-
ten, indeed, the congregation itself
first perceives the necessity to be
provided for. If it be a matter of
small moment, the president or sec-
retary of the congregation, either by
virtue of his office or by special con-
cession, will render a decision. If
the matter is of higher consequence,
it is previously submitted to the pope,
and a decision rendered, as it is call-
ed, ex audentia summi pontificis. If
it is of the highest character, it will
receive special care and be consider-
ed in a full congregation. In every
174
The Council and the Roman Congregations.
case these acts derive their adminis-
trative power from the authority
given to the sovereign pontiflf over
the church. They use this power,
manifesting itself in council, with the
assistance of renowned and holy men
and in a manner worthy of him who
made the world with number, weight,
and measure.
These congregations have also to
resolve the doubts which arise upon
different points of canon law. Some-
times propositions in the abstract
are submitted to them for the deter-
mination of discipline or ceremonies ;
sometimes they consult upon the ap-
plication of a general law to some
particular case which does not seem
to come entirely within its provisions.
They occupy in the church the plaoe
of a central light to which every one,
prelate or layman, king or simple citi-
zen, may come for illumination.
They are not only the adviser of the
sovereign, but of all his subjects.
No institution of the secular power
can be compared to them. He who
has doubts upon the interpretation
of civil law is able to consult its doc-
tors and professors only in detail.
The council of state has no power
to respond to individuals who interro-
gate it; its advice is given only
when the government demands it*
The courts can render only concrete,
particular decisions upon stated cases.
More liberal than the state, the
church holds its wisdom at the dispo-
sal of every conscience. It responds
to all, and, without regard to the dig-
nity of persons, it investigates with
the same care the questions they
propound ; for it always acts for the
salvation of souls, and considers eve-
ry soul redeemed by the blood of
Christ as of infinite price.
The method of procedure in these
deliberations shows the care which
the church exercises over every mat-
ter of this nature. The question is
first examined and discussed in a
"consultation;" which document is
referred to all or a portion of the
members, according to the nature of
the affair and the usages of the con-
gregation. The consultors are ad-
vised with. The question is submit-
ted to the judgment of eminent car-
dinals united in full congregation.
The decision is laid before the pope,
whose approval must be obtained be-
fore its promulgation. Then this de-
cision becomes an authentic interpre-
tation of law, not merely on account
of the official authority of the con-
gregation, but on account of the
approbation of the sovereign pon-
tiff. It possesses legislative au-
thority and has the force of law.
Further on we shall see that although
these congregations, being officially
invested by the holy see with the
right of interpreting law, render defi-
nitive decisions which are indisputa-
ble and cannot be raised by any other
authority, yet they are not there-
by to be considered as infallible.
Their judgments are obligatory be-
cause supreme, not because they are
infallible.
Finally, these congregations are
the final tribunals for the determina-
tion of ecclesiastical causes. Some-
times these causes are brought by
way of appeal from the decrees and
sentences of the ordinaries of differ-
ent places. Sometimes the parties
submit directly to their decision
questions never before raised at an
inferior tribunal. All these congre-
gations possess judicial powers, and
are able to resolve contested cases.
The chief of those to which appeals
are taken are, however, the Congre-
gation of the Council and the Con-
gregation of Bishops and Regulars.
The causes thus submitted are both
civil and criminal. The Congrega-
tion of the Holy Office is the supreme
tribunal for the crimes and misde-
The Council and the Roman Congregations.
175
meanors which concern faith, such as
heresy, polygamy, detention of pro-
hibited books, infraction of fasts, the
c^ebration of mass, and the admin-
istiation of the sacraments by men
who are not priests, the public vene-
ration of unbeatified dead, and the
superstitions of astrology and false
revelations. The Congregation of
Bishops and Regulars is the ordinary
judge of appeals in those criminal
causes which do not come imder the
jurisdiction of the Holy Office. The
Congregation of the Council deter-
mines those cases which are specified
by the Council of Trent.
These congregations, fifteen in
number, are as follows :
1. The Congregation of the Holy Office,
est^Ushed by Paul IIL
2. The Congregation of the Council, eS'
tablished by Pius IV.
3. The Congregation of the Index, estab-
lished by Leo X.
4 and 5. The Congregation of Bishops
and Regulars, established by Gregory XIII.
and Sixtus V.
6. The Congregation of Rites, established
by Sixtos V.
7. The Congregation of Schools, estab-
lished by Sixtos V.
S. The Congregation of the Consistory,
established by Sixtus V.
9. The Congregation of the Examination
of Bishops, established by Clement VIII.
10. The Congregation of the Propaganda,
established by Gregory XV.
11. The Congregation of Ecclesiastical
Immunities, established by Urban VIII.
12. The Congregation of the Residence
of Bbhops, established by Clement VIIL
aod Benedict XIV.
15. The Congregation of Indulgences, es*
tablished by Clement IX.
14. The Congregation of Extraordinary
Affiirs, estabUshed by Pius VII.
15. The Congregation of Oriental Rites,
estabUshed by Pius IX.
The first of these congregations,
as well in the order of their impor-
tance as of their origin, is that of the
Holy Office. The principle upon
vUch it is based, although violently
attacked in our day, is certainly in-
contestable. Man has no right to
propagate error; for error is an evil
which causes public disturbance and
disorder, and is especially dangerous
to the ignorant and feeble, of whom
the greater part of mankind is com-
posed. Civil tribunals and temporal
governments never hesitate to use
this right as one necessary to their
self-preservation. It is not, therefore,
siuprising that the church claims it,
since it is a perfect society, and owes
to itself the duty of self-protection.
Rather should it exercise this right
with the most unquestioned authori-
ty, being itself infallible, and able to
discriminate with absolute exactness
between truth and error.
Twenty years before the conclu-
sion of the Council of Trent, by a
bull dated July 2d, 1542, Pope
Paul III. established the Congrega-
tion of the Holy Office, composed of
six cardinals, for the increase and de-
fence of the Catholic faith. The
successors of Paul III. confirmed
this congregation and increased the
number of its members. Sixtus V.
solemnly recognized its existence in
1588, in his bull Immensa /Etemi.
This congregation is usually presid-
ed over by the pope himself.
The Congregation of the Council
was established by Pius IV., in order
to carry into effect the decrees of the
Council of Trent, and received from
Sixtus V. the faculty of interpreting,
with apostolic authority, all the disci-
plinary canons of that august assem-
bly. The Council of Trent was
bound by no precedents in regulating
particular points of discipline. It
reviewed the whole body of canons,
confirming whatever in the former
law ought to be preserved, complet-
ing what was lacking, and publishing
a uU code of ecclesiastical discipline.
In spite of the care with which all
these new dispositions had been
made, difficulties soon began to arise
as to their mterpretation and applica-
1/6
The Council and the Roman Congregations.
tion. The council had foreseen this,
and left it to the sovereign pontiflf to
provide for the necessity. On this
account, the pope instituted a perma-
nent tribunal, composed, at the out-
set, of those cardinals who had as-
sisted at the council, who understood
its spirit, and knew how best to pre-
serve and transmit its traditions.
This was the Congregation of the
Council. The religious orders already-
possessed an analogous institution.
That of Citeaux had always had some
one power charged with the duty of
interpreting the rule. A similar tri-
bunal is indispensable in every well-
ordered state. It guards the law
from the deviations of custom, and
the abuse of private interpretation.
It affords to it unity and fixedness.
Every modem government has its
supreme court of appeals, which ex-
ists almost solely for this object.
But the institution of these latter
is comparatively recent, while the
church has possessed hers for many
ages, and, in fact, gave to those of
the state the first impulse and exam-
ple.
The Congregation of the Index
was established by St. Pius V. Its
powers were afterward extended and
confirmed by Gregory XIII. in 1572,
by Sixtus V. in 1588, by Clement
VIII. in 1595, and by other sover-
eign pontiff. The principle upon
which its authority reposes is indis-
putable. In every age the church
has restrained the propagation of
false doctrines and prohibited the
perusal of such books as were dan-
gerous to faith and morals. The in-
vention of printing, in 1450, con-
strained it to watch with increased
solicitude for the accomplishment of
this duty. In 15 13, the fifth Council
of Lateran forbade the publication
of any book without its previous ex-
amination by the ordinary of the
place. The efforts put forth for the
spread of Protestantism called for
efibrts still more vigorous in defence
of the church. The Council of
Trent reenacted the laws concerning
the Index. It published the ten rules
which are now regarded as the germ
of all modem legislation concerning
the press. The establishment of this
congregation was but the organiza-
tion and practical realization of those
principles which the church has al-
ways recognized, and of which all
states to-day admit the necessity.
The Congregation of the Index
examines books and forbids those
which are false and immoral. Chris-
tians have need of some learned and
impartial authority to designate for
them such books as they ought not
to read, and all sincere men admit the
usefulness of this warning ; for many
books are certainly unprofitable and
injurious to every one. Even though
civil governments have criticised the
rules of the Index, they have not
hesitated to adopt and use them as
the nucleus of their legislation con-
cerning the press. The oath imposed
upon printers and booksellers, the
deposit of a copy of each work be-
fore it is ofiered for sale, the obliga-
tion of placing upon the title-page
the name of the printer, and of the
signature of the writers to articles in
newspajjers, are all embodied in the
rules of Clement VII. The pre-
scriptions of the Index forbid the
distribution of manuscript and print-
ed books which have not been duly
approved, in the same manner as the
state prohibits those which have not
been duly stamped ; except that the
church has not invented stamps, nor
does a revenue result from its pre-
scriptions. Moreover, the state de-
mands an approbation, or, in other
words, exercises a censorship, which,
though now very greatly decried, is
still enforced in regard to plays, and,
when occasion demands, to other
The Council and the Roman Congregations,
177
publications also. There is merely
this difference, that the church causes
its books to be examined by bishops,
by cardinals, by men who are at
once learned and impartial, while
civil governments confide this respon-
sibility to men who are often more
ignorant and less careful of morality
than the authors whom they control.
The state has indeed adopted the in-
stitution of the church, but it has
gready perverted it.
The decisions of this congregation
are binding in all places ; not because
the tribunal is infallible, but because
it is supreme, and because the popes
have extended its authority over the
whole church. Some, like the Gal-
ileans, have claimed the validity of
Aeir contrary usages ; but no custom
can avail against law, especially when
it is universally acknowledged that
the power of the lawgiver extends
over the whole world, and that no
person, whatever his rank, or titles, or
privileges, is exempt firom its decrees.
The Congregation of Bishops was
established by Gregory XIII. The
Congregation of Regulars, which was
afterward established by Sixtus V.,
was, at a still later day, united to
that of Bishops. This congregation,
irfiich is one of the most busy of
them all, occupies in the church a
sphere analogous to that of a council
of state. It possesses administrative
feculties. It deputes visitors apos-
tolic to different provinces, appoints
▼kars in dioceses whose bishops be-
come incapacitated, and sends forth
rdigious to visit the houses of their
several orders. It is the natural pro-
tectress of charitable institutions. It
proves of the sales, exchanges, and
pledges of the property pertaining to
churches and monasteries. It has
also deliberative attributes, and de-
cides upon questions submitted to it
by bishops, religious houses, and in-
Hitotions; except such as may in-
VOL. X. — 12
volve the interpretation of the ca-
nons of the Council of Trent. It has
prepared the greater part of the bulls
which have been issued during the
past three hundred years. In short,
it exercises an administrative juris-
diction over, and decides disputes
which arise between, different church-
es, bishops, chapters, orders, and re-
ligious, and whatever other matters of
controversy directly concern the cler-
gy. Its prompt method of procedure
causes even lay people, who voluntari-
ly submit their cases to Rome, to pre-
fer its j urisdiction. It does not adjudge
according to the vigorous strictness
of the law, but endeavors, as far as
possible, to appease the parties and
reconcile their disagreements. Ap-
T)eals in criminal cases, except where
the offence is within the peculiar cog-
nizance of the Holy Office, are also
brought before this congregation.
We are not able to examine each
of these congregations in detail. All
possess the same characteristics of
wisdom and prudence which distin-
guish every institution established by
the popes. The Congregation of
Rites was organized for the preserva-
tion of traditional vestments, liturgies,
and worship, and to prevent that in-
cessant change which degrades state
ceremonial, and often rashly increases
its expenses. The Congregation of
Schools corresponds to our boards
of public education ; though the lat-
ter are of extremely recent origin,
while the former has subsisted since
the age of Sixtus V. The Congrega-
tion for the Examination of Bishops
receives testimonials concerning the
doctrine and habits of candidates
for the episcopate. It fills the place
of a court of inquiry, firom which
proceed nominations of public offi-
cers, even of the highest rank;
where influences of every kind an-
tagonize each other; where titles are
forgotten ; and where the aptitude ofc
178
The Council and the Roman Congregations.
every candidate, intellectual and mo-
ral, is carefully scrutinized.
These various congregations be-
come, however, safeguards of truth
and freedom, not only by the variety
of their faculties, but also by their in-
ternal structure and their methods of
procedure. Each of them is com-
posed of a cardinal-prefect, of a cer-
tain number of cardinals, and a secre-
tary. To this the Congregation of
the Holy Office, which is presided
over by the pope himself, forms an
exception.
The prefect is charged with the
arrangement of the business of the
congregation. He manages the pre-
paration of causes prior to their dis-
cussion. He submits them to the ex-
amination of his colleagues, and pre-
sides at their deliberations. After
the debate has terminated, he receives
their suffrages and announces their
decision. He also examines into
those matters which are settled at a
private audience with the pope, with-
out being brought before the whole
congregation, and his words give
publicity to the decisions which he
receives from the living voice of the
pontiff himself. Finally, he deter-
mines alone certain matters of minor
importance, which, on that account,
are neither brought before the con-
gregation nor the pope. He receives
his appointment from the sovereign
pontiff, and holds his office during
life. When he is absent, his place is
supplied by the oldest cardinal of the
congregation, and, at his death, the
cardinal-secretary of state places his
signature to the nomination of the
new prefect.
The secretary assists at the meet-
ings of the congregations, and is
charged with the duty of recording
its resolutions and acts, of transcrib-
ing its registers, and of delivering its
processes. He also summons the
cardinals, presents to them at each
session a brief of the causes they are
to treat, and gives them, for each of
these, a succinct statement of the
principal arguments of the parties,
with a summary of the documents
pertaining to them. This statement
is printed upon loose sheets and dis-
tributed to the cardinals several days
in advance, in order that each may
have time to fully investigate the af-
fair. Sometimes this statement is
prepared by the cardinal-reporter,
hence called the cardinal ponent.
The secretary also submits to the
pope the sentences of which he is
to approve; and, for this pmpose,
those of the different congregations
have a day of special audience before
the pontiff. The faculty of giving
licenses for various purposes, such as
reading prohibited books, etc, etc., is
confided to the secretary; also the
power to distribute copies of the de-
crees of the congregation, authenticat-
ed by the signatures of the prefect
and the secretary, and sealed with
the seal of the congregation, which
thus become of valid force before all
tribunals, and even elsewhere, if they
treat of extra-judicial matters.
The secretaries are appointed by
the pope himself. They must be
bishops, with the title of a church in
tartibus infidelium^ or, at least, pre-
lates of the Roman court In the
Congregation of the Holy Office the
secretary is a cardinal.
The secretary has under him a
number of inferior officials — a vice-
secretary, who supplies his place
when vacant ; a protocol, who takes
care of those records in which are re-
gistered current matters of business,
with the state of their examination ;
a master of rolls, who preserves the
various documents; and copyists,
who prepare duplicates and exempli-
fications. All these are under his
control, and for them all he is re-
sponsible. They are chosen at a
The Council aud the Roman Congregations,
179
general session and* hold office for
life. They rank in the order of their
seniority. Their remuneration is
moderate, but they enjoy it during
Ufe, even when sickness or old age
prevents the fulfilment of their duties.
To these congregations, moreover,
are attached a number of theologians
and canonists, who act as counsellors
in the investigation of different ques-
tions, and assist with their advice
those cardinals whose place it is to
determine causes. These also are
appointed for life by the pope, and,
as they are generally taken from the
xdigious orders, they are never ab-
sent or obliged to leave Rome with-
out the p>ermission of the congrega-
tion.
These counsellors prefer their
opinions in various forms, according
to the character of the congregation.
Sometimes one of them is requested
to present a written solution of some
especial question; sometimes they
are all summoned to hold a united
ddiberation and give their collective
vote before the cardinals.
The parties who appear before
tiiese congregations are represented
m their presence by proctors and ad-
vocates. The proctors act in the
same capacity as our attorneys.
They are the true defenders of their
cause by law and in fact. They
compose the petitions, digest the in-
formations, and direct the whole pro-
ceedings. Their profession is very
honorable, but not open to every one.
Advocates are employed only in
matters of higher importance, and
sddom except in those of abstract
bw. They disengage, as far as pos-
sible, every question firom the cir-
comstances of fact which surround it,
and examine it doctrinally from the
most elevated point of view. Their
profession is free ; but in order to ex-
ercise it one must be a doctor of civil
and canon law, and consequently
must have spent four years in study
at the Sapienza, or three years at the
Apollinaria. They are not limited
in number, and are permitted to ap-
pear before any of the congregations.
There are also special advocates be-
longing to the consistory, who deal
only with the process of canonization.
All of these are men well versed in
theological learning, canons, councils,
ecclesiastical history, civil and canon
law, and by their own erudition con-
tribute vastly to the advancement of
jurisprudence.
Besides proctors and advocates,
there are also solicitors who take
charge of various transactions and
proceedings, hasten on investigations,
and are employed in extra-judicial
affairs.
The method of procedure before
these congregations differs according
to the congregation, the nature of the
business, and even the will of the
parties themselves. It may likewise
be distinguished into the ordinary,
the summary, the inquisitorial, etc.,
etc., and is regulated by positive
rules or by custom. They are well
known to all, and, in practice, never
give rise to any confusion.
We do not desire here to enter
into details concerning these different
modes of procedure. We can only
go so far as to make known their
general character, and to compare it
with our own civil proceedings, which
are sometimes, we think groundlessly,
supposed to be a model for all others.
We select, as a type of the whole,
the usages of the Congregation of the
Council. This congregation receives
appeals firom the sentences of ordina-
ries, and also causes submitted to it
by the consent of the parties; the
latter being equally proper with the
former, provided the rules are equally
observed. These causes are usually
commenced by the sending of a sum-
mons to the opposite party through a
i8o
The Council and the Rotnau Congregations,
public official, in the same manner as
in civil processes. At the outset,
however, a particular formality, called
the settlement of the question, is ob-
served. The object of this is to de-
termine the precise point upon which
the decision of the congregation is
desired. For this purpose it is ne-
cessary that an issue be joined be-
tween the adverse parties, upon some
definite proposition. . . This is
done either by the parties themselves
.or their proctors, in presence of the
secretary of the congregation, and, in
their default, the secretary himself
explains it in writing, or, when requi-
site, the congregation is called to de-
termine it.
This summons for the settlement
of the question is served fifteen days
before the date of the proceeding it-
self. At the same time, the original
and authenticated writings which the
parties have employed, as well as a
statement of the facts, signed by the
proctor, must be deposited at the
office of the secretary. If judicial
inquests and the deposition of wit-
nesses are necessary, they are taken
by the ordinary in the capacity of
judge-delegate, the congregation not
being able to act at a distance. The
proch'Verbal authenticated and du-
ly legalized, are transmitted to it;
but as the causes generally come be-
fore it by appeal, all these investiga-
tions of fact are previously concluded,
and the ordinary sends forward the
entire papers of the case.
The defences of parties are pre-
sented in written memorials in the
Latin tongue, signed by an advocate
or by a proctor approved by the Ro-
man court. These memorials are
deposited with the secretary and
communicated to the complainants,
as are also copies of all documents
that are produced, in nearly the same
manner as in the highest civil tribu-
nals. These memorials are in turn
succeeded by •written replications,
signed and filed in the same way.
Unless by special permission, the
memorials are limited to five printed
sheets, and the replications to two.
In case of negUgence, the proctor is
liable to a penalty. No supplemen-
tary writings are admissible.
From these papers the secretary
makes memoranda, briefly setting
forth the whole affair and the princi-
pal arguments, the facts and the law,
as claimed by the parties, all of which, *
together with the defences and repli-
cations, are printed and distributed
in duplicate to the cardinals. These,
then, receive separately the parties
with their advocates and listen to
their explanations, if they judge any
to be useful to their cause. These
interviews are not, however, secret
Both adversaries have their audien-
ces, and they contribute very much
to elucidate doubtful matters.
. The day of decision is fixed by
the secretary. There is never any
delay except for the greatest reasons.
The production of the defences must
take place at least thirty days before
that of final judgment. The printed
memoranda are distributed at least
six days before it. The circulation
of the papers and supplemental docu-
ments is finished in the same interval.
The audiences to parties are granted
within the last four or five days which
precede. The distribution of replica-
tions is made at latest the day before
the session. After this, no notice is
taken of any testimony or document
produced by one of the parties, un-
less with the consent of the other.
There are no contradictory plead-
ings, no public audiences. Every
thing is done in writing. The cardi-
nals, well instructed in the cause from
the defences, replications, documents,
memoranda of the secretaries, and
the previous verbal explanations of
the advocates, assemble on the ap-
The Council and the Roman Congregations,
i8i
pointed day and deliberate out of
the hearing of the parties. This de-
liberation is secret, and sometimes
takes place between two audiences.
After judgment is rendered, the
losing party has ten days in which to
petition for a new trial for the revi-
sion of the sentence by the same
congregation. The prefect grants
this petition ; the new hearing takes
place at the end of three months ; and
the party who demands it, if defeated,
defrays the expenses.
When sentence has been rendered,
and has become of full force as a
judgment, an exemplification of it is
transmitted to the winning party, who
presents it at the executive office of
letters-apostolic and of decrees of
congregations, in order that it may
be couched in the requisite formula-
ries.
The proceedings before the Con-
gregation of Bishops and Regulars
closely resemble those before the
Congregation of the Council. The
delays are somewhat shorter, but
the ordinary procedure is the same.
Before both of them there is also
a species of process more swift and
summary, to be employed when the
parties desire it, or the nature of
the business demands it. Moreover,
in the latter congregation it is the
acretary who renders its decision.
We have seen that appeals in cri-
»inal cases are taken from the dio-
cesan courts to the Congregation of
BiAops and Regulars, except when
the nature of the offence brings it
*ithm the cognizance of the Congre-
gation of the Holy Office. This ap-
peal must be entered within ten days
Jftcr the promulgation of the judg-
nicnt After the appeal is perfected,
the diocesan court transmits to the
«mgregation a budget which in-
dodes: i, the process which was
^tuted in the first instance; 2,
ti^ biief of this process and the note
of that which followed; 3, the de-
fence of the accused ; 4, the sen-
tence. At the same time the court
signifies to the accused and his advo-
cate that they are now to prosecute
their appeal.
If the appellant does not pm-sue
the matter, a reasonable delay, ordina-
rily of twenty days, is accorded, af-
ter which he is judged to have re-
nounced his appeal and the sentence
is executed. If he does pursue it,
he makes choice of an advocate at
Rome. The budget is then sent to
a judge-reporter, from whose hands
the advocate receives a memorandum
of the case, and upon that bases his
defence. This defence is communi-
cated to the first judge, that he may
sustain his sentence. All the papers
are printed and distributed to the
cardinals. The cause is examined
on an appointed day in presence of
the assembled congregation. The
judge-reporter states the case. The
proctor-general defends the sentence
of the court below. The cardinals
render their decision, which affirms,
vacates, or revises the sentence of
the diocesan tribunal, and is immedi-
ately transmitted thereto for execu-
tion. This decision is final ; and, af-
ter it is rendered, the pope alone can
grant a review of the proceedings,
and that only before the same con-
gregation, and for the gravest rea-
sons.
It will be remarked that there is
no public hearing of witnesses ; but
if this should seem objectionable to
any, it will be sufficient to remind them
that civil courts, which revise the judg-.
ments of courts of correction, decide
upon the papers of the case and not
upon the testimony of living witness-
es at their bar ; while, as for criminal
proceedings, it is well known that
from the courts which try issues of
fact there is usually no appeal.
When, instead of an ordinary of-
l82
The Council and the Roman Congregations.
fence, the crime alleged is one against
the faith, the rules of procedure are
inquisitorial in their character, and
differ somewhat from the preceding;
but on account of the weight of the
penalty, they offer still greater safe-
guards to the accused.
Moreover, it is not requisite that
all the witnesses should have been
present during the whole transaction
in question ; the deposition of a sin-
gle one is admissible, though it is
necessary that there be more than
two, and even three form but a sort
of half-proof. All interrogatories,
skilfully directed to extort the truth
from the defendant or the witnesses
by surprise, are strictly forbidden, as
are also any suggestions of the an
swer desired, and every effort is
made that the truth may flow natu-
rally from the lips of the witness and
without the influence of fear. In or-
der to avoid hatred and terrorism,
the names of the witnesses are not
made known to the accused, but
their motives of hostility to him are
examined with the greatest care.
False witnesses are punished with
the utmost severity, and, when it be-
comes necessary, the accused and
accusers are confronted with each
other.
If from poverty, or any other rea-
son, the accused is found without an
advocate or proctor, one is furnished
for him.
Finally, the appeal is a matter of
right It is taken directly to Rome,
before the Congregation of the Holy
Office, without passing through any
intermediate metropolitan tribunal,
and, during its pendency there, exe-
cution is usually stayed. Judgment
is never rendered against any one
upon mere presumptions; but only
after full and unmistakable proof.
We come now to notice the written
regulations which may be called the
skeleton of procedure. Save some
variations in detail, they differ lidc
from those of all contested cases be-
fore the different congregations. But
in order fully to understand their ad-
vantages and disadvantages, the read-
er should understand not only die
text of the law but the usages of its
practices. For ever)rwhere, at Rome
as at Paris, unwritten traditions and
judicial customs modify and temper
the law, complete its deficiencies, and
cause the inconveniences which, at
first sight, it would seem to occasion,
wholly to disappear. It is also im-
possible to base a serious comparison
between the procedure of two coun-
tries upon a mere reading of their
rules. Not only ought the two
methods to vary according to the
manners of the parties, the character
of the tribunals, and the nature of
their causes, but even two modes
which are identical will often, under
different circumstances, produce en-
tirely different results. They accom-
modate themselves to the hand that
wields them, and their value can be
really appreciated only after long
usage of them; so that the skilled
practitioner alone is able to speak au-
thoritatively of their value, of their
endurance, and of the guarantees
which they offer for the discovery of
truth.
By these remarks we desire to
show that the procedure of the Ro-
man congregations, without sacrificing
any of the essential safeguards of
justice, is generally simple, brief,
economical, informal to a degree be-
yond that of any civil procedure;
and, far from needing to learn any
thing from them, it is able in many
points to become their instructor.
There is, however, one great differ-
ence upon which we especially insist,
because it has formed the pretext for
unjust attacks fiiom narrow minds,
who are unable to comprehend that
any thing can be well done that is
The Council and tltc Roman Congregations,
X83
done in a way dififerent from their
own, or that any difference between
their customs and those of others is
not a signal mark of the inferiority of
the latter. The Roman congrega-
tions admit of no oral pleadings.^
All discussion is in writing, though
it '}& necessarily completed by the ver-
bal explanations which the advocates
give to the judges; but there is no
public and passionate debate, such as
is common in all civil jurisdictions.
We do not believe that the absence
of this is any evil. The Roman leg-
islative body has always endeavored
to shun surprises in its hearings.
Pleading, as it is practised among us,
is nothing but the conflict of two
oi^KKing debaters, often unequally
matched, and of whom the more pow-
erful is seldom on the side of the op-
pressed. We believe, indeed, that the
doors of the influential advocate,
whose name and authority are them-
selves a powerful argument, are rare-
ly closed against the poor who seek
to enter them \ but the poor do not
always dare to stop and knock, and
so content themselves with men of
more ordinary abilities. If, then, one
of these contesting advocates is more
skilfal than the other; if he knows
how to win favor for his client by an
insinuating speech and to cast ridi-
cule upon his adversary; if he has the
^uhy of grouping figures, of color-
ing fkcts, of flattering his auditors
during the progress of the controver-
sy ; if he is passionate and violent, his
emotion will affect the judge, whose
heart beats under his robe and is not,
pcrfiaps, to any extraordinary degree
imimpressible ; all these circumstan-
ces, extrinsic to the real merits of
the cause, will exercise great influ-
* We tne this terra m its oommoci, not its legal no-
eeptatioo. It technically refers only to those mutual al-
kpxioDS and denials of the parties which end in the
*Mc, ekher of law or £>ct» upon which the courts are
to decide. Here we employ it to denote the spoken
of oooDsd.
ence upon its determination, and
may be able to wring from the tribu*
nal a decision which, in moments of
reflection and coolness, it would never
render.
Oral pleading resembles, to some
extent, those ancient judicial com-
bats upon which the issue of causes
was sometimes made to depend. It
is a duel of words, in which justice
does not always have the advantage.
Our imagination represents an advo-
cate as one whose work it is to wrest
the innocent from the clutches of
powerful and cruel persecutors ; who
summons eloquence to aid him in
resisting the fierce passions which
menace the welfare of his client
This was well enough for those pri-
mitive ages when a legal process was
the outburst of violent wrath, which
dragged the alleged ofiender before a
single judge, or perhaps before a
mob erected into a tribunal and
swayed by passion. But this con-
ception is not correct for our day,
even in criminal matters, where the
public prosecutor, as far as' possible,
excludes mere feeling and makes his
appeal to calm and soUd reason
alone; and it is especially false in
civil causes, in which the advocate
interprets the text of the law, dis-
cusses contracts, examines and com-
pares evidence, all of which labors
are difficult, and demand, above all
things, reflection, good sense, and
coolness.
For attaining, therefore, the ends
of justice, a mode of written procedure
is particularly adapted. It assures to
the contending parties all the time
necessary for a careful reply to the
reasonings on either side, and estab-
lishes an equality between the talents
of their respective advocates ; it also
removes the decision of the cause
fi-om the bias of personal influences,
and leaves it to be determined by ar-
gument only. Moreover, the judge
1 84
Tlu Council nnd the Roman Congregations.
is able to reflect at his ease upon the
merits of the case, and is secure
against the seductions of artful decla-
mation. Even before those supreme
civil tribunals where written and oral
pleadings are both permitted, the
latter are usually regarded in the so-
lution of the question, and this is
what gives to the advocates of those
illustrious courts their influence and
renown. The Roman congregations
are also supreme tribunals ; but there
passion has no echo and needs no
interpreter ; there causes stand upon
their own merits, stripped of all at-
tendant circumstances; there the
gravest questions of dogma, of mo-
rals, and of right are decided by rea-
son alone, but by reason illuminated
both by science and by faith.
The procedure of the Roman con-
gregations is much less expensive
than that before ordinary civil juris-
dictions. Originally it was entirely
gratuitous, and many of the congre-
gations — as, for instance, those of the
Propaganda, the Index, and the Holy
Ofiice — still retain this rule in reference
to all the causes which are submitted
to them. But the great increase of
expense, consequent upon the in-
crease of causes, has necessitated the
establishment, by other congrega-
tions, of certain light taxes, although
even these bear small proportion to
the actual disbursements. Thus, all
the proceedings are upon ordinary
paper, which, not being liable to
stamp-duty, makes one important
saving in expense. Again, while
civil proceedings are registered upon
payment of a certain fee, which is
another notable metho^d of taxation,
those at Rome are registered without
charge; and, while masters of rolls
elsewhere enjoy incomes sometimes
reaching the sum of many thousands,
those at Rome are paid by the trea-
surer, and are forbidden to receive any
I emolument, although perfectly gra-
tuitous, from any party, even for the
most extraordinary labors — an obli-
gation imposed on them by oath
upon their admission to oflUce.
They are also obliged to ex-
hibit, without charge, to any person
the various documents of their seve-
ral bureaus, and are allowed but a
moderate recompense for the copies
and exemplifications which they may
prepare. Even the expense of print-
ing is borne, at least in part, by the
congregation. The congregations do
not sell justice; they give it. The
pontifical treasury does not look to
them as a source of revenue. On
the contrary, the taxes they collect
are far less than their expenses, and,
in fact, so much so that their services
may be considered as gratuitous.
For example, a matrimonial cause
submitted to the Congregation of the
Council, and requiring minute exami-
nations, consultations, researches,
and a large collection of documents,
will cost the winning party several
crowns, the precise amount depend-
ing upon the number of questions to
be resolved. The same case tried
in civil courts would cost two or three
thousand francs.
The fees of advocates and attor-
neys correspond to the expenses.
Among us they continue constantly
to increase. At Rome they are very
meagre. They are legally fixed at
a uniform rate, according to the ino-
portance of the cause and the result
of the investigation. Even these
the advocates cannot demand as a
right, and receive them only as a
spontaneous gift.
The French magistracy with good
reason congratulates itself on the es-
tablishment of an association design-
ed to secure to the poor the gratui-
tous defence of their just rights. Rome
has long since possessed a similar in-
stitution. This is the Society of Ad-
vocates, which assembles on fSte days
The Council and the Roman Congregations,
1 8s
to receive and reply to the inquiries
of the indigent Among the obliga-
tions of the consistorial advocates is
that of defending the causes of the
poor before their respective tribunals.
In criminal cases there are especial
advocates for the poor. Among the
proctors there are certain ones ap-
pointed for the poor, one by the
pope, the others by the diflferent so-
cieties. Finally, the Society of St
Ives is particularly charged with the
protection of the indigent ; and such
are the customs among the members
of the Roman bar that none ever re-
fuses his services to the unfortunate
who seeks them.
The Roman congregations are not
mere tribunals instituted by the holy
see with a delegation of powers,
which leaves the supreme authority
still in the hands of the sovereign
pontiff, and allows a right of appeal
from their judgment to his. They
are the holy see itself, rendering its
decisions by the mouths of its cardi-
nals. Canon law recognizes their ju-
risdiction as ordinary and not dele-
gated. Delegated jurisdiction is a
mandate which confers upon the
mandatary certain special favors dis-
tinct from and inferior to the powers
of the mandator. Ordinary jurisdic-
tion is an actual communication,
which unites the mandator and man-
datary in one single tribunal, and
makes the one the simple organ of
the other. Numerous passages of
canon law justify this conception of
these congregations and render it in-
contestable as a legal conclusion.
The nature of the decisions which
tf»ey render makes the point still
more certain. They issue general
decrees promulgated by order of the
sovereign pontiff, which consequentiy
obtain the force of law in all places
in the same manner as the pontifical
constitutions, from which they do not
essentially differ. Such are the de-
crees of the Holy Office, of the Index,
and certain of those of the Congrega-
tion of Rites, of that of the Council,
and of that of Bishops and Regulars.
They also render interpretations of
existing laws, and these enjoy a su-
preme and universal authority, as if
they emanated directiy from the
sovereign pontiff, since they are both
submitted to and approved by him.
In fine, the sentences which they
render in private controversies are,
equally with the rest, submitted to
the pope ; though without this sanc-
tion, and from the ordinary powers of
the congregations, they would be ob-
ligatory upon all, and would become
the rule of other tribunals, since for
this purpose especially were these
congregations instituted as courts of
final judicature.
The , decisions rendered by these
different congregations, and preserved
in their archives from the very day
of their institution to the present,
form the most magnificent body of
jurisprudence which has ever exist-
ed. One canonist of eminence reck-
ons that upward of sixty thousand
decisions have been delivered by the
Congregation of the Council alone;
a living, practical commentary on the
Council of Trent. The Congregation
of Bishops and Regulars publishes
neariy three volumes of decrees every
year, and the volumes which contain
its judgments are over eight hundred
in number. When we remember
that nearly all these decisions are
upon questions of law, disengaged
from mere accessories of fact, we are
amazed at the treasures of science,
erudition, and reasoning which are
thus accumulating fix>m age to age in
these archives, and forming an inex-
haustible reservoir, in which tradition
stores itself and whence justice and
*truth flow out upon the world.
i86
An October Reverie.
AN OCTOBER REVERIE.
This most golden of all the bright
October days, why are we not, as
we fain would be, on a brown
hillside, yielding care to whispered
persuasions of the wind, or afloat on
waters that reflected our sky, when —
if it was not always \nthout clouds —
its clouds were tinged with glory, or
lying upon a shore where we built
sand castles in play-^as 1 for castles
we built in earnest, to hold treasures
of hope — ^and laughed to see them
dissolve in the laughing waves.
We have no wish to pluck the hill-
side flowers; we shall never build
castles again, never chase back the
encroaching waves, which, while
they seemed to recede, rose till they
buried our castles and swept away
our treasures.
But it will be something to share
the repose of nature; to lie on her
lap lulled by the requiem of the past,
chanted by the voice that sang the
anthem of the future. For we — her
deluded children — ^are weary, and
only ask of her a foretaste of the rest
we hope to find by and by in her
bosom.
How weary we are ! Of strivings
from which we have no power to
cease ! Of reachings, firom which we
cannot withhold our hands, toward
objects that elude us or turn worth-
less in our grasp ! Weary of our own
and others* weakness and meanness !
Of lying lives ; of suspicions, envyings,
and covetings ! How tired of home-
ly work ; oppressed by narrow rooms,
vexed by noises of neighbors sepa-
rated from us only by the legal num-
ber of inches in brick and mortar — a
loud-talking, stamping family on one
side, and on the other the household
of Widow Smith, who keeps board*
ers and a piano I
By sounds that come up through
the open window, I know that the
widow is in her kitchen helping to
get the dinner. I seem to see her,
hot and worried. She is always
worried. Her face would be a sad
one if she had time to let it setde
into its proper expression. As she
never has time, it is anxious and fret*
ful, and older than her years. In
the parlor, so near that the jangling
of xmtuned wires sets my whole be-
ing on edge, her daughter is playing
the piano as she sings, / dreamt that I
dwelt in Marble Halls. Poor child 1
Yet dream on. Who could unde-
ceive thee, knowing that there is
woven into thy dream the pious re-
solve to win out of that discordant
instrument money wherewith to buy
thy mother ease? Heaven help
thee and bring to naught the spite
of the bachelor boarder in the room
above, who, instead of employing his
grizzly brain with the plan gossips
have devised, by which he might
brighten her life and thine, and his
own most of all, paces up and down,
cursing the noise, and consigning
" that old tin pan" to a place his im-
agination keeps in a blaze with fuel
of whatsoever oflends him. He hates
"that eternal thrumming," hates
"genteel daughters of working mo-
thers. Teach music I Better dismiss
Nora and make Miss Julia help in the
kitchen !"
It might be as wdl, but it is no
af&ir of his.
Moreover, the mother has her
dream. In it she sees her daughter
less hard-worked than she has been.
An October Reverie,
187
and higher in the social scale than
she ever hopes to rise; except, per-
haps, when tiiat daughter shall have
exchanged Smith for Smythe.
But of all the vexations of our life
here, thfe most persistent is the row
of houses across the way. Beset by
so many things that offend the other
senses, we think it hard that our sight
should be so meanly thwarted. I
grow angry whenever I look out, and
wish tliat I could push those houses
down. I pine to see beyond them
the curve of a bay bounded by hills,
a stretch of river with steamboats
and sails, and of shore with a village
and farms on its slope, distant moun-
tains blending with sky, or outlined
against piled thunder-caps. Or a
harbor with ships; some at anchor,
some bound outward, and some com-
ing in from strange countries.
I keep fanc3ring that the houses
hide these sights, though I know
there is nothing behind them but row
on row, more brown, stony, and dull.
These are low, and shut out less of
the sky. The veneering, which is of
plaster instead of stone, is falling
ofl^ here and there, to save it from
monotony. The uniform dwellings,
with their line of connecting porches,
remind one of the inside of a fort,
and of careless, gossiping, uncertain
sojourn in quarters.
Wdow Smith does not mind the
wall that offends us. She told me
her story the other day; all she had
gone through. What grieves her
most, as nearly as I could make it
out, is living in a house that is not
high. "For," said she, as with a
little tearful burst of eloquence she
ended her tale, "I hev lived in a
three-story and basement, all to our-
selves, and always kept a girl, and
the folks next door didn't let out
ther floors. Though," (wiping her
eyes,) " I've nothin' aginst them
Browns. They behave themselves as
well as some" (Mrs. Green, over the
way, who keeps two servants, and
does not visit Mrs. Smith and me)
" thet's hed more advantages."
I answered, " These houses might
do while rents are so high, if the par-
titions were thicker, and if that row
opposite did not hide the view;"
meaning the view in my mind. Mrs.
Smith could not have seen it ; for she
replied that " We mustn't be notion-
al; real troubles come fast eflough
without borrowin*. Since Smith
died," she had "hed her share, the
Lord knew." If she " let sech things"
make her" mis'rable," she should think
that she was " goin' contrary to Scrip-
ter, ^vich speaks aginst the sight of the
eyes." Then, " of all things, a place
not built up was the forlomist." Be-
sides, she liked " neighbors." Good
soul ! so she does ; loves them, too.
I have known her to do "them
Browns" more than one kind turn;
and to us, when we came, poor, dis-
couraged, and unused to city ways,
she was guide, philosopher, and
guardian angel, in the guise of a lu-
gubrious little woman in a rusty
mourning gown and yam hood.
She taught us to market, urged upon
us the importance of asking the price
before buying, and of counting our
change afterward ; encouraged us to
resist the aggressions of "the girl,"
enlightening us at the same time as
to the amount of service we might
require of that personage; stood up
for us with the milk-man, ice-man,
and man that peddles every thing,
and made them give us weight and
measure.
But notwithstanding that Mrs.
Smith is so sympathizing, it would
not have been worth while to return
her confidence by telling her of our
former affairs — pleasant places where
our lot was cast ; the old house beau-
tiful we were bom in ; the hills, and
and the river that bathes their feet;
i88
An October Reverie,
purple ridges that lie eastward, blue
mountains that hide the west —
scenes so changeless in form that
memory does not err in always show-
ing them the same ; so changeful in
aspect that they never wearied even
our accustomed eyes.
We cannot talk of these things to
one whose world is the city. Yet
there are in that world many who
will understand us — living in high
hous* and low ones; on floors, in
garrets and dens ; walking in rich at-
tire, shrinkmg in garments worn and
unseemly; mingUng with others in
the mart, lying on sick-beds, shut
up in prisons — men for whom fame
blows glorious bubbles, but hollow
and frail, as none know better than
themselves.
Devotees of science whose Eure-
kas sound more faintly at every step
as they mount her endless ladders;
not because they fall from such alti-
tudes, but because they become dis-
couraged as the conviction dawns on
them that all they have gained
amounts to little.
The trader whose vessels dot the
seas, who \i not so elate with fortune
that he never sends a sigh after ear-
lier ventures — ships of bark with
freight of sand, on waters the width
of a boy's stride.
The gambler in the bread of the
poor, not so callous that he never
feels a twinge of the old wound, the
stab conscience gave the first time he
played " pitch and toss" on the blind
side of the school-house and won
foolish Richard's penny. He re-
members that Richard went crying
to his father for redress, and his mo-
ther came and told the master, who
would not believe foolish Richard's
story against " the smartest boy and
the best at cypherin* in his school."
He escaped, but Richard was whipped
by his father for losing his money
and telling a lie. He distrusts con-
science. Why smite so then, why
touch so lightly now, if she can find
the difference between that childish
sin and this wringing hard-earned
pence firom thousands of simple ones ?
And the Father to whom the
wretches clamor so does not seem to
be a credulous father to them. Per-
haps, after all, he does not hear ; or is,
like the master, on the side of those
who can help themselves. At any
rate, his mills grind so slowly tliat it
would hardly pay to compute the
time one's turn would take to come.
It may be that the wheels stand still,
waiting for all his floods to gather.
The politician, not so lost in tor-
tuous ways that the man depicted in
his first piece to speak, (it was cho-
sen by his good mother, and often
said over to her for fear of " missing "
on the momentous Friday,)
" The man whose utmott skill was simple truth ;
Whose life was free from servile bands
Of hope to rise or fear to fall,"
does not still stand on the old pedes-
tal in his secret heart.
Absent-eyed women, automatic
figures in collections of cabinet-work,
upholstery, pictures, and marbles, to
which no memories of theirs have
grown, lending attention to formal
visitors while their thoughts stray to
the play-house under a tree, where they
used to receive little friends in calico
sun-bonnets. The house of which
they themselves laid the moss carpet
and chose and placed the ornaments,
deserted bird's-ncsts filled with speck-
led Solomon's Seal, curiosities from
the wood, and pretty stones from
the brook. For paintings, they had
green vistas and glimpses of village,
water, and sky. The service, of
acorn cups and bits of colored glass
and "chaney," was daily polished
and set out by their own hands on
the flat rock they "made believe'*
was a table.
Women shawled with fabric of
Ah October Reverie,
189
Cashmere, bome above the envious
street, but heeding neither its shift-
ing crowd nor its shows. They are
thinking of chances enjoyed the
more for their unexpectedness, and
paid in "kerchies" and "thank'ee,
sirs" they used to "catch," when
they went to the district school wrap-
ped in homespun shoulder blankets
that took caressing softness from fin-
gers — cold alas! now — that pinned
them on. Of balmy, luxurious rides
on the heaped hay-rigging. Slow,
never to be forgotten cart rides in
back-woods, where wintergreen and
princess-pine send up aromaric odors
fi'om beneath the oxen's feet; with
wheels now sinking in moss, now
craunching the pebbles of the stream,
now swept by ferns, and anon press-
ing down saplings that, released,
spring back with a jerk and an im-
patient protest of leaves. Onward,
through sun-glorified arcades, listen-
ing to comments of birds that are all
about, though each one seems solitary,
startled by the beat of a partridge,
or catching a sight of her nest.
Bending low to escape unbending
amis of patriarchs of the wood that
fend the way. Peering anxiously in-
to the gathering night; coming out
upon the clearing, where skeletons of
forest trees, martyrs to progress, that
perished by her axe or her flames,
lie dimly outlined amid shadows, or
stand gaunt against the sky, with
charred arms outstretched in motion-
less appeah
Or of rides in the lumber-wagon,
when grandfather — whom we cannot
describe fi-om lack of words sufficient-
ly expressive of venerableness and
benignity — held the "lines," and
" Tom and Jerry," in sympathy with
childish impatience and delight, sped
up hill and down, till, amid clatter
and rattle, and excited barkings, and
Y>yi\x\ exclamations, and a peremp-
tory " whoa!" and " stand there, you
Jerry!" (Jerry never would stand
there, nor anywhere, he was such a
horse to go,) followed by a volley of
juvenile " whoas I" and " stand, Jer-
rys," the wagon drew up before the
house, and a young aunt ran to lift
the children out, while grandmother
stood in the door beaming on them
a smile whereof the warmth has
passed down through the. folds of
years, and glows still on hearts from
which time has shut out the light of
ardent fires.
Did I say that crowd and shows
were unheeded ? That elegant lead-
er and lawgiver of society, Mrs. Au-
gustus Jonesnob, who glides along in
an emblazed carriage, behind those
splendid ponies, would not pass, if
she knew that she and her " turnout "
elicited only a vague, half pitying
recollection of a " they say " that
gives her the keeper of a junk-shop
for grandfather, making it likely that
she has no heirloom of tapestry, in
fadeless azure, and green, and gold,
wherewith to hang the halls she al-
ways dreamed of, without dreaming
how bare she would find them.
Young Augustus — " Point-Lace Jone-
snob," the girls call him — ^rides beside
his mother's carriage, well-dressed,
well-mounted, smiling complacently,
for he knows that he looks about the
thing ; and the day being neither too
cold nor too warm, nor muddy, dus-
ty, windy, nor too early in the sea-
son, he thinks it will do to show him-
self. Does any one suppose his
smile to be the emanation from some
reminiscence of " taking the horses to
water " in boyhood ? The riding-mas-
ter's hand, and not the proud father's,
held him on the first time be was
mounted. He has no breezy remem-
brances of firee gallops whither he
would ; no pensive memories of sol-
emn rides across lonesome barrens,
190
An Octaber Reverie,
where heavenward-pointing pines wor-
ship God with ceaseless harmonies and
unfailing incense.
Men whose life, sold for a salary,
is the property of others ; who spend
the hours they ought to have for re-
creation in street-cars, while ill-used
brutes drag them from and to homes
in comfortless suburbs, where faded
wives, worn with housework that
never ends, busy over piles of mend-
ing that never diminish, wait, un-
cheerfully ruminating devices and
economies by which they are for ever
trying to make ends approach that
are fated never to meet.
Broken-spirited gentlemen in thread-
bare black, worn and brushed till the
seams, notwithstanding the times they
have been inked, are gray, walking,
walking, in search of employment;
asking it deprecatingly, for they are
honorable, and are beginning to re-
alize—others have long seen it — ^their
incapacity. Returning faint — ^the bite
at the baker's counter is beyond their
means — ^to pale wives, who meet them
with smiles that are more sad than
tears, and talk, while their hearts be-
lie their tongues, of better luck to-
morrow. Perhaps children, too, with
eyes that ask — they are too well
trained by their mother to demand
with their lips.
Women that have seen better days,
paying their last dollar— it will bring
no return — for the ambiguous an-
nouncement that makes known their
willingness to accept any position not
menial.
Elderly women, delicately bred,
once sheltered and inclosed by refin-
ed prejudices and conventionalisms,
obliged, who knows by what stress, to
step out of the sacreil (to them : they
are old-fashioned ladies) retirement
of hon>e. If we must refuse to buy
the petty stationer)', print, or book
they so courteously pn^rter, let it
be seen that wc do it with |uin ; let
us not shut the door against these
timid sparrows till they have flitted
from the steps. They are not of
those to whom compassionate hesita-
tion suggests importunity.
Women narrow-chested and grim-
visaged, in whom there is no beauty
or charm left — ^pupils of virtue, to
whom she gives neither holiday nor
reward — ^toIling up steep flights with
bundles of shop- work.
Bedraggled women, that lug heavy
baskets down wet area steps into
sunless abodes, where they wash all
day, while the babe$ they have not
time to fondle want care and comfort-
ing, and must want these or bread.
Sinful women, at whom, since
Christ is dead in the souls of men,
all may cast stones. For them there
is but little help or hope in a righte-
ous world.
Those who, by hallowed memories
of piurer scenes, have been kept from
evil.
Those who, though fallen and
fouled, still guard,* fair and apart, pic-
tures that fill their eyes with tears
and their hearts with yearnings —
visions of morning stepping down
the cliflfe into valleys where they
dwelt ; of sun-sets in mountain coun-
tries; tropical lands planted with
palms that incline exile- ward ; snowy
regions where blazing hearths and
true hearts keep the place of the
wanderer warm.
Home dwells pictured in their soul
It is an unpainted road-aide house.
Sweet-pinks, marigolds, and holly-
hocks grow in the fix>nt-yard ; mom-
ing-glones creep up the clap-boards,
festoon the windows, and peep into
the wren*s nest under the eve-trough.
In the maple by the door-step a pair
of robins ha>'e made thdr habitadoo,
and amid the green of the elm that
roofs die q[>ring and wash-block — the
stump of a former mighty tree — is
seen the glint of a fire-bird's wing.
An October Reverie.
191
Or a farm-house, with gardens and
rows of hives, and bams with their
swallows, fields of com and stubble,
and upland pasture where cattle are
feeding. In " the new piece," between
the pasture and higher woodland,
buckwheat blossoms for the bees, as
it climbs perseveringly up the ridge
to overtake the poke, that, bending to
its weight of berries, mingles dawn-
ing crimson with changing hues of
blackberry-vines which hide the rocks.
Along stone fences, golden-rod and
wild-aster still mingle their blooms un-
touched, though autumn has reach-
ed stained fingers forth to trifle with
the leaves of his favorite sumach.
In the swamp below, the scarlet
lobelia bums amid clumps of green
and brown sedge. Beyond the
swamp and meadow, and wind-whit-
ened willows by the creek, hills rise
and bound the view.
Or it is a homestead, with venerable
trees shading a lawn that slopes to a
lake in which house and trees lie mir-
rored. They are playing with their
brothers on the lawn, while their
mother watches them from her win-
dow; or gliding on the lake with
companions and loves of youth,
steering their boat for a distant head-
land
These are living pictures. Their
woods sing Eolian measures; their
brooks talk of childhood and inno-
cence; their clouds and seasons are
always changing; their swallows ever
fl)ring homeward, whither the trees
beckon. Miraculous pictures! their
sun always shines on our brides ; their
ddes rain constant tears on our dead.
Yea, in them the dead are risen, and
eyes long sealed look down on us
with love.
But beyond the headland the lake
has its outlet into a stream that winds
and tarries, all the while widening,
tin it empties into the harbor, where
ships, laden with costly merchandise,
are spreading sails for havens of un-
certain promise. They fade along the
fading coast ; glide across the dim belt
that separates land's end from sky;
like phantoms disappear. And watch-
ers tum, with a foreboding chill, from
windy piers, to confront dirty water-
side stores, and pick their way amid
tmcks and bales that obstmct bro-
ken sidewalks, between tall ware-
houses that glower at each other
across lanes, to meet odors of fish
and oils, and spices and dmgs, and
countiess other fcetid smells ; to enter
dull, ledger-lined offices, or seek,
through jostling ways, ticketed
dwellings that are as alike as prison-
cells.
Along the track that divides the
farm, and cuts the hill in two, shrieks
a train, gmdging its passengers the
glimpse of beautiful places of the
rich ; slackening its pace to prolong
the dreariness of the ugly outskirts,
and, lo ! dead rows of houses ; long
thoroughfares; mean streets, with
vile shops and squaUd swarms; the
clash of vehicles ; confusion of cries ;
rush of multitudes — the city.
From the small house the by-road
leads to a turnpike that speeds dusti-
ly on to a cobble-paved town by the
river. The river flows down to the
city; where all night long, hungrily
lapping sUmy piers, with dark hints
of oblivion, with winks and gleams
that the wretched interpret, with
noiseless, snaky undulations, and the
fascinating glitter of its thousand eyes,
it charms the lost to loathsome death.
Would we, if cares did not bind us,
go back to the scenes of those pic-
tures? If our mother's face had
not gone from the window i If the
farm had not been sold? If alien
hands had not cut down the maple
and the elm, and strange faces and
the burr of unknown voices had not
scared the wrens from their nest ? If
we had money or time for the jour-
192
An October Reverie.
ney ? If we did not feel too much
ashamed or disgraced — we have been
so unsuccessful, or false to early pro-
mises — to meet the pitying or con-
temptuous looks of our acquaintance ?
For did they not know how it would
be? Did not they too, in youth,
scent from afar the batde they knew
better than to enter without the cer-
tainty of winning?
If we have, or seem to have won
it, is there not something in ourselves
that holds us back ? We have now
no desire for sports of childhood.
We are not sorry that our mother
faded from her window before we got
hurts that her kisses could not make
well. The halo that surrounds vene-
rated figures would pale in the broad
light of mid-life. We are not so for-
bearing with the old who are with us
that we could trust ourselves to have
the departed back.
Do we recognize the boys and
girls who lived in the small house by
the road, who used to get up early
and run laughing to the spring to
take turns washing in the tin basin
that hung against the elm ? And the
faces mirrors now show us — are they
the same that rose radiant from that
bath ? Could we sleep soundly in a
garret, and wake delighted to see
snow sifting through the roof? Or
relish the food we thought it neither
shame nor labor to carry when, bare-
footed in summer and shod in calf-
skin in winter, we walked a mile to
the red school-house do^vn by the
'pike ? Would we feel honored if the
madam were now to visit us in the
modest dress that we once thought
the perfection of taste ?
When it was our week to conduct
her home, we neither hunted bird*s-
nests, nor swung upon low branches
of the " mill -pines," nor dipped our feet
in mud-puddles to get "wedding-
shoes" on, nor sought berries along
the fences, unless it was to string them
on timothy-rods and present them
shyly for her acceptance.
Have we strength or inclination
for har\Tst work ? Then to leaden
hearts and sluggish blood what plea-
sure in moonlight sail, or midnight
sleigh-ride, or mad gallop over lift and
level !
Let us guard our sacred pictures.
To their scenes we will not return.
For if, instead of patches of sky, the
circle of the firmament were ours,
with changing glory of dawn, and
noon, and sundown, and deeps gleam-
ing with stars, yet our spirits would
not soar with their swallows. Their
mountains would not draw our feet
as they did when we believed that
ever)' summit reached was a height
gained, knew not that the peaks
which pierced the clouds hid higher
ranges, yet no nearer the heaven of
hope than those which limited our
sight.
Is there no spot, dear friend, that
you and I would revisit ?
Behold a worn foot-path in which
we may walk and gather immortelles !
It leads to a city whereof the
houses are low ai^ hide none of the
sky ; narrower than these, but strait-
ness does not inconvenience dwellers
who have no call to go to and fro ;
not uniform — the occupants* names
are cut into fronts of marble and
granite and mossy red sand-stone.
Some are marked by columns, others
by crosses. Around many plants are
set. But here are others. The ten-
ants were poor or friendless folk, or
strangers ; they have only clay walls
and roofs of sod, upon which every
blade, green or sere, all day long and
all night, bending lightly to airs of
summer or swept low by winter
winds, keeps sighing, " May he rest
in peace."
Old neighbors are here; but no
An October Reverie,
193
looks of theirs question us as to what
we have done in the world, or in
what failed.
Did the sight of these at last turn in-
ward ? and did lips that were so ready
with the Pharisee's prayer close with
the cry of the publican ?
Old friends! But their hands are
cold and will never clasp ours again.
Enemies ! Between them and us may
judgment be the offspring of Christian
kindness!
And here, hedged with arbor-vitae,
is the place of our kin. Those of
them who passed hither before our
time we could never realize. Others
are dim remembrances ; like the baby
sister that came one wild winter night,
to our great wonder, and, to our equal
sorrow, left us in spring for this small
habitation.
These were not long separated.
Dear old folks ! one roof and one tab-
let for two who had but one mind and
one heart. Here lies the little cousin
we quarrelled with at evening, to
shed over her in the morning our
first remorseful tears. Look through
the break in the hedge, on that square
slab—
Evelyn Grant.
Aged 35.
Our first school-mistress. We ha-
ted her with the impotent bitter-
ness of childish hearts outraged. For
did she not show partiality to the
dullest scholar she had ? — because his
father was rich, the big boys said;
and thus we repeated it to our fond
if not judicious fiiend, old Diana,
when we complained to her of Miss
Evelyn's injustice in sending Alf
Whitfield up head every Monday.
" He is the oldest," she would say.
"As if oldness is any reason why a
great fellow like that should have a
belter chance than the rest," we
would think. If we had understood how
much of Miss Evelyn's support de-
vou X. — 13
pended upon the favor of rich Squire
Whitfield, we might have felt different-
ly. They say that Alf s mother used
to beg of the mistress to encourage and
make much of the bashful half-wit,
who often wept because he could not
learn like the others.
We will pull the old weeds from
her grave. They shall not choke
flowers planted by the orphan neph-
ews she worked so hard to bring up
respectably — worked without a com-
plaint long after the cough we mock-
ed behind our primers had hacked
into her vitals.
Let us follow this road, beyond
the pines — a little higher — here.
The spot we have thought and dream-
ed about but never before seen.
If any one should ask why we came,
hardly pausing, by so many mounds
of soldiers who died in the same
cause, as may be read on their tab-
lets, we would answer that, with the
soul of this one, all glory for us pass-
ed out of our marvellous sunsets,
warmth firom the color of our au-
tumns, charm from our ice-bound win-
ters, sweetness from the breath of
our springs.
Down there, bordering this field
consecrated to Catholic dead, is the
" colored folks' ground."
How tidy it looks. Formerly it
was a huddle of neglected hillocks;
many of them sunken as if they who,
deprecating scorn, had crept through
the world in the shadow of the wall,
shrank even here fi-om obtruding.
How many of us Catholics, of the
thousands that crowd that church of
which we see the cross above the hill-
top, or lie here with hands crossed to
God, ever offered a prayer for those
neglected souls, living or dead ?
Before that church was built there
came from the West Indies, following
the fortunes of an exiled family, a
gray-haired negro. He did not per-
severe in hearing Mass because the
194
An October Reverie.
children insulted him on the street —
waited for him with stones in their
hands at the comers of the church.
He died, and, to fulfil his last wish,
some of his people planted a cross
upon his imsodded grave.
I used to know every mound, fix)m
that Egyptian-faced vault,
** Against whose portal I had thrown.
In childhood, many an echoing stone ;
And shrank to think, poor heart of sin.
It was the dead thau groaned within ;*'
to the cheerful nook where the nur-
seryman's children sleep under their
coverlet of flowers. From the hero's
pillar by the highway, with the record,
** He lived as mothers wish their sons to lire,
He died as £ithen wish their sons to die,*'
to the monument of the beloved wo-
man whose husband and daughters
came every year fix)m distant homes
to add a tribute of plants and gar-
lands to the granite offering they
had raised to her memory.
Here, broken and half buried, is
the old slab with death's-head and
bones, and the verse exhorting all
Christians to pray for the soul of
Peter Cuiran.
Under this willow — she that plant-
ed it, in the belief that it would shade
her rest, lies far away— our patriarch
is buried: a father to orphans; to
the poor a brother. That memorial
in the stranger's ground — the only
one — ^he caused to be placed above
the remains of the decayed gentle-
man he entertained so many years
and laid to rest at his own cost An-
other, to whom he gave shelter, lies
beside « the chevalier." The droll
Swede, the whaleman, is buried be-
hind them both. In our village for-
eigners were not looked upon with
favor in those ante-emigration times ;
and this one was so blundering that
no one would give him work after his
honesty was proved. They were go-
ing to send him to jail as a vagrant,
when Uncle Allan made up his mind
that he needed just such a man for
odd jobs. Bastian never learned
enough English to thank him, but
the tears that wet his parchment
cheeks the day they brought his bene-
factor here were expressive.
Figures homely yet gracious, how
they rise in memory !
Some fell asleep in hope; others
drew back in doubt, or struggled
with doom. Some, having done their
best, lay down, offering it and that
wherein they had failed to God, be-
side others who had nothing to offer
but remorse.
All these yet speak to us, with
more significance on this October
afternoon in the October of our life
than they did in past autumns ; while
to every one, according to his need,
they teach a lesson.
They say to the covetous, " Not
one of your things shall pass through
the gate of this city."
To the envious, " Behold the state
of him you wished to change places
with yesterday."
ITiey promise those who are kept
awake by care " a blessed sleep."
They speak of rest to the world-
weary ; to the good, of beatitude ; to
the bad, of judgment ; to all, of the
end that is hastening on swifl wings.
Free Religion.
195
FREE RELIGION*
This Free Religious Association
appears to be composed of men and
women who, some thirty years ago,
were, or would have been, called
conu-outers in Boston and its vicinity,
but who are now generally called
radicals, a name which they seem
quite willing to accept. They are
universal agitators, and see or ima-
gine grievances everywhere, and
make it a point wherever they see
or can invent a grievance, to hit it;
at least, to strike at it. They were
conspicuous in the late abolition
movement, are strenuous advocates
for negro equality— or, rather, negro
superiority — ^stanch women's rights
men, in a word, reformers in gene-
ral They claim to have a pure
and universal religion; and though
some of them are downright atheists,
they profess to be more Christian
than Christianity itself, and their aim
would seem to be to get rid 'of all
^)ecial religion, so as to have only
religion in general. They say, in the
first article of their constitution :
''This association shall be called the
Free Religious Association — its objects be-
ing to promote the interests of pure reli-
gion, to encourage the scientific study of
theology, and to increase fellowship in the
■pirit ; and to this end all persons interest*
ed in these objects are cordially invited to
its membership."
Nothing can be fairer or broader,
so (ar as words go. Ordinary mor-
tals, however, may be puzzled to
make out what this religion in gene-
ral, , and no religion in particular,
really is; and also to understand
how there can be pure religion and
• Pr0cetdings mi tJU Second A nmial Mrftmg^ of
Mr Frt* Religious A$t0cimti0n^ iuld m Borton hf»f
*t^ mmd iHih, 1869. BotUn: Roberta Brothers.
«*69. Sto, pp. lax
scientific theology without God.
Our radical friends are not puzzled
at all. They have only to call
man God, and the scientific study
of the physiological and psycholo-
gical laws of human nature the scienti-
fic study of theology, and every diffi-
culty vanishes. Whoever believes in
himself believes in God, and whoever
can stand poised on himself has in
himself the very essence of religion.
According to them, the great error of
the past has been in supposing that
religion consists in the recognition,
the love, and the service of a superior
power ; but the merit of free religion is,
that it emancipates mankind from
this mother error, discards the notion
that they owe obedience to any
power above humanity, and teaches
that man is subject only to himself
Hence the Emersonian maxim. Obey
thyself, which, translated into plain
English, is, Live as thou listest.
The aim of the association, the
president — whom we remember as a
handsome, fair-complexioned, bright-
eyed school-boy — tells us in his open-
ing address is Unity. He says :
"Our aim, let it be understood, is unity ;
not division, discord, conflict — but unity.
We arc not controversialists. We carry no
sword in our hands. We wear no weapons
concealed about our person. Our one word
is peace — the word which is always most
heartily responded to by earnest men. Re-
ligion means unity ; the very definition of it
signifies the power that binds men together ;
that binds all souls to the divine. The com-
munion of saints — that is the religious
phrase ; and yet yon will pardon me if I say
that religion at present is the one word that
means division. As interpreted by the re-
ligious world, it means war and discord.
Subjects are debated on other platforms —
social questions, political questions; they
are debated and dismissed. In the reli-
gious world the discussion goes on more
196
Free Religion,
persistently, more bitterly than on any other
field ; but the issues are always the same,
the venue is never changed, conclusions are
never reached, and we lack the benefit that
comes from the reconciliation of perpetual
discussion.
** Religion as organized is organized divi-
sion. The communion is a communion-ta-
ble, the Christ is a symbol of the sects, the
unity is a unity made up of separate depart-
ments and families. The ancient religions
of the world still hold their own. Buddhism,
Brahminism, the religion of Zoroaster, the
religion of Confucius, Judaism, fetichism,
Sabaism — all stand where they did. All
gather in their population ; all have their
organized activities, as they ever had. No
one of them has materially changed its
front ; not one of them has been disorganiz-
ed ; not one of them has retreated from the
ground that from time immemorial it has
occupied. They have stormed at each other,
they have been mortal enemies ; but still
tiiey stand where they stood. There is no
superstition, however degrading, that does
not exist to-day ; and Christian missiona-
ries, Catholic and Protestant, have gone out
with hearts of flame and tongues of fire,
and souls that were all one solid single
piece of consecration, and have dashed
themselves in hosts with the utmost hero-
ism against those ancient lines of faith ; and
their weapons have dropped harmless at
the foot. Here and there a few hundred, or
a few thousand, or a few tens or hundreds of
thousands, may have shifted from one faith
to the other ; but the solid substance of
these great religions still endures. The
vast aggregates of millions and tens of mil-
lions are unaffected. Christianity holds its
own, and no more. Buddhism and Brah-
minism hold their own, and as much.
What shall we say to this ? Does religion
mean unity ? The world cannot be all of
one form of religion. Religion is deeper
than all its several forms. One religion
cannot dislodge another ; one faith cannot
supplant another faith. Put Christianity in
the place of Brahminism and Buddhism,
and people would not be Christians. They
might change their name — they would not
change their nature. The inhabitants of
countries that have been under the sway of
those great faiths do not become Christian
men by becoming Christian peoples. The
Turks in European Turkey are better men
than the Greek Christians in European
Turkey. The religions, as such, must hold
their places essentially undisturbed. Har-
mony is not possible at present on that
round— on any sectarian ground.
" Christianity itself is a bundle of reli-
gions. There is the vast Greek Church,
with its patriarchs ; there is the enormous
Catholic Church, with its pope ; here arc
all the families of tl e Protestant Church,
with their clergy. They hold the same rela-
tive position. Protestantism does not sub-
due Romanism ; Romanism will never sub-
due Protestantism. The Protestant Church
and Roman Church have stood £ace to face
for centuries ; and thus they will continue to
stand, as long as the populations have the
genius that God gave them. What is
Christendom but an army divided against
itself? What is Protestantism but a min-
gling of warring sects ?— each sect falling in
pieces the moment it becomes organized for
work. Unitarianism does not gain on Or-
thodoxy ; Orthodoxy does not gain on U nl-
tarianism. Each sect takes up the little
portion that belongs to it, and must rest
contented ; and all the power of propagand-
ism, of sectarian zeal, of fire and earnest-
ness, does but cause the little flame to bum
up more brightly for an instant on the local
altar; and, when it dies down, the ashes re-
main on that altar still.
"Our word, then, is Unity. Bat how
shall we get it ? Not by becoming Catho-
lics ; not by making another order of Pro-
testants ; not by instituting another sect ;
but by going down below all the sects — go-
ing down to faith. For faith, hope, aspira-
tion, charity, love, worship, we believe, arc
inherent, profound, indestructible elements
of human nature." (Pp. 7-9.)
The rhetoric is not bad; but in
what does the unity aimed at consist,
and how is it to be obtained ? Reli-
gion, by the speakers who addressed
the association, is assumed to be a
sentiment, and faith and hope and
charity are, we are told, indestructi-
ble elements of human nature; then
since human nature is one, what
unity can the free religionists aspire
to that they and all men have not
already, or have not always had?
Pass over this ; whence and by what
means is the unity, whatever it con-
sists in, to be obtained ? The answer
to this question is not very definite,
but it would seem the association ex-
pect it from below, not from above;
for the president says, we are to ob-
tain it only by " going down below
Free Religion,
107
all sects — going down to faith." A
Catholic would have said, We attain
to unity only by rising above all sects,
to a faith which is one and universal,
and which the sects rend and divide
among themselves. But the radicals
have outgrown Catholicity, outgrown
Christianity, and very properly look
for feith and imity from below. But
when they get down, down to the low-
est deep, will they find them ? What
faith or unity will they find in the
lowest depths of humanity in addi-
tion to what all men have always
had? If, notwithstanding the unity
of nature, sects and divisions prevail,
and always have prevailed, how, with
nothing above nature or in addition
to it, do you expect to get rid of them,
and establish practical unity, or to
obtain the charity that springs fi-om
unity ?
The radicals deny that they are
destructives, that they have only ne-
gations, or that they make war on
any existing church, religion, sect, or
denomination ; they will pardon us,
then, if we are unable to conceive
what they mean by unity, or what unity,
except the physical unity of nature,
there is or can be among those who
divide on every subject in which they
feel any interest. Does the association
propMDse to get rid of diversity by in-
difference, and of divisions simply
by bringing all men to agree to differ ?
We certainly find only unity in deny-
ing among the individuals associated,
wbo agree in nothing except that
each one holds himself or herself
alone responsible for his or her own
personal views and utterances. Some
of them would retain the Christian
name, and others would reject it.
Mr. Francis Ellingwood Abbott ar-
gues that it is not honest to hold on
to the name after having rejected the
thing. By professing to be a Chris-
tian a man binds himself to accept
Christianity; and whoso accepts Chris-
tianity, binds himself to accept the
Catholic Church, which embodies and
expresses it. We make an extract
from his address :
" As I look abroad in the community, I
see two extreme types of religious faith.
One is represented in the Roman Church,
the great principle of authority. That
church has been, and, I think, will always
be, the grandest and the greatest embodi-
ment of Christianity in social life. It is
worthy of profound respect ; and I, for one,
yield it profound respect. It took an infi-
del, Auguste Comte, to portray fairly the
service done to the world by the Christian
Church — the great Catholic Church — of the
middle ages ; and we radicals are false to
our principles, if we do not do homage to
every thing that is great and good and ser-
viceable in its season, even although we
think its day of usefulness may have pass-
ed. The fundamental principle of the Ro-
man Church is authority, pure and simple.
The theology of Rome carries that princi-
ple out to the extremest degree. Its hier-
archy embodies it in an institution ; and,
from beginning to end, from centre to i>e-
riphery, the Roman Catholic Church is con-
sistent with itself in the development of
that one idea in spiritual and social and ec-
clesiastical life.
**At the other pole of human thought
and experience, I see a very few persons —
indeed, so few that I might, perhaps, almost
count them on the fingers of one hand —
who plant themselves on the principle of
liberty alone ; who want nothing else ; who
stand without dogma, without creed, with-
out priesthood, without Bible, without
Christ, without any thing but the Almighty
God working in their hearts. These two
principles of authority and freedom have
thus worked out for themselves, at last,
consistent expression. Here are the two ex-
tremes — Romish Christianity and free reli-
gion ; and between these two extremes we
see a compromise, Protestant Christianity —
the compromise between Catholicism and
free religion. Every compromise is weak*
because it contains conflicting elements.
Protestant Christianity is like the image
with head of gold and feet of clay. It can-
not stand for ever. Either Christianity, as
embodied in the Roman Church, is right,
or else free religion is right. Have we not
learned yet to give up these combinations
of opposites, contraries, and incompatibles ?
Has the war taught us nothing ? Are we
still trying to make some chimerical mix-
ture, some impossible union of freedom
198
Free Religion,
and slavery ? I trust not For my own
part, I stand pledged to liberty, pure and
simple ; and I have come to view all com-
promises alike, and to cast them utterly
away, whether they clothe themselves in the
garments of Geneva, or in the last expres-
sion of Dr. Bellows and the Unitarian
Church." (Pp. 32-33)
Mr. Abbott is not quite exact in
his phraseology, and does not state
tlie Catholic principle correctly. The
principle on which the church rests,
and out of which grow all her doc-
trines and precepts, is not authority,
but the mystery of the Incarnation,
or the assumption of human nature
by the Word. Nor is he himself
quite honest according to his own
test of honesty. To be consistent
with himself, he must reject not only
the term Christian^ but also the term re-
ligwriy and put the alternative, Either
Catholicity or no religion. The word
religion — from religare — means either
intensively to bind more firmly, or
iteratively, to bind again, to bind
man morally to God as his last end,
in addition to his being physically
bound to God as his first cause.
Free religion is a contradiction in
terms, as much so as free bondage.
Religion is always a bond, a law that
binds.
Ralph Waldo Emerson differs from
Mr. Abbott, and would retain the
name Christian, though without the
reality. We quote a long passage
from his not very remarkable speech,
out of deference to his rank as one
of the originators of the movement :
** We have had, not long since, present-
ed to us by Max Miiller a valuable para-
graph from St. Augustine, not at all extra-
ordinary in itself, but only as coming from
that eminent father in the church, and at
that age in which St Augustine writes :
* That which is now called the Christian re-
ligion existed among the ancients, and nev-
er did not exist from the planting of the
human race until Christ came in the flesh,
at which time the true religion, which al-
ready subsisted, began to be called Chris-
tianity.' I believe that not only Christiani-
ty is as old as the creation— not only every
sentiment and precept of Christianity can
be paralleled in other religious writings — ^but
more, that a man of religious susceptibility,
and one at the same time conversant with
many men — say a much travelled man—
can find the same idea in numberless con-
versations. The religious find religion
wherever they associate. When I find in
people narrow religion, I find also in them
narrow reading.
" I object, of course, to the claim of
miraculous dispensation — certainly not to
the doctrine of Christianity. This claim
impairs, to my mind, the soundness of him
who makes it, and indisposes us to his com*
munion. This comes the wrong way; it
comes from without, not within. This posi-
tive, historical, authoritative scheme is not
consistent with our experience or our expec-
tations. It is something not in nature, it is
contrary to that law of nature which all wise
men recognized, namely, never to require a
larger cause than is necessary to the effect
George Fox, the Quaker, said that, though
he read of Christ and God, he knew them
only from the like spirit in his own soul
We want all the aids to our moral training.
We cannot spare the vision nor the virtue
of the saints ; but let it be by pure sympa-
thy, not with any personal or official claim.
If you are childish and exhibit 3rour saint
as a worker of wonders, a thaumaturgist, I
am repelled. That claim takes his teach-
ings out of logic and out of nature, and
permits official and arbitrary senses to be
grafted on the teachings. It is the praise
of our New Testament that its teachings
go to the honor and benefit of humanity—
that no better lesson has been taught or
incarnated. Let it stand, beautiful and
wholesome, with whatever is most like it in
the teachmg and practice of men ; but do
not attempt to elevate it out of humanity
by saying, * This was not a man,' for then
you confound it with the fables of every
popular religion ; and my distrust of the
story makes me distrust the doctrine as
soon as it differs from my own belicC
Whoever thinks a story gains by the prodi-
gious, by adding something out of nature,
robs it more than he adds. It is no longer
an example, a model ; no longer a heart-
stirring hero, but an exhibition, a wonder,
an anomaly, removed out of the range of
influence with thoughtful men." (Pp. 42-44-)
Mr. Emerson cannot be very deep-
ly read in patristic literature, if he
Free Religioft.
199
is obliged to go to Max Miiller for a
quotation from St Augustine, and he
proves by his deductions from the
language of this great doctor and fa-
ther that he knows little of the Ca-
tholic Church. St Augustine was a
Catholic, and taught that, though
times vary, faith does not vary, and
that as believed the patriarchs so be-
lieve we, only they believed in the
Christ who was to come, and we in
the Christ who has come; and the
church teaches through her doctors
that there has been only one revela-
tion, that this was made, in substance,
to our first parents in the garden.
She teaches us that Christianity is not
only as old, but even older than crea-
tion ; for creation with all it contains
was created in reference to Christ the
Incarnate Word, and consequently
Christianity, founded in the Incarna-
tion, is really the supreme law accord-
ing to which the universe was creat-
ed and exists. It precedes all other
religions, and the various heathen or
pagan rehgions and mythologies are
only traditions, corruptions, perver-
sions, or travesties of it. To the
question, " How is the church ca-
tholic?" the very child's catechism
answers, " Because she subsists in all
ages, teaches all nations, and main-
tains all truth." How otherwise
could she be Catholic ?
That " every sentiment [doctrine ?]
and precept of Christianity can be
paralleled in other religious writings"
(religions, for Christianity is not a
writing) may be true in part, if taken
separately and in an unchristian
sense; but certainly not as a con-
nected and self-consistent system, in
its unity and integrity. But suppose
it, what then ? It would only prove
that all religions have retained more
or less of the primitive revelation,
which all men held in common be-
fore the Gentile apostasy and the
dispetsion of the race consequent on
the attempt to build the Tower of
Babel; not that all religions have
had a common origin in human na-
ture. What we actually find in pa-
gan religions and mythologies that is
like Christianity, is no more than we
should expect on the supposition of
a primitive revelation held out of
unity, and interpreted by pride, folly,
and ignorance, the characteristic's ot
every pagan people. But Mr. Emer-
son is true to the old doctrine whi^.h
he chanted years ago in 77ie Dial:
*' Out from the heart of nature rolled
The burdens of the Bible old ;
The litanies of nations came
Like the volcano's tongue of flame,
Up from the burning core belovi^-
The cantidet of love and woe.'*
Nothing can roll out of the heart of
nature but nature itself; and hence,
in order to derive Christianity from
within, Mr. Emerson eliminates what-
ever is supernatural and external and
reduces it to simple nature, which
every man from the beginning to the
end of the world carries within him,,
and of which he cannot divest him-
self. He unchristianizes Christianity,
makes it an element of human na-
tiu^, confounds it with the natural
laws of the physicists, and then tells
us it is as old as creation, which is
about as much as telling iis man is as
old as — ^man, or nature is as old as —
nature. Well may Mr. Emerson be
called the Sage of Concord, and be
listened to as an oracle.
All the speakers, with three excep-
tions, seemed anxious to have it un-
derstood that the Free Religious As-
sociation has some great affirmative
truth which is destined to redeem
and save the world. Colonel Higgin-
son, the successor of Theodore Par-
ker, tells us with great earnestness:
*< If this movement of ours means any
thing, it means not a little petty denial, not
a little criticism, not a textual discussion,
not a sum in addition or subtraction, like
Bishop Colenso^s books, not a bit of his-
torical analysis, like Strauss or Renan.
2O0
Free Religion,
These are trivial things; these do not
touch people ; these do not reach the uni-
versal heart The universe needs an affir-
mation, not a denial ; and the religious
movement that has not for its centre the
assertion of something, would be condemn-
ed already to degenerate into a sect by the
time it had the misfortune to get fairly
bom." (P. sa)
And again :
" Affirmation I There is no affirmation
except the belief in universal natural reli-
gion ; all else is narrowness and sectarian-
ism, though it call itself by the grandest
name, compared with that. It impoverish-
es a man ; it keeps his sympathy in one
line of religious communication ; it takes
all the spiritual life of the race, and says,
' All of this that was not an effluence from
Jesus you must set aside ;' and so it makes
you a member in full standing of some lit-
tle sect, all of whose ideas, all of whose
thoughts, revolved in the mind of some one
narrow-minded theologian who founded it
It shuts you up there, and you die, suffo-
cated for want of God's free air outside."
(P. 59.)
But the reverend colonel here
affirms nothing not affirmed by
Christianity, nor any thing more than
belongs to all men. Natural religion
is simply the natural law, the moral
law, prescribed to every man through
his reason by the end for which he is
created, and is included in the Chris-
tian religion as essential to the Chris-
tian character. What the free reli-
gionist does is not to affirm any thing
not universally insisted on by the
Catholic Church, but to deny all reli-
gion but universal natural religion;
that is, he simply denies supernatural
revelation, and the supernatural order,
or that there is any reality broader than
nature or above it. Free religion, as
such, is, then, not affirmative, but pure-
ly negative ; the negation of all reli-
gions in so far as they assert the super-
natural. The real thought and design
of the men and women composing the
association is to get rid of every thing
in every religion that transcends or
professes to transcend nature. They
make no direct war on the church or
even on the sects, we concede; for
they take it for granted that when
people are once fully persuaded that
nature is all, and that only natural
religion is or can be true, all else will
gradually die out of itself.
Mrs. Lucy Stone agrees in this
with the others, and does not dis-
guise her thought. She says :
" We come into the world, I believe,
every one of us, with all that is needful in
ourselves, if we will only trust it — ^all that
is needful to help us on and up to the very
highest heights to which a human being
can ever climb ; but we have covered it
over by dogma and creed and sectarian
theory, and by our own misdeeds, until
these angel voices that are in us cease to
be heard ; not totally cease — I do not be-
lieve they ever totally cease — but they be-
come less and less audible to us. But if we
learn to heed their faintest whisper, reve-
rently and obediently, I believe that there
is no path where the soul asks you to go'
that you may not safely tread. It may car-
ry you to the burning, fiery furnace, but you
will come out, and the smell of fire even
will not be on your garments. It may
compel you into the lion*s den, but the wild
beast's mouth will be shut You may walk
where scorpions are in the way of duty, and
you will not be hurt It is this ' inner light ;'
it is not a text, it is not a creed, but it is this
in ourselves which, if trusted, will lead us
into all truth.
" I said I did not believe this voice was
ever lost in the human soul. I do not
forget that men grow very wicked, and
women too, for that matter ; I do not
forget that men and women sometimes ap-
pear to us so lost and fallen that it seems
as if no power in themselves, or any human
power, could help them up ; and yet to
these worst men and women, in ^(^mc hal-
lowed moment, is the word given, * This is
the way: walk ye in it.* And if, at the
side of this man or woman, at that very
moment, is some helping hand, some voice
wise enough to counsel, he or she may be
started to walk in that way." (P. loa)
If Mr. Abbott is the logician of the
association, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe
is decidedl/ the wit. In the essay
she read to the meeting she, with
her keen woman's wit and her hard
Free Religion.
20 1
common sense, shows up in admira-
ble style the ridiculousness and ab-
surdity of the whole movement.
She is not herself indeed free from all
taint of radicalism, and much she
says may be due to her facility in de-
tecting and satirizing^ the follies and
absurdities of her friends rather than
those of her foes; but her essay
proves that she has a soul, and
knot's that it has aspirations that go
beyond nature, and wants which only
a supernatural religion can satisfy.
She evidently has glimpses of a truth
higher, deeper, broader, than any re-
cognized by any other radical who
spoke. She disposes of free reli-
gion in a single sentence, "He is
not religious who does not recognize
the obligations of religion." We have
space only for the concluding para*
graph of her not very logical, self-
consistent, but witty, shrewd, and
satirical essay on Freedom and Re-
straini in Religion :
"But, friends, a sudden reaction comes
over me. I determine to profess and prac-
tise the new religion. I have learned at
the free religious club that I possess the
first requisite for this, having never studied
any theology at all. The ex-divines whom
I have met there have so bewailed the arti-
fidal ignorance which they acquired in
their divinity-school training, that I pre-
iizme my natural knowledge to be its pro-
per and desired antithesis. I have read
the Bhavadgheeta and Mr. Emerson's
poems, the psalms and gospel of the new
^h. To be no Christian is the next im-
portant desideratum ; and I believe that I
shall find this, as most people do, easier
than not My first rule will be, * Brahmins,
beware of intercourse with Pariahs !' The
three hundred incarnations of Vishnu, far
more imposing in number than the single
ezcamation of which the old theology has
nude so much, shall be preached by me
both as precept and example. The Confu-
cian moralities, as illustrated by Californian
experience, shall replace the Decalogue.
Mr. Emerson's crowning sentence, that he
who commits a crime hurts himself, will,
of course, suffice to convert a whole society
of criminals and reprobates. I will intro-
duce the Joss into prisons, and give the
myth of the Celestial Empire a literal inter-
pretation. Our railroad and steamboat
system will greatly facilitate the offering of
children to the river, with the further ad-
vantage of offering the parents too. The
stranglmg of female infiints will relieve the
present excess of female population in New
England, and postpone the pressure of wo-
man suffrage. The burning of widows
alone will save the country no small outlay
in pensions. Lastly, since the Turkish ethics
are coming so much into favor, I should
advise a more than Mormon application of
them in our midst Cooperative house-
keeping could then be begun on the most
immediate and harmonious footing. And so
we will reconvert and transreform, and true
progress shall consist in regress.
** But, as Archimedes asked to get out of
the world in order to move it, we shall be
forced to go outside of Christendom in
order to accomplish this revolution. And
if I may believe my friends of the Free Re-
ligious Association, the surest way to do
this will be to keep closely in their midst.
For, elsewhere, between steamboats and
missionaries, we cannot be sure of meeting
people who shall be sure of not being
Christians.
" Perish the jest, and let the jester ]>erish,
if in aught but saddest earnest she exchang-
ed the serious for the comic mask.
Laughter is sometimes made to convey pa-
thos that lies too deep for tears. I have
but faintly sketched the scene-painting that
would have to be done to-day, if religion
could slip back and miss the sacred and
indispensable mediation of Christianity.
Take back the English language beyond
the noble building of Shakespeare and
Milton ; take back philosophy beyond the
labor of the Germans and the intuition of
the Greeks ; take back mathematics be-
yond Laplace and Newton ; take back poli-
tics from the enlargement of republican
experience — ^you will have yet a harder
task when you shall carry religion back to
its ante-Christian status and interpretation.
"Lastly, and to sum up. The freedom
of religion is the satisfaction of obeying the
innermost and highest impulses of the hu-
man soul, to the disregard of all secondary
powers and considerations. I find this
freedom inseparable from the constraint
which obliges the man toward this highest
effort, as the laws of the tidal flow force the
wave to high-water mark. Our human
dignity consists in the assertion of this free-
dom, the acknowledgment of this obliga-
tion. Intellectual fi-eedom is found in stu-
dy and the progress of thought, which it
202
Free Religion.
ever substituting enlarged and improved
for rude and narrow processes. But the
liberal heart precedes the liberal mind, and
conditions it To be careless as to authori-
ty and rash in conclusions, is not to be free ;
to be strict in logic and scrupulous in deri-
vation, is not to be unfree. Let me end
my discursive remarks with one phrase
from a dear, melancholy, Calvinistic poet,
who passed his life in damning himself and
blessing others, repenting of a thousand sins
he was never able to commit :
' He is the freeman whom the truth makes free,
And all are slaves beside.' '*
(Pp. 53-57.)
A stranger, who gave his name as
Gustave Watson, made a brief, mo-
dest, sensible speech, which fully re-
futed the radical pretensions. He told
them that he had listened in vain to
hear pronounced the great affirma-
tive truth the speakers professed to
have. An evangelical minister, a
Rev. Jesse H. Jones, took up the de-
fence of Christianity, but was too
ignorant of the Chnstian faith, and
too far gone himself in radicalism, to
be able to effect much. He took up
the weakest line of defence possible,
and labored chiefly to show the nov-
elty of Christianity against St Au-
gustine, and its identity, under one
of its aspects, with carnal Judaism
or modem socialism. An orthodox
Jew sent an essay and a liberal Jew
spoke. A professor of spiritisin made
a speech, and several radicals spoke
whose speeches we are obliged to
pass over, though as good as those we
have noticed.
We have refrained as far as possi-
ble from ridiculing the proceedings
of the association, which is no asso-
ciation at all, since it is founded on
the principle of free individualism;
for we wish to treat all men and wo-
men with the respect due to our-
selves, if not to themselves. The
chief actors in the movement we
have formerly known, and some of
them intimately. We have no doubt
of their sincerity and earnestness ; but
we must be permitted to say that we
have found nothing new or striking
in their speeches, and we cannot
remember the time when we were
not perfectly familiar with all their doc-
trines and pretensions. Their views
and aims were set forth in the New
England metropolis nearly forty years
ago, if with less mental refinement
and polish, with an originality and
freshness, a force and energy, which
they can hardly hope to rival. They
were embodied in 1836, and attempt-
ed to be realized in the Society for
Christian Union and Progress, which
its foimder abandoned because he
would not suffer it to grow into a
sect, because he saw his movement
was leading no whither, and could
accomplish nothing for the glory of
God or the good of mankind here or
hereafter, and because, through the
grace and mercy of God, he became
convinced of the truth and sanctity
of the Catholic Church against which
the Protestant reformers in the six-
teenth century rebelled. He may
not now be very proud of these radi-
cals, but they are, to a great extent,
the product of a movement of which
he and Ralph Waldo Emerson were
the earliest and principal leaders in
Boston.
We readily acknowledge that the
pretensions of these radical men and
women are very great, but they show
no great intellectual ability, and arc
painfully narrow and superficial
The ministers and ex-ministers who
figured on the occasion exhibited
neither depth nor breadth of view,
neither strength nor energy of mind.
They proved themselves passable
rhetoricians, but deplorably ignorant
of the past and the present, of the
rehgions they believed themselves to
have outgrown, and especially of
human nature and the wants of the
human soul. They appeared to
know only their own theories project-
Free Religion.
203
ed from themselves, and which are as
frail and as attenuated as any spider's
web ever rendered visible by the
morning dew. They pretend to have
studied, mastered, and exhausted all
the past systems, religions, and mytho-
logies ; they pride themselves on the
universality of their knowledge, and
their having lost all bigotry, in-
tolerance, or severity toward any
sect or denomination. They speak
even patronizingly of the church,
and are quite ready to concede that
she was good and useful to humanity
in her day, in barbarous times, and
in the infancy of the race; but hu-
manity, having attained its majority,
has outgrown her, and demands now
a more manly and robust, a purer
and broader and a more living and
life-giving religion — a religion, in a
word, more Christian than Christiani-
ty, more Catholic than Catholicity.
Ignorant or worse than ignorant of
the lowest elements of Catholic
teaching, they fancy they have out-
grown it, as the adult man has out-
grown the garments of his childhood.
Their self-conceit is sublime. , Why,
they are not large enough to wear
the fig-leaf aprons fabricated by the
reformers of the sixteenth century
with which to cover their nakedness.
The tallest and stoutest among them
is a dwarf by the side of a Luther or
a Calvin, or even of the stem old Pu-
ritan founders of New England ; nay,
they cannot bear an intellectual com-
parison even with the originators of
New England Unitarianism.
Take the Reverend Colonel Higgin-
son, a man of good blood and rich
natural gifts, one who, if he had been
trained in a Christian school, and had
had hb mind elevated and expanded
by the study of Christian dogmata,
could hardly have failed to be one of
Ac ' great men, if not the greatest
man of his age. He has naturally
tme nobility of soul, rare intellectual
power, and genius of a high order;
yet he is so blinded, and so dwarfed
in mind by his radicalism, that he can
seriously say, "There is no affirma-
tion except the belief in imiversal na-
tural religion ; all else is narrowness
and sectarianism." He has, then, no
views broader than natiu-e, no aspira-
tions that rise higher than nature,
and labors under the delusion that
men, reduced to nature alone, would
really be elevated and ennobled.
He has never learned that natiu-e
is not self-sufficing — is dependent ;
that it has both its origin and end
as well as its medium in the super-
natiu'al, and could not act or sub-
sist a moment without it — a truth
which the Catholic child has learned
before a dozen years old, and which
is a simple commonplace with the
Christian; so much so, that he rarely
thinks it necessary to assert it, far
less to prove it.
This utterance of the reverend
colonel is accepted by all the radi-
cals. None of them get above second
causes; for them all God and na-
ture appear to be identical and in-
distinguishable; and this appears to
be their grand and all-reconciling
doctrine. Hence the religion which
they propose has no higher origin
than man, and no higher end than
the natural development and well-
being of man, individual and social,
in this earthly life. It is the religion
of humanity, not the religion of God,
and man, not God, is obeyed and wor-
shipped in it ; yet it seems never to oc-
cur to these wise men and women that
nature either separated from or iden-
tified with God vanishes into nothing,
and their religion with it But is a
religion that is simply evolved from
humanity, that has no element above
the human, and is necessarily restrict-
ed to man in this life, and that con-
templates neither fore nor after, high-
er, deeper, and more tmiversal than'
204
Free Religion.
Christianity which asserts for us the
nature and essence of God, teaches us
the origin and end of all things, the real
relations of man to his Maker and to
universal nature through all the de-
grees and stages of his existence?
No ; it is your naturism that is " nar-
rowness and sectarianism."
Radicalism has heard of the mys-
tery of the Incarnation, and inter-
prets it to mean not the union of two
for ever distinct natures, the divine
and human, in one divine person,
but one divine nature in all human
persons. Hence, while the person is
human, circumscribed, and transitory,
nature in all men is divine, is God
himself, permanent, universal, infinite,
immortal. This is what the Christian
mystery, according to them, really
means, though the ignorant, narrow-
minded, and blundering apostles never
knew it, never understood its profound
significance. The church took the
narrow and shallow view of the apos-
ties; and hence our radicals have out-
grown the church, and instead of
looking back or without, above or
beyond themselves, they look only
within, down into their own divine
nature, whence emanates the uni-
verse, and in which is all virtue, all
good, all truth, all force, all reality.
The aim of all moral and religious disci-
pline must be to get rid of all person-
al distinction, all circumscription, and
to sink all individuality in the divine
nature, which is the real man, the
" one man," the " over-soul " of which
Mr. Emerson in his silvery tones for-
merly discoursed so eloquently and
captivated so many charming Boston
girls, who understood him by sympa-
thy with their hearts, not their heads,
though what he said seemed little
better than transcendental nonsense
to the elder, graver, and less suscep-
tible of both sexes. Impersonal nature
is divine ; hence the less of persons
we are the more divine we are, and
the more we act firom the promptings
of impersonal nature the more god-
like our acts. Hence instinct, which
is impersonal, is a safer guide than
reason, which is personal ; the logic
of the heart is preferable to the logic
of the head, and fools and roadmen
superior to the wise and the sane.
Hence, are fools and madmen pro-
foundly reverenced by Turks and
Arabs.
But impersonal nature is one and
identical in all men, and identical,
too, with the divine nature. There
are no distinct, specific, or individual
natures ; there . is only one nature in
all men and things ; for all individu-
ality, all difference or distinction, is
in the personality. Hence when you
get rid of personality, which, after all,
has no real subsistence, and sink back
into impersonal nature, you attain at
once to absolute unity, always and
ever present under all the diversity
of beliefs, views, or persons. Men and
women are mere bubbles floating on
the face of the ocean, and nothing-
distinguishes them fi-om the ocean
underiying them but their bubbleos-
ity. Destroy that, and they are the
ocean itself. Get rid of personality,
sink back into impersonal nature, and
all men and women become one, and
identical in the one universal nature.
Vulgar radicals and reformers seek to
reform society by laboring to amelio-
rate the condition of men and wo-
men as persons, and are less profita-
bly employed than the boy blowing
soap-bubbles ; for the reality is in the
ocean on the face of which the bub-
ble floats, not in the bubbleosity.
The true radicals, who radicalize in
satin slippers and kid gloves, seek not
to ameliorate the bubbleosity which
is unreal, an un veracity, a mere ap-
parition, a sense-show, but to amelio-
rate man and society by sinking it,
and all differences with it, in universal
impersonal nature.
Free Religion.
205
Yet what amelioration is possible
except personal ? If you get rid of
men and women as persons, you an-
nihilate them in every sense in which
they are distinguishable from the one
universal nature ; and suppose you to
succeed in doing it, your reform, your
amelioration would be the annihila-
tion of man and society ; for you can
have neither without men and wo-
men as individuals — that is, as persons.
To reform or ameliorate them in their
imp>ersonal nature is both impossible
and unnecessary ; for in their imperson-
al nature they are identical with uni-
versal nature, and universal nature is
God, infinite, immutable, immortal,
incapable of being augmented or di-
minished. Nothing can be done for or
against impersonal nature. We see,
then, nothing that these refined and
accomplished radicals can propose as
the object of their labors but the
making of all men and women, as
far as ix>ssible, talk and act like fools
and madmen. This would seem to be
their grand discovery, and the proof
of their having outgrown the church.
But we should be ourselves the
fool and madman if we attempted
to reason with them. They discard
logic, reject reason, and count the
understanding as one of the poorest
of our faculties; as mean, narrow,
personal. Reason and understand-
ing are personal; and all truth,
all knowledge, all wisdom, all that
is real is impersonal. Is not the
impersonality^ of God, that is, of
nature, a primary article of their
creed ? How, then, reason with
them or expect them to listen to
the voice of reason ? Reason is too
strait for them, and they have out-
grown it, as they have outgrown the
church ! They do not even pretend
to be logically consistent with them-
selves. No one holds himself bound
by his own utterances, any more than
he does by the utterances of another.
They are free religionists, and scorn
to be bound even by the truth.
But suppose they wish to retain
men and women — or women and men,
for with them woman is the superior —
as persons, how do they expect by
restricting, as they do, their know-
ledge to this life, and making their
happiness consist in the goods of
this world alone, to effect their indi-
vidual amelioration ? Socialism se-
cures always its own defeat. The
happiness of this life is attainable
only by living for another. Restrict-
ed to this life and this world, man has
play for only his animal instincts,
propensities, and powers. There is
no object on which his higher or
peculiarly human affections and fa-
culties can be exerted, and his moral,
religious, rational nature must stagnate
and rot, or render him unspeakably
miserable by his hungering and thirst-
ing after a spiritual good which he
has not, and which is nowhere to be
had. The happiness of this life
comes from living for a supernatural
end, the true end of man, in obedi-
ence to the law it prescribes. When
we make this life or this world our
end, or assume, with Mr. Emerson,
that we have it within, in our own
impersonal nature, we deny the very
condition of either individual or so-
cial happiness, take falsehood for
truth ; and no good ever does or can
come from falsehood.
It will be observed by our readers,
fi-om the extracts we have made, that
the radicals not only confine their
views to humanity and to this life, but
proceed on the assumption of the suffi-
ciency of man*s nature for itself. They
appear to have, with the exception
of Mrs. Howe, no sense of the need
of any supernatural help. They
have no sense of the incompleteness
and insufficiency of nature, as they
have no compassion for its weakness.
They never stumble, never fall, never
206
Memeftto Mori.
sin, are never baffled, are never in
need of assistance. It is not so with
ordinary mortals. We find nature in-
sufficient for us, our own strength in-
adequate; and, voyaging over the
stormy ocean of life, we are often
wrecked, and compelled to cry out in
agony of soul, " Lord, save or we
perish." Whosoever has received any
religious instruction knows that it is
not in ourselves but in God that we
live and move and have our being,
and that not without supernatural as-
sistance can we attain true beatitude.
In conclusion, we may say, these
radical men and women set forth
nothing not familiar to us before the
late Theodore Parker was an unfledged
student of the Divinity School, Cam-
bridge, and even before most of them
were bom. We know their views
and aims better than they themselves
know them, and we have lived long
enough to learn that they are narrow
and superficial, false and vain. We
have in the church the fi^eedom we
sighed for but found not, and which
is not to be found, in tadicalism. God
is more than man, more than nature,
and never faileth; Christ the God-
man, at once perfect God and perfect
man, two distinct natures in one di-
vine person, is the way, the truth,
and the life ; and out of him there is
no salvation, no true life, no beati-
tude. We do not expect these radi-
cals to believe us; they are worship-
pers of man and nature, and joined
to their idols. Esteeming themselves
wise, they become fools; ever learn-
ing, they are never able to come to the
knowledge of the truth, any more than
the child is able to grasp the rain-
bow.
MEMENTO MORI.
" Comb and see how a Christian can ^\t.**— Addison to hit sit^son.
We read that the celebrated Mon-
taigne wished to make a compilation
of remarkable death-bed scenes ; for,
as he said, "he who should teach
men how to die would teach them
how to live." It may not be unpro-
fitable for us to recaU the last mo-
ments of some who have died in the
Catholic Church. It may give us
some new idea of the power of faith
to sustain, the soul in that supreme
moment, and show us in what a su-
per-eminent degree the spirit of the
church fits one for the last great
change, and fortifies him to meet it
hopeftilly if not triumphantly. Let
us, then, in this month, consecrated by
so many pious Catholic hearts to the
memory of the dead, draw around
the death-beds of some who are re-
markable in various ways, and see if
we would not have our last end like
theirs. There is a horrid curiosity, if
no higher feeling, which attracts us to
the side of the dying, ,"to observe
their words, their actions, and what
sort of countenance they put upon
it." It is as if we woifld read the
final conflict of the soul, obtain some
new insight into the great mystery
of death, and periiaps catch some
glimpse of what awaits us beyond its
shadows. Even the unbeliever at
such a moment, forced to reflect on
the destiny of the soul, exclaims,
"Soul, what art thou? Flame that
^
Memento Mori,
devouiest me, wilt thou live after me ?
Must diou suffer still? Mysterious
guest, what wilt thou become ? Seek-
est thou to reunite thyself to the great
flame of day ? Perhaps from this fire
thou art only a spark, only a wander-
ing ray which that star recalls. Perhaps,
<ceasmg to exist when man dies, thou
art only a moisture more pure than the
animated dust the earth has produc-
ed." The mind thus excited to
doubt and question is already on
the road to conviction. To see how
a good man meets his fate, is a lesson
of heavenly love which fastens itself
in the memory ; the words that con-
soled him and that he uttered sink
mto the heart, perhaps to diffuse
light when our own time comes.
If Addison foimd nothing more
imposing, nothing more affecting, than
accounts of the last moments of the
dying; if the great Montaigne loved
the most' minute details respecting
them, we need not turn with repug-
nance from what we have a vitaJ in-
tCTest in, and what may give us
some new idea of the blessmg of dy-
ing in the arms of our Holy Mother
the Church, fortified by her sacraments
and sustained by her spirit. The
French historian Anquetil, in giving
an account of the death of Montmo-
renci, says, " It is instructive for per-
sons of all conditions in life to wit-
ness the death of a great man who
mites noble sentiments with Chris-
tian humility." It is true Dr. John-
son says, " It matters not how a man
dies, but how. he lives;" but a holy
death is generally the crown of a
good life, though "there are dark,
dark deaths which even the saints
have died, the aspect of whose
brightness was all turned heaven-
ward, so we could not see it." ♦
I do not believe that " there is more
or less of affectation in every death-
bed scene." Young, rather, is right :
•Faber.
'* A death-bed's a detector
Here tired dissimulation
Through life's grimace, t)
Father Faber sai
*
" Every Christian d
a complete world — oS
compensations, lights, 0^..^^.^^, ,
supernatural gestures, and the action of
grand spiritual laws. Each death-bed, ex-
plained to us as God could explain it,
would be in itself an entire science of God
. — a summa of the most delicate theology.
The varieties of grace in the individual soul
are so many infinities of the one infinite life
of God. No two deaths are quite alike.
The most delicate shades of difference be-
tween one death and another would proba-
bly disclose to us more of the wajrs of God,
and more of the capabilities of the soul
than philosophy has ever taught Some
deaths are so beautiful that they can hardly
be recognizable for punishments. Such
was the death of St Joseph, with his head
pillowed on the lap of Jesus. The twilight
bosom of Abraham was but a dull place
compared with the house of Nazareth
which the eyes of Jesus lighted. Such was
Mary's death, the penalty of which was ra-
ther in its delay. It was a soft extinction,
through the noiseless flooding of her heart
with divine love. As nightingales are said
to have sung themselves to death, so Si-
meon died, not of the sweet weariness of
his long watching, but of the fulness of his
contentment, of the satisfaction of his de-
sires, of the very new youth of soul which the
touch of the Eternal Child had infused into
his age, and, breaking forth into music
which heaven itself might envy and could
not surpass, he died with his world-sooth-
ing song upon his lips — ^a song so sunset-
like that one might believe all the beauty
of all earth's beautiful evenings since crea-
tion had gone into it to fill it full of peace-
ful spells. Age after age shall take up the
strain. All the poetry of Christian weari-
ness is in it It gives a voice to the hea-
venly detachment and unworldliness of
countless saints. It is the heart's evening
light after the working hours of the day to
millions and millions of believers. The very
last compline that the church shall sing, be-
fore the midnight when the doom begins and
the Lord breaks out upon the darkness from
the refulgent east, shall overflow with the
melodious sweetness of Simeon's pathetic
song."
Thus do our words— even dying
words — go on vibrating forever.
/
^
8
Memento Mori.
How many have died like St. Os-
wald, Archbishop of York, and the
Venerable Bede, repeating the Glo-
ria Patri — that act of praise which
St. Jerome found in constant use
among the oriental monks, and was
the means of introducing it into the
western church, where it is now daily
repeated by countless tongues.
St. Ignatius Loyola died with the
holy name of Jesus on his lips, that
watchword of his glorious order so
full of sweetness to the heart. S)0
did that angelic youth, St. Alyosius.
St Hubert died repeating the Lord's
Prayer; St. Stephen of Grandmont
while saying, "Into thy hands, O
Lord, I commend my spirit." So
did St. John of the Cross, St. Catha-
rine of Genoa, and hundreds of
others.
St. Arsenius, after more than fifty
years spent in the desert, regarded
death with fear. His brethren, see-
ing him weep in his agony, asked
him if, like other men, he feared to
die. " I am seized with great fear,"
he answered, "nor has this dread
ever left me since I first came into
the desert." Nevertheless, he expir-
ed, in peace and humble confidence,
in his ninety-fifth year.
St John Chrysostom, when dying,
had all his clothes changed, even to
his shoes, putting on his best gar-
ments, which were white, as for his
heavenly nuptials ; for " to one who
loves," says Novalis, "death is a
mystery of sweet mysteries — it is a
bridal night" He then received the
blessed sacrament and prayed, end-
ing according to his custom, with,
"Glory be to God for all things."
Then making the sign of the cross,
he gave up his souL*
We read of the poet-monk Caed-
mon, " That tongue, which had com-
posed so many holy words in praise
of the Creator, uttered its last words
* Butler.
while he was in the act of signing
himself with the cross, and thus he
fell into a slumber to awaken in para-
dise and join in the hynms of the
holy angeb whom he had imitated
in this world, both in his life and in
his songs."* y
The account of the death of the
Venerable Bede is well known, but it
is one that can always be read again
and again with renewed profit, and
never without emotion.
"About a fortnight before the feast of
Easter/* says his disciple Cuthbert, **he
was reduced to a state of great debility, with
difficulty of breathing, but without much
pain, and in that condition he lasted till the
day of the Lord's Ascension. This time he
passed cheerfully and joyfully, giving thanks
to Almighty God both by day and night, or
rather at all hours of the day and night He
continued to give lessons to us daily, spend*
ing the rest of his time in psalmody, and the
night also in joy and thanksgiving, unless
he were interrupted by a short sleep ; and
yet, even then, the moment he awaked be
began again, and never ceased, with out-
stretched hands, to return thanks to God.
I can declare with truth that I never saw
with my eyes, nor heard with my ears, of
any man who was so indefatigable in giving
thanks to the living God.
" O truly happy man ! He chanted the
passage from the blessed Apostle Paul, * It
is a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of
the living God,* and several other passages
from Holy Writ, warning us to throw off all
torpor of soul, in consideration of our last
hour. And being conversant with Anglo-
Saxon poetry, he repeated several passages
and composed the following lines in our
tongue :
* Before the need-fiue
None becometh
Of thought more wise
Than is his need.
To search out
Ere his going hence.
What his spirit
For good or evil
After his death -day
Doomed may be.*
He also chanted the antiphons according
to his and our custom. One of these is, *0
King of glory. Lord of hosts, who on thii
day didst ascend in triumph above all the
heavens, leave us not orphans, but send
* Mrs. Jamnon.
Memento Mori.
20^
upon OS the Spirit of truth, the promised of
the Father. Alleluia.' When he came to
the words ' leave us not orphans,* he burst
into tears and wept much ; and after a while
be resumed where he had broken off, and
we who heard him wept with him. We
vept and studied by turns ; or rather wept
ill the time that we studied.
** Thus we passed in joy the quinquagesi-
mil days till the aforesaid festival, and he
rejoiced greatly, and gave thanks to God for
the infirmities under which he suffered, of*
ten repeating, * God scourgeth every son
whom he receiveth,* with other passages of
Saipture, and the saying of St. Ambrose,
' I have not lived so as to be ashamed to
live among you ; nor do I fear to die, for we
have a gracious God.'
"During these da3rs, beside the lessons
which he gave us, and the chant of the
psalms, he undertook the composition of
two memorable works ; that is, he translat-
ed rato our language the Gospel of St. John
as far as 'But what are those among so
nuny ?' [St John vi. 9,] and made a collec-
tion of extracts from the notes of Isidore the
bishop, saying, * I will not suffer my pupils
to read falsehoods, and labor without profit
in that book, after my death.' But on the
Tuesday before the Ascension his difficulty
of breathing began to distress him exceed-
ingly, and a slight tumor appeared in his
feet He spent the whole day and dictated
to us with cheerfulness, saying occasionally,
* Lose no time ; I know not how long I may
last Perhaps in a very short time my
Maker may take me.' In fact, it seemed to
1$ that he knew the time of his death. He
lay awake the whole night praising God,
and at dawn on the Wednesday morning
onJcrcd us to write quickly, which we did
till the hour of tierce. At that hour we
wlked in procession with the relics, as the
mbric for the day prescribed ; but one of us
remained to wait on him, and said to him,
* Dearest master, there still remains one
dupter unwritten ; will it fatigue you if I ask
nM)re questions ?' * No,' said Bede ; * take
yonr pen and mend it, and write quickly.'
This he did.
** At noon he said to me, ' I have some
▼aloablcs in my little chest — ^pepper, hand-
kerchiefs, and incense. Run quickly and
bring the priests of the monastery to me,
that I may make to them such presents as
God hath given to me. The rich of this
•orld give gold and silver and other things
of value; I will give to my brethren what
God hath given to me, and will give it with
^c and pleasure.' I shuddered, but did
» be had bidden. He spoke to each one
VOL. X. — 14
in his turn, reminding and entreating them
to celebrate masses, and to pray diligently
for him, which all readily promised to do.
" When they heard him sav that they
would see him no more in this world, all
burst into tears ; but their tears were tem-
pered with joy when he said, * It is time that
I return to Him who made me out of nothing
I have lived long, and kindly hath my mer-
ciful Judge forecast the course of my life for
me. The time of my dissolution is at hand.
I wish to be released and to be with Christ'
In this way he continued to speak cheerfully
till sunset, when the fore-mentioned youth
said, * Beloved master, there is stjll one sen-
tence unwritten.' *Then write quickly,'
said Bede. In a few minutes the youth
said, 'It is finished.' *Thou hast spoken
truly,' replied Bede ; * take my head between
thy hands, for it is my delight to sit opposite
to that holy place in which I used to pray ;
let me sit and invoke my Father.' Sitting
thus on the pavement of the cell, and re-
peating, * Glory be to the Father, and to the
Son, and to the Holy Ghost,' as he finished
the word * Ghost,' he breathed his last and
took his departure for heaven."*
We read that St. Dunstan had
Mass celebrated in his room on the
day of his death; and after commu-
nicating, he broke forth into the fol-
lowing prayer, " Glory be to thee,
Almighty Father, who hast given the
bread of life from heaven to those
that fear thee, that we may be mind-
ful of thy wonderful mercy to man
in the incarnation of thine only-be-
gotten Son, bom of the Virgin. To
thee, Holy Father, for that when we
were not, thou didst give to us a be-
ing, and when we were sinners, didst
grant to tis a Redeemer, we give due
thanks through the same thy Son,
our Lord and God, who with thee
and the Holy Ghost maketh all
things, govemeth all things, and liveth
through ages and ages without end."
Shortly afterward he died in the sixty-
fourth year of his age.
The Cistercian abbot Aelred of
Yorkshire died in wonderful peace-
after eight years of monastic life, re-
peating with his last breath, " I will
• Lingurd.
210
Memento Mori.
sing eternally, O Lord, thy mercy,
thy mercy, thy mercy !"
While St. WUfrid of York lay dyin^
in the fair town of Oundle, the monks
did not cease chanting night and day
around his bed, though with much
ado, so bitterly they wept. When
they came to the one hundred and
third psalm, and were sweetly and sol-
emnly singing the words, " Emittes spi-
ritum tuum, et creabuntur, et renova-
bis faciem terrge," " Thou shalt send
forth thy spirit, and they shall be
created; and thou shalt renew the
face of the earth," the words stirred
the soul of the careworn abbot, by
whose pillow lay the Lord's body and
blood; he turned his head gentiy,
and without a sigh gave back his soul
to God.»
St. Gilbert, when he was more than
a century old, used to exclaim, ** How
long, O Lord, wilt thou forget me for
ever ? Woe is me, for the time of my
sojourning is prolonged!" His soul
was at last released one morning at
the hour of dawn, while the monks
were repeating the verse of the office,
" The night is far spent, the day is at
hand."
Twenty abbots assembled to wit-
ness the death of St. Stephen Hard-
ing at Citeaux. Hearing them whis-
per that he had nothing to fear after
so holy and austere a life, he said to
them trembling, " I assure you I go
to God in fear and trembling. If my
baseness should be found to have
ever done any good, even in this I
fear lest I should not have preserved
that grace with the humility and care
I ought"
St Francis of Assisi, when he found
he was dying, wished to be laid on
the bare ground. When this was
done, he crossed his arms and said,
^ Farewell, my children. I leave
you in the fear of God. Abide there-
lin. The time of trial and tribulation
•LiftqfSL Wilfrid,
Cometh. Happy are they who per-
severe in well-doing. For me, I go
to God joyfully, recommendmg you
all to his grace." He had the pas-
sion according to the Gospel of St.
John read to him, and then repeated
in a feeble voice the one hundred
and forty-first psalm. Having said
the final verse, " Bring my soul out
of prison," he breathed his last.
St. Thomas Aquinas died lying on
ashes sprinkled on the floor. When
he saw the holy viaticum in the
priest's hands, he said, " I firmly be-
lieve that Jesus Christ, true God and
true man, is present in this august
sacrament. I adore thee, my God
and my Redeemer. I receive thee,
the price of my redemption, the via-
ticum of my pilgrimage, for whose
honor I have studied, labored, preach-
ed, and taught. I hope I have never
advanced any tenet as thy word
which I had not learned fix)m thee.
If through ignorance I have done
otherwise, I revoke it all and submit
my writings to the judgment of the
holy Roman Church." Thus lying in
peace and joy, he received the last
sacraments, and was heard to mur-
mur, " Soon, soon will the God of all
consolation crown his mercy to me
and satisfy all my desires. I shall
shortly be satiated in him, and drink
of the torrent of my delights ; be in-
ebriated firom the abundance of his
house ; and in him, the source of life,
I shall behold the true light"
When the viaticum was brought to
St Theresa, she rose up in her bed
and exclaimed, " My Lord and my
Spouse! the desired hour has at
length come. It is time for me to
depart hence." Her confessor asked
her if she wished to be buried in htr
own convent at Avila. She replied,
* Have I any thing of my own in this
world ? Will they not give me a lit-
tle earth here ?" She died with the
crucifix in her hands, repeating, a3
Mancnto Mori,
211
long as she could speak, the verse of
the Miserere, " A contrite and hum-
ble heart, O God, thou wilt not de-
spise!"
There is a touching account of a
renowned and pious knight who, in
the ages of faith, made a pilgrimage
to the Holy Land. Following lov-
ingly the traces of our Saviour's steps,
his heart became so broken with sor-
row and love that his life flowed out
through the wound. He visited with
tender devotion Nazareth, whose hills
leaped for joy when the Divine Word
became incarnate in the womb of a
Virgin ; Mount Tabor, whose summit
was lit up by God glorifying his only
Son ; the river Jordan, consecrated by
the baptism our Lord received at the
hands of St. John the Baptist ; Beth-
lehem, where in a poor manger were
heard the first cries of the Infant
Word; the Garden of Gethsemane,
which Jesus bedewed with a bloody
sweat ; Golgotha, where by his blood
the Redeemer reconciled earth with
heaven; and the glorious tomb
whence the God-man issued triumph-
ant over death. Finally, he came to
the Mount of Olives. Here contem-
plating the sacred foot-prints left on
the rock by the ascending Saviour,
he pressed his lips upon them with
loving gratitude; then gathering to-
gether all the strength of his love,
raismg his eyes and hands toward
heaven, and longing to ascend by the
way taken by our Saviour, " O Lord
Jesus !" he cried in all the ardor of
his love, "I can no longer find thee
or follow thee in this land of exile ;
grant that my heart may ascend to
thee on high 1" And, as he uttered
these ardent words, his soul fled to
God like an arrow direct to its aim.
I find in an old book the following
affecting accoimt of the death of Friar
Benedict, who died at La Trappe on
the twentieth of August, 1674 :
" Brother Benedict, of the diocese of
Rouen, died five years and a half after his
profession, the day of the fite of our father
St Bernard, aged thirty- two years. And as
God visited him peculiarly with his grace in
the progress of his disease, and at the time
of his death, it has been thought desirable,
in order both to recognize the mercy of
Christ and for the edification of his commu-
nity, to record the principal circumstances
of his life and death.
" He fell sick nearly four years before his
death of a disease upon his chest, and al-
though, after that time, he was almost con-
tinually oppressed with a violent cough, with
extreme pain, and with an intermitting fever,
he never manifested even the slightest im-
patience of his suflfering or the least desire
to be cured. About Christmas of the year
1673, which preceded his death a few months,
his disease increased. But he did not cease
to discharge the peculiar offices prescribed
to penitents in the monastery. The fever
which seized him about the middle of Christ-
mas did not prevent his following the same
course of life he had long pursued. Five
da3rs after Blaster, his disease having consi-
derably advanced, the reverend father abbot
ordered him to be conducted to the infir-
mary. There his fever immediately increas-
ed, his limbs inflamed, his cough became
more violent, and the struggles in which he
passed his nights quite exhausted him. Not-
withstanding this, he continued to lie on a
hard bed of straw till the moment when they
removed him to the ashes, five hours before
his death. He rose at four in the morning ;
he dined at the table of the infirmary, though
his weakness was such that he was evident-
ly unable to sustain the weight of his own
head. During this time nothing was to be
discovered upon his countenance which did
not evidence the most complete tranquillity.
He had been remarkably ingenious, and had
nothing about him which he had not both
invented and executed- Three weeks before
his death, he said to the father abbot that,
as he had been in the habit of constructing
many things for the convenience of the mon-
astery, and as it might be troublesome to
the abbot to find and introduce workmen
into the house afler his death, he would on
this account, if agreeable to the abbot, in-
struct one of the brothers in his various arts.
The abbot having consented, he instructed
a monk in less than a fortnight in the diffe-
rent arts in which he had been accustomed
to be employed. And notwithstanding his
weakness and pain, he did all this with so
much patience and coUectcdncss that he
212
Memento Mori.
seemed to have lost all remembrance of his
sufferings. The father abbot, knowing the
gi ace which God had given to him, and the
degree in which God had detached him from
the world, thought it his duty to follow up
what he believed to be the designs of Provi-
dence in regard to him. This led hkn in
the various ordinances of religion to main-
tain all the rigor which charity and prudence
would permit ; though in all private com-
munications with him he treated him with
the tenderness of a father. One day, when
so overcome with pain that he could take
nothing, he described his state to the father
abbot, accompanying his description with
certain expressions of countenance which it
is almost impossible to restrain in such cir-
cumstances. The father abbot, however,
said with severity, (as though he had no
compassion for those sufferings in which he
sympathized so truly,) that * he spoke like a
man of the world, and that a monk ought to
manifest under the worst circumstances the
constancy of his soul.* Benedict in an in-
stant assumed that air of severity that never
afterward quitted him. The fear lest the
great exertions which he made by day and
by night, combined with hb extreme debil-
ity, might suddenly remove him, led them
to give him the holy sacrament and extreme
unction. He received both with every de-
monstration of piety. Such, however, was
his weakness that he immediately fainted
away. The father abbot having asked, be-
fore they brought him the extreme unction,
if he desired tliat the whole community
should be present at the ceremony, he
answered that, 'exterior ceremonies were
not of vital importance ; that his brethren
would derive little edification from him ; and
that he had more need of their prayers than
their presence.' All his conversation dur-
ing his malady was on the necessity of sepa-
ration from worldly things, of the joy which
he anticipated in death, and of the mercy
which God had shown him in suffering him
to end his days in the society of the father
abbot
" Some days before his death, the father
abbot inquired minutely into the state of his
mind ; he answered in these very words, * I
consider the day of my death as a festival ;
I have no desire for any thing here, and I
cannot better express my total separation
from things below than by comparing myself
to a leaf which the wind has lifted from the
earth. All that I have read in the sacred
Scriptures comes home to me and fills me
with joy. Nevertheless, I can in no action
of my life see any thing which can sustain
the judgment of God, and which is not
worthy of punishment ; but the confidence
which I have in his goodness gives me hope
and consolation.' He added, • How can it
be that God should show such compassion
to a man who has so miserably served him ?
I desire death alone ; what can a man be
thinking of, not always to desire it ? What
joy, my father, when I remember that I am
about to refresh myself in the waters of life.'
" His ordinary reading, for many years of
his life, had been the sacred Scriptures,
which were so familiar to him that he spoke
of little else. He mentioned to the father
abbot so many passages, and repeated them
in a manner so touching, so animated, and
so devotional, that liis hearers were at once
edified and astonished. Those passages
which were uppermost in his mind respected
chiefly the majesty of God ; but as be had a
most humble opinion of his own life, which
had however been, in the main, faithful and
pure, he always reverted to the subject of
the divine compassion. It was in that he
found peace and repose.
** On the day of the Assumption, he felt
himself so weak that he was unable to leave
the infirmary. The father abbot carried
him our Lord, whom he received upon his
knees, leaning on two of his brethren. Two
days afterward, he fell into strong convul-
sions, and imagined that the hour of his
deliverance was come. The father abbot
asked, * Is it with joy that you depart ? '
* Yes,' said he, * from my very heart' He
then added, ' Into thy hands I commend my
spirit'
" The customary prayers were then offered
up for the dying ; but the convulsions hav-
ing lefl him, the father abbot said that tbe
hour of God was not arrived ; and having
given orders to remove him from the ashes to
his bed, he turned to the father abbot with a
serene countenance, and said, * The will of
God be done.' He lived three days waiting
with anxiety the time when God would have
mercy upon hinu And such was his desire
of death that the father abbot was obliged
more than once to say to him that it was not
for him to anticipate the designs of Provi-
dence. His pangs lasted till within an hour
of his death, but he endured them with his
accustomed patience and serenity. He said
three days before his death that the most
dangerous moments were the last, and that
he did not doubt the great enemy of man
would seek to disquiet him, and therefore
requested the prayers of the community.
The father abbot, having asked, after some
other general discourse, if he knew the guilt
of sin, he answered sighmg, and, as it were,
looking into the recesses of his own soul,
Memento Mori,
213
and in language expressive of the intensity
of his feelings, ' Alas ! once I knew it not ;
bat DOW I see in the Scripture that God
claims, as one of his chief attributes, the
power of pardoning sin ; " I am he who blot*
tcth out your iniquities." I am therefore
convinced that sin is a tremendous offence.
I am £»*, indeed, from being like those who
are always overwhelmed with a conscious-
oess of their offences, but yet I believe, upon
the testimony of faith and Scripture, that sin
is a fathomless gulf of ruin.* These words
were accompanied with a manner so extraor-
dinary that they touched the very hearts of
those who stirrounded him.
"His bones having pierced his skin, and
his shirt of serge sticking to his wounds, he
begged them to move him a little ; but at
the end of the day, when the person who had
the care of him wished again to ease his
body, he said, * My brother, you give me too
much ease. ' The father abbot having order-
ed some milk to be brought him, which was
the only nourishment he took, he said, * You
wish then, my father, to prolong my life, and
are unwilling I should die on the day of St.
Bernard.' The father abbot having quitted
him, he begged, perceiving that his death
approached, that he might be called back.
As soon as he saw him, he said, * Father, my
eyes bJX me — ^it is finished.* The father
having asked him in what state he found
himself and if he was about to approach
Christ, * Yes, father,* said he, * by the grace
of God, I am. I am not indeed sensible of
any extraordinary elevation of my mind to
God ; but through his mercy I am in perfect
peace. God be thanked ! * This he repeat-
ed three times. The father abbot having
asked him if he wished to die upon the cross
and upon the ashes, * Yes,* said he, * from
my heart.* With these words he lost his
speech, or, at all events, it was impossible
to hear any thing intelligible from him ex-
cept the name of Jesus, which he pronounc-
ed repeatedly. They carried him to the
straw spread out in his chamber. He was
neariy four hours in a dying state, and pre-
served his recollection during the whole
tiajc. His eyes indicating a wandering state
of mind, the father arose, took some holy
vater, and, having scattered it around him,
repeated these words, * Let God arise anc^
let his enemies be scattered.* His face at
this moment resumed its serenity. He
loised the cross several times, and, wanting
strength to lay hold of it, they observed that
he advanced his head to reverence it every
time that it was presented to him. At
kngth all his disquietudes ceased ; they be-
held him calm, peaceful, serene; and he
breathed his last sigh with so much tran-
quillity that those who watched him scarcely
perceived his death.**
When William the Conqueror was
on his death-bed, he confessed all the
sins of his life, from his youth up,
aloud and before a large number of
priests and nobles from England and
Normandy. We read that, after a
long agony, on Thursday, the ninth
of September, as the sun rose in glori-
ous splendor, William awoke, and
presently heard the great bell of the
metropolitan church. He asked why
it was ringing. " Seigneur," replied
his servants, " it is ringing for prime
at the church of our Lady St. Mary."
Then the king raised his eyes to hea-
ven and, lifting up his hands, said,
" I recommend myself to holy Mary,
Mother of God, that by her holy
prayers she may reconcile me to her
dear and beloved Son, our Lord Jesus
Christ." With these words he ex-
pired.*
Peter, King of Aragon, at the ap-
proach of death, devoutly confessed
all his sins and received the sacra-
ments. After bidding his family fare-
well, he took a cross in his hands, lift-
ed his streaming eyes to heaven,
crossed himself three times, kissed
the cross, and then said, " O Lord
our Father, Jesus Christ our true
God ! into thy hands I commend my
spirit. Deign by thy holy passion to
receive my soul into paradise with
the blessed St. Martin, whose festival
Christians this day celebrate." And
with his eyes still raised heavenward,
he departed.!
When James, an unlearned lay
brother of the order of St. Francis,
came to die, he begged pardon of all
his brethren, took a wooden cross
from the head of his bed, kissed it,
put it to his eyes, and then said, with
tenderness, " Dulce lignum, dulces
clavos, dulcia ferens pondera, quae
• Digby. t Ibid.
214
Memento Mori,
sola fuisti digna sustinere Regem
coelorum et Dominum," "O sweet
wood, sweet nails, supporting a sweet
burden ! Thou alone wast worthy to
sustain the King and Lord of the
heavens." All around him were
greatly astonished, for he was un-
learned, and they had never heard
him speak in Latin.*
We read in the life of St. Gertrude
of the death of a young person, who
from her infancy upward had always
shown a real spirit of detachment
from the world. When she found
herself in the agony of death, she
bade farewell to all who were present,
promising to be ramdful of them be-
fore God. Then turning in her suf-
ferings toward the Heavenly Bride-
groom, she earnestly said, " O Lord,
who knowest the most secret thoughts
of my heart, thou hast known how
eagerly I have longed to spend all
the powers of my being, even unto
old age, in thy service ; now that I
feel thou desirest to recall me to thy-
self, all my desire of serving thee in
this world is changed to such an ar-
dent longing to behold thee, and be
united to thee, that death, however
bitter it may be to others, only seems
sweet to me." She wished the sis-
ters to read to her the account of the
sufferings of our Savioiu- in the Gos-
pel of St. John, and when they came
to the words, " He bowed his head
and gave up the ghost," she asked
for a crucifix. She lovingly kissed
the feet of the image of our Saviour,
tlianked him for his graces, com-
mended her soul to his care, and
then slept peacefully in our Lord.
Our own Mother Seton, though
She saw the intense grief of all the
community, and heard the sobs of
her daughter, who fainted at her
side, died with the most profound
composure. Her whole appearance
indicated peace and resignation.
*Digby.
Lifting her hands and eyes to heaven,
she said, " May the most just, the
most high, and the most amiable will
of God be accompHshed for ever."
Her last words were the sacred
names of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
The poet Tasso, when informed
that his last hour was at hand, " not
only received the warning without
alarm, but, embracing the physician,
thanked him for tidings so agreeable,
and, raising his eyes to heaven, return-
ed tender and devout thanks to his
Creator that, after so tempestuous a
life, he now brought him to a calm
haven. From this time he did not
speak willingly on terrestrial subjects,
not even of that fame after death of
which through life he had been most
solicitous; but resigned himself
wholly and with the liveliest devotion
to the last solemn offices prescribed
by his religion. After confessing
with great contrition, and receiving
twice the sacrament with a reverence
and humility that affected all the be-
holders, he received the papal bene-
diction humbly and gratefully, saying
this was the chariot upon which he
hoped to go crowned, not with
laurel as a poet into the capital, but
with glory as a saint to heaven.
When he had arranged all his earth-
ly affairs, he begged to be left alone
with his crucifix and one or two spi-
ritual advisers, who by turns sung
psalms, in which he sometimes joined.
When his voice failed, his eyes still
remained fixed upon the image of the
crucified Redeemer. His last act was
to embrace it closely. His last words,
" Into thy hands, O Lord."
I quote the following account of
the death of the great Raphael, in the
form of a letter from Cardinal Bibbi-
ena:
•
"As I entered, he held in his hand a few
spring flowers, which he let fall as I handed
him the rosary. He pressed the cross to
his lips and whispered, * Maria.' His Toicc
Memento Mori.
215
had a peculiar sound, clear but so low as
to be scarcely audible. In the sick-room I
found Count Castiglione, the good lathers
Antonio and Domenico, the painter Giulio,
and others. They had moved his couch to
the window which stood wide open. Was
it the effect of the softening light or of the
approaching triumph ? Raphael had never
appeared more beautiful. His complexion
was more roseate, and his thoughtful,
brown artist-eyes larger and more lumi-
nous than usual. I told him what his ho-
liness had requested me to say.
"*And so, dear Raphael,' I concluded,
'may the sympathy which the highest as
well as the lowest feels for you, have the
power to keep you long with us T
** He smiled sadly.
** • You will, you must I * broke in Cas-
tiglione. * Think what a longing for art
your attainments have awakened within us.
Think of your favorite plan to rebuild clas-
sical Rome, with its marble palaces and
temples, its triumphal arches and picture
galleries ! '
•* * Yes, I desired it,' replied he ; * and if
God had granted me longer life, I should
have succeeded.'
" * Do you still speak,' said I reproachful-
ly, * as if you would never recover ? '
** * O father I ' said he, * the separation is
not easy for me. If I could describe to
you the longing which I have to retain the
departing day! How my heart cherished
the last ray of the sun that lingered on the
hill I How beautiful is the world, how
beautiful the faces of men I And now to
take leave of them for ever — to sleep with-
out hc^ of seeing the morrow 1 '
"'Beloved,' said I, 'do not forget that
to-day the Saviour died, that we might
throw off this mortal life and put on immor-
tality.'
•♦ ' How should I forget Him from whom
I have received every thing ? ' he answered
sofUy. 'But even this mortal life was
beautiful.'
"There was a moment's silence. Cas-
tiglione had taken Raphael's hand. The
latter was looking through the open win-
dow at the distant hills that were lit up
with the sofl glow of the setting sun.
Then his glance wandered, evidently in the
direction of his thoughts, to the blue hea-
vens, where the evening star looked down
quietly like a messenger from the other
world.
" ' I shall see Dante,' said he suddenly.
"At this moment one of those present
took the cover from Raphael's last picture,
which hung on the wall opposite the couch.
It is, as you know, an altar-piece — the
Transfiguration, The sight of the immor-
tal work, the dying master, the subject of
the picture, and all remembrances associat-
ed therewith, overpowered us, and we wept
aloud.
" His features began to change quickly,
he spoke still, but wearily and without con-
nection, though in significant phrases.
Twice we heard those words of > Plato,
'Great is the hope, and beautiful the
prize ! ' He mentioned your name, too,
and begged that you would lay your hand
on his head. . . . The painter Giulio
threw himself on the couch and wept in
agony. I asked the others to kneel with
me and pray for the dying.
"Once more Raphael revived, and, sup-
ported by two friends, arose and looked
around with wide-open eyes.
" * Whence comes the sunshine ? ' mur-
mured he.
" ' Raphael I ' cried I, and extended both
hands toward him, * do you recognize me ? '
For a moment it seemed as if he had not
heard me, then he spoke again, and the ho-
ly calm of his expression, in spite of the
death-struggle, bore testimony to his words,
'Happy.' .... He did not speak
again ; but it was full night when a voice
broke through the long stillness, ' Ra-
phael is dead ! ' "
He died on Good-Friday, 1520,
age4 thirty-seven.
Besides these holy and edifying
deaths, which might be continued in-
definitely, we all have treasured up
in our heart of hearts the sacred
memory of some dear ones whose last
words will go on vibrating in our
hearts for ever.
" Oh t soothe us, haunt us, night and day,
Ye gentle spirits £ur away,
With whom ye shared the cnp of grace.
Then parted ; ye to Christ's embrace,
We to the lonesome worid again ;
Yet mindful of the unearthly strain
Practised with you at Eden's door,
To be sung on, where angda soar
With blended toacm evermovt."
2i6 Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Popes Letter.
REPLY OF THE PRESBYTERIAN ASSEMBLIES TO THE
POPE'S LETTER.
«* To Pius IX., Bishop of Rome ;
"In your encyclical letter, dated Sept
13th, x868, you invite *all Protestants* to
* embrace the opportunity ' presented by the
council summoned to meet in the city of
Rome during the month of December of the
current year, to 'return to the only one
fold,* intending thereby, as the connection
implies, the Roman Catholic Church. That
letter has been brought to the notice of the
two General Assemblies of the Presbyterian
Church in the United States of America.
Those assemblies represent nearly five thou-
sand ministers of the gospel, and a still
larger number of Christian congregations.
" Believing, as we do, that it is the will of
Christ that his church on earth should be
one ; and recognizing the duty of doing all
we consistently can to promote Christian
charity and fellowship, we deem it right to
say in few words why we cannot comply
-with your invitation, or participate in the de-
liberations of the approaching council.
" It is not because we reject any article of
the Catholic faith. We are not heretics ;
we receive all the doctrines contained in the
ancient symbol known as the Apostles'
Creed ; we regard as consistent with Scrip-
ture the doctrinal decisions of the first six
cecumenical councils ; and because of that
consistency we receive those decisions as ex-
pressing our own faith. We believe the
doctrines of the Trinity and Person of Christ
as those doctrines are set forth by the Coun-
cil of Nice, A.D. 325 ; by that of Chalcedon,
A.D.451 ; and by that of Constantinople, a.d.
€80.
" With the whole Catholic Church, there-
'fore, we believe that there are three persons
in the Godhead, the Father, the Son, and
: the Holy Ghost ; and that these three are
one God, the same in substance, and equal
in power and glory.
" We believe that the Eternal Son of God
^became man by taking to himself a true
body and a reasonable soul ; and so was, and
continues to be, both God and man, in two
distinct natures and one person for ever.
We believe that our Lord and Saviour Jesus
Christ is the Prophet of God, whose teach-
ings we are bound to receive, and in whose
promises we confide. He is the high-priest
of our profession, whose infinitely meritori-
ous satisfaction to divine justice, and whose
ever-prevalent intercession is the only
ground of our justification and acceptance
before God. He is our King, to whom eur
allegiance is due, not only as his creatures,
but as the purchase of his blood. To his
authority we submit ; in his care we trust ;
and to his service we and all creatures in
heaven and earth should be devoted.
"We believe, moreover, all those doc-
trines concerning sin, grace, and predesti-
nation, known in history as Augustinian.
Those doctrines were sanctioned by the
Council of Carthage, A.D. 416 ; by a more
general council in the same place, a.d. 418 ;
by Zosimus, Bishop of Rome, A.D. 418 ; and
by the third C£cumenical Council at Ephe-
sus, A.D. 481. It is impossible, therefore,
that we should be pronounced heretical with-
out including the whole ancient church in
the same condemaation. We not only
' glory in the name of Christians, but profess
the true faith of Christ, and follow the com-
munion of the Catholic Church* Still fur-
ther to quote jrour own words, * Truth must
continue ever stable and not subject to any
change.*
** Neither are we schismatics. We be-
lieve in true * Catholic unity.' We cordial-
ly recognize as members of Christ's visible
church on earth all who profess the true
religion, together with their children. We
are not only willing, but earnestly desire, to
maintain Christian communion with them,
provided they do not prescribe as a condition
of such communion that we should profess
what the word of God condemns, or do
what that word forbids. If any church pre-
scribes unscriptural conditions of fellowship,
the error and the fsiult are with such church,
and not with us.
*' But, although neither heretics nor schis-
matics, we cannot accept your invitation, be-
cause we still hold the principles which
prompted our * ancestors,* in the name of
primitive Christianity, and in defence of the
' true faith,* bravely to protest against the
errors and abuses which had been foisted
upon the church — principles for which our
fathers were, by the Council of Trent, re-
presenting the church over which you pre-
Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Pope's Letter, 217
side, excommuniaUcd and pronounced ac-
cursed. The most important of those prin-
ciples are the following :
" First. That the word of God, as con-
tained in the Scriptures of the Old and New
Testament, is the only infallible rule of faith
and practice. The Council of Trent, how-
ever, demands that we receive, pari pietatis
affcctu^ the teachings of tradition as supple-
menting and interpreting the written word
of God. This we cannot do without incur-
ring the condemnation which our Lord pro-
nounced on the Pharisees when he said,
* Ye make void the word of God by your
traditions.*
•* Second. The right of private judgment
When we open the Scriptures, we find them
addressed to the people. They speak to us ;
they conunand us to search their sacred pa-
ges ; they require us to believe what they
teach, and to do what they enjoin ; they hold
us personally responsible for our faith and
conduct. The promise of the inward teach-
ing of the Spirit to guide men into the
knowledge of the truth, is made to the peo-
ple of God ; not to the clergy exclusively;
much less to any special order of the clergy
alone. The Apostle John says to believers,
• Ye have an unction from the Holy One, and
know all things ; and the anointing which
ye have received of him abideth with you,
and ye have not need that any man teach
you.' (i John ii. 20 and 27.) The Apostle
Paul commands us (the people) to pro-
notmce accursed an apostle, or an angel
from heaven, who teaches any thing contrary
to the divinely authenticated word of God.
(Gal. i. 8.) He makes the people the judges
of truth and error as accountable to God
only; he places the rule of judgment in
their hands, and holds them responsible for
their decisions. Private judgment, therefore,
is not only a right, but a duty, from which no
man can exonerate himself or be exonerated
by others.
"Third. We believe in the universal
priesthood of believers; that is, that all
men have, through Christ, access by one
Spirit unto the Father. (Eph. ii. 18.) They
need no human priest to secure their access
to God. Every man for himself may come
with boldness to the throne of grace to ob-
tain mercy and find grace to help in time of
need. (Heb. iv. 16.) * Having, therefore,
boldness to enter into the holiest by the
blood of Jesus, by a new and living way, . .
and having a High- Priest over the house of
God, we may all draw near with a true heart
in full assurance of faith, having our hearts
sprinkled from an evil conscience, and our
bodies washed with pure water.' (Heb. x.
£9-22.) To admit, therefore, the priesthood
of the clergy, whose intervention is neces-
sary to secure for the people the remission
of sins and other benefits of redeeming grace,
we regard as involving either the rejection
of the priesthood of Christ, or a denial of
its sufficiency.
"Fourth. We deny the perpetuity of
the apostleship. As no man can be a pro-
phet without the spirit of prophecy, so no
man can be an apostle without the gifts of
an apostle. Those gifts, as we learn from
Scripture, are plenary knowledge of the gos-
pel, derived by immediate revelation from
Christ, (Gal. i. 12,) and personal infallibility
in teaching and ruling. What are the seals
of the apostleship, we learn from what St.
Paul says to the Corinthians, * Truly the
signs of an apostle Were wrought among you
in all patience, in signs, in wonders, in mighty
deeds.* (2 Cor. xiL 12.) Modern prelates,
although they claim apostolic authority, do
not pretend to possess the gifts on which
that authority was founded; nor do they
venture to exhibit the * signs* by which the
commission of the messengers of Christ was
authenticated. We cannot, therefore, recog-
nize them, either individually or collectively,
as the infallible teachers and rulers of the
church.
"Much less can we acknowledge the
Bishop of Rome to be Christ's vicar upon
earth, possessing * supreme rule.* We ac-
knowledge our adorable Lord and Saviour
Jesus Christ to be the only head of the
church, which is his body. We believe
that although now enthroned at the right
hand of the Majesty on high, he is still pre-
sent with his people on earth, whom he
governs by his word, providence, and spirit.
We cannot, therefore, put any creature in
his place, or render to a man the obedience
which is due to Christ alone.
"As the Church of Rome excommuni-
cates all those who profess the principles
above enumerated ; as we regard these prin-
ciples to be of vital importance, and intend
to assert them more earnestly than ever ;
as God appears to have given his seal and
sanction to these principles by making the
countries where they are held the leaders in
civilization — the most eminent for liberty,
order, intelligence, and all forms of private
and social prosperity — it is evident that the
barrier between us and you is, at present,
insurmountable.
" Although this letter is not intended to
be either objurgatory or controversial, it is
known to all the world that there are doc-
trines and usages of the church over which
you preside which Protestants believe to be
2i8 Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Popes Letter.
not only unscriptural, but contrary to the
faith and practice of the early church. Some
of those doctrines and usages are the follow-
ing, namely, The doctrine of transubstan-
tiation and the sacrifice of the mass ; the
adoration of the host ; the power of judicial
absolution, (which places the salvation of the
people in the hands of the priests ;) the doc-
trine of the grace of orders, that is, that su-
pernatural power and influence are conferred
in ordination by the imposition of hands ;
the doctrine of purgatory ; the worship of
the Virgin Mary ; the invocation of saints ;
the worship of images ; the doctrine of re-
serve and of implicit faith, and the conse-
quent withholding the Scriptures from the
people, etc.
*' So long as the profession of such doc-
trines and submission to such usages are
required, it is obvious that there is an im-
passable gulf between us and the church by
which such demands are made.
" While loyalty to Christ, obedience to
the holy Scriptures, consistent respect for
the early councils of the church, and the
firm belief that pure ' religion is the founda-
tion of all human society,' compel us to
withdraw from fellowship with the Church
of Rome, we, nevertheless, desire to live
in charity with all men. We love all who
love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity.
We cordially recognize as Christian breth-
ren all who worship, trust, and serve him
as their God and Saviour according to the
inspired word. And we hope to be united
in heaven with all those who unite with us on
earth in saying, * Unto him who loved us,
and washed us from our sins in his own
blood, and hath made us kings and priests
unto God — ^to him be glory and dominion
for ever and ever. Amen.' (Rev. i. 6.)
" Signed in behalf of the two General As-
semblies of the PresbjTterian Church in the
United States of America.
" M. W. Jacobus, Ph. H. Fowler,
''Moderators:'
We will preface our remarks upon
the foregoing document by a few words
of explanation to our European read-
ers respecting the bodies whose joint
manifesto it is.
The Presbyterians of the United
States are quite distinct from the Con-
gregationalists of New England, the
descendants of the English Puritans,
although the two fraternize together
to a great extent. The Presbyterian
Church is the daughter of the Kirk
of Scodand, having its home in the
Middle States, whence it has spread
through the countr}', especially toward
the West. Its government is more
vigorous than that of any other church
except the Methodist, and its doc-
trinal strictness surpasses that of all
other large societies. Its clergy num-
ber about five thousand, having, we
believe, somewhere near a half a mil-
lion of communicants, and three or
four times as many members in a
looser sense. It is, on the whole, the
first denomination as regards respect-
ability, taking the coimtry generally,
and in all its periods of history ; and,
if we reckon its allies, the Dutch
Reformed and Congregationalist so-
cieties, with it, as representing the
Calvinistic phase of Protestantism,
this is the system which has possessed
the same vantage-ground in the Brit-
ish colonies of the United States
that the Episcopal Church has taken
in England.* Some thirty years ago,
the Presbyterian body split into two
great divisions by means of a dispute
about rigid and moderate Calvinism,
and rigid or lax enforcement of the
Presbyterian polity. The two Gene-
ral AssembUes which recently met in
this city adopted a plan of reunion
which will probably receive general
acceptance, and fuse the Old and
New School Presbyterians together
again in one body. The letter to the
pope proceeds from the two assem-
blies, acting through their respective
moderators in virtue of a resolution
which passed both houses, which ex-
plains the fact that it is signed by two
distinct presiding officers. With these
few prefatory remarks, we i>ass to the
consideration of the document itselH
We are very glad that the Presby-
* Besides the g;rett bodice abore meatiooed» there
are in the United States eight or ten other societies
resembling the Presbyterian Church in order and doc*
trine, and numbering some hundreds of thousands of
communicants.
Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Pope^s Letter. 219
terian Assemblies have replied to the
pontifical letter. We are sure that
all calmly-reflectuag persons will agree
that in doing so they have fulfilled an
obligation of biensiance required by
a sense both of the dignity of the
Roman see and of their own respec-
tability. They have shown, there-
fore, more courtesy and more self-
respect than either the Eastern pa-
triarchs or the Protestant Episcopal
bishops, and, so to speak, have taken
the water of their haughty rival, the
General Convention. The tone of
the document is remarkably dignified
and courteous, and it will undoubt-
edly be so considered by the prelates of
the council and the Holy Father. We
would suggest to the gentlemen whose
signatures are appended the propriety
of making an authentic translation of
the document into the Latin language,
and of sepding this, with the original,
in an official manner, properly cer-
tified, to Rome. The editor of
the Evangelist seems to apprehend
Aat the addressing of this letter to
the pope might be deemed officious
or impertinent. We can assure him,
however, and all other persons con-
cerned, that this is by no means the
case. The address of the pope to all
Christians not in his communion was
no mere formality, but perfectly sincere
and in earnest The Nestorian and
Eutychian, as well as the Greek
bishops, were invited to present them-
selves at the council, although these
are far less orthodox on the funda-
mental doctrines of the Trinity and
Incarnation than the Presbyterian
Assemblies have proved themselves to
be, by their full confession of agree-
ment with the faith of the Roman
Church on these articles. It is true
that the above-mentioned bishops
were invited on a different footings
not merely as Christians, but as bish-
ops. The reason of this is, that their
episcopal character is recognized and
does not need to be proved. There-
fore, all they have to do is to purge
themselves of heresy and schism in
order to be entitled, ipso facto, to
take their places as constituent mem-
bers of the council, with the
right of voting, which will most
certainly not be otherwise conceded
to them. The Protestant bishops
could not be invited as bishops,
beca-use their episcopal character is
not recognized. If some of them
should appear to put in their claim,
we have no doubt, fi*om the tenor of
letters published in the English Cath-
olic papers, that they would be receiv-
ed with great respect and considera-
tion, and be allowed to argue their
cause either before the council or a
special congregation. It is not yet
too late for some of them, who have
sufficient courage and confidence in
their cause, to do it, and we hope they
will. Presbyterian Protestants make
no claim to episcopal Succession or
ordination. Consequently they, by
their own admission, must be regard-
ed by the council, and by all who
adhere to the hierarchical principle on
which the first six councils were con-
stituted, as destitute of any right to
a position above that of laymen.
Nevertheless, they are the heads and
teachers of large and respectable so-
cieties, equal in point of fact, in our
judgment, to those who call them-
selves bishops or presbyters in epis-
copally-govemed Protestant societies,
and therefore entitled to respect and
consideration. No doubt they would
receive all this were they to present
themselves at the council as repre-
sentatives of their religious societies.
Of course, a council cannot consent
to treat as open questions any mat-
ters already defined by previous coun-
cils, or enter into a controversial dis-
cussion of doctrines with men who,
like Dr. Gumming, would wish to go
there as champions of Protestantism.
220 Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Popes Letter.
The only attitude in which it would
be proper to appear at a council would
be that of persons asking for an ex-
planation of the Catholic doctrines,
and of the motives on which they are
based, which implies a disposition to
reconsider anew the grounds of the
original separation. That this dispo-
sition does not exist at present very
extensively we are well aware, and
cannot, therefore, expect that there
will be at the approaching council
any thing like a conference of the
heads of Protestantism with the Cath-
olic prelates. There may be other
councils, however, at no very distant
period, where this may take place
with very great advantage, and with
the happiest results in reuniting
all Christians within the one fold of
Christ's church It is something, how-
ever, to get from a great religious so-
ciety like the Presbyterian body of the
United States a formal statement of
the reasons wfty they remain separat-
ed from the Catholic Church, in the
shape of a letter to the pope. Such
a statement has very great interest
and great weight, and the document
before us is certainly far superior to
the encyclical of the Pan-Anglican
Synod, or the other manifestoes of a
similar kind which have been issued
from various Protestant assemblies.
The amiable editor of the Evangelist
compares it to " a hand of iron under
a velvet glove." We will venture,
however, until some stronger and
more authoritative hand shall be
stretched out to measure strength
with it, to submit our own, though a
small one, to its grasp, wearing a
glove of the same material. We do
this without fear and without ill-will,
though our remarks are only those of
a private individual, having no force
beyond the reason that is in them.
We do it the more readily, and with
greater interest, as the writer of this
article is the son of a former modera-
tor of one of these assemblies, and is
indebted to that respectable body for
some special prayers which it chari-
tably offered for his spiritual welfare.
The first and most striking feature
noticeable in the letter is the excul-
pation from heresy and schism which
it puts forward. Nothing could
show more clearly that the compilers
feel that there is a prima-facie case
against them. They are in tlie atti-
tude of men who have broken off
from the body of Christendom, sepa-
rated from the communion which
once included all Christians, and put
forth a doctrine special to themselves,
thus " condemned by their own judg-
ment," ♦ as St. Paul says is character-
istic of those who turn aside from
sound doctrine. We do not judge
any one individual among the Pres-
byterians to be a formal heretic or
schismatic. The authors of the sepa-
ration lived centuries ago, and men
of this generation have been placed
in their state of separation by the act
of their ancestors. We speak, there-
fore, only of material heresy and
schism, not in an offensive sense,
but from the necessity of being dis-
tinct and adhering to the phraseolo-
gy which the document before us
itself uses. We are obliged to say,
therefore, that the very exculpation it
presents is a proof of the existence of
that state of heresy and schism which
is denied. The fact of having de-
parted fi^m the doctrine and com-
munion in which the authors of Pres-
byterianism were educated, and which
is that of the great body of Christians
descending in unbroken continuity
from the past, is acknowledged. The
excuse given is, that the church had
erred, added to the faith, changed
the law, and was therefore herself
responsible. The very justification
which is made establishes the truth
of the charge. It establishes the fact
• EpisUo to Titos, Ui. ii.
Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to t/ie Pope's Letter, 221
that particular members of the church
set up a private doctrine and a pri-
vate organization against the Catho-
lic doctrine and communion, which is
precisely what is meant by heresy
and schism.
It is thus that a person who refuses
to submit to the judgment of the
church judges himself. So long as
he professes to submit to the church,
and disputes not the binding authori-
ty of her doctrines, but their proper
sense and meaning, his case is one for
adjudication, like that of Pelagius;
but as soon as he rejects the acknow-
ledged doctrine of the church, defined
by a competent tribimal, as erroneous,
he at once pronounces himself an
alien from the commonwealth, and by
his own sentence forfeits all the rights
of his citizenship in it. The Pres-
byterian judicatories act on this prin-
ciple. The test of heresy with them
is denial of the doctrines defined in
their confession of faith. The indivi-
dual, or even the congregation, is not
the final authority. The presbytery,
the synod, the general assembly, are
all legislative and judicial courts, de-
ciding questions of doctrine and dis-
cipline witli authority, and exacting
submission from each individual cler-
g)rman and layman as a condition
of church fellowship. They avow,
therefore, and act on the principle,
that the revolt of the individual
against church discipline is, ipso fa^to^
schism, and his revolt against church
doctrine, ipso facto heresy; so that by
his very declaration, that he is in the
right and the church in the wrong, he
judges himself as a schismatic or here-
tic. Yet they themselves in judging
their own refractory members have
given a far more signal example of
that self-judgment which St. Paul
speaks of. For they have acted in
the same manner toward the church
universal as their own condemned
members have acted toward them.
and have thus sentenced themselves
in pronouncing upon these their ec-
clesiastical censure.
This principle is capable of a more
amplified statement and application.
Heresy consists essentially in the de-
nial of a part of the Catholic faith,
coupled with the profession of the
remaining parts. It is an affirma-
tion and negation, in the same breath,
of die same principles. It is, there-
fore, self-judged, because the affirma-
tion which it makes in general terms
of the truth of the Catholic faith, and
of a greater or lesser number of the
distinct dogmas of the faith, con-
demns and contradicts the denial
which it makes of some one or more
particular doctrines of the same faith.
Moreover, every sect condemns all
the other errors condemned by the
church, except' its own ; so that, tak-
ing all heresies in the aggregate, they
condemn and destroy each other ; ac-
cording to the declaration of ho-
ly Scripture, nuntita est iniquitas sibt
— unrighteousness has proved false
to itself.
We find, therefore, that the spokes-
men of the Presbyterian assemblies
admit the obligation of Catholic
unity, profess their belief in the Ca-
tholic church and the Catholic faith,
and yet do not venture to assert that
the Presbyterian family is the Catho-
lic Church, its doctrine the Catholic
faith ; that it possesses unity in itself,
and that all those Christians who are
separated from it are bound to seek
admission into its fold. They take
what they implicitly admit to be an
exceptional, abnormal position ; they
profess themselves to be only a frag-
mentary portion of Christendom, and
excuse themselves for their isolation
on the plea that there is a chasm
separating them from the great mass
of Christians which they cannot pass.
When we examine the special points
made in this plea more closely, we
222 Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Popes Letter.
find that all the positive affirmations
of doctrine are affirmations of truths
held in common with the Catholic
Church, and that all the statements
peculiar to the authors of the docu-
ment are protests or negations. The
Trinity, Incarnation, Redemption,
etc., are palpably Catholic doctrines.
The Augustinian doctrines of sin,
grace, and predestination, so far as
they are the statements or defini-
tions of Catholic faith in opposition
to the heresy of Pelagius, are dogmas,
and so far as they are the opinions
of a school, are sound opinions,
though open to discussion. No Ca- '
tholic writer ever dreamed of censur-
ing them as heretical. The inspira-
tion and infallibility of the holy
Scriptures, the priesthood of all Chris-
tians, the right and duty of private
judgment, the illumination and in-
ward guidance of individual believers
by the Holy Spirit, are all sound Ca-
tholic doctrines, when properly ex-
plained and harmonized with other
doctrines. These are the principal posi-
tive statements of the document, and
they add nothing whatever in the
shape of new, living, constructive prin-
ciple of belief or organization to that
sum of truth which the Presbyterians
have received from the old tradition.
Although some of the negations of Ca-
tholic doctrine are put in a positive
form, yet it is only the mode of ex-
pression which is positive, while the
substance of the proposition is a ne-
gation. For mstance, the proposi-
tion that Scripture is the sole authority,
so far as it enunciates a truth which is
positive, declares the inspiration and
infallibility of the Scripture; but so far
as it goes beyond that declaration, is
really a negation of the authority of
the unwritten word, expressed in the
form of an affirmation that the Scrip-
ture is the sole authority. So, also,
the whole of what is peculiar to the
Presbyterian doctrine as distinguish-
ed fi-om the Catholic, in the affirma-
tion of the universal priesthood, the
rights of individual reason, the in-
ward light of the Holy Spirit, is de-
rived firom a negation of the hier-
archical and sacerdotal orders, the
authority of the church, and her in-
fallibility. Then follows a long list
of Catholic doctrines which are de-
nied, and which the Roman Church is
accused of having added to the an-
cient creed. We cannot be expected
to go into the details of these doc-
trines singly, for the purpose of prov-
ing that the church has defined and
. proposed them on sufficient motives.
There are plenty of books in which
the reverend gentlemen of the Pres-
byterian Church, and the intelligent
laymen who adhere to that com-
munion, can find the full and com-
plete statement, with the' proofs, of
every portion of Catholic doctrine
and discipline. For certain portions
of it, they need not look beyond the
bounds of Protestantism. The di-
vines of the Church of England, and
the controversial writers of the High-
Church party in the United States,
have proved the hierarchical principle,
the episcopal succession, the grace of
the sacraments, the real presence,
and other doctrines akin to these,
with solid arguments fix)m Scripture
and history which the advocates of
Presbyterianism have never been able
to refute. A section of the clergy
of another Presbyterian communion,
to wit, the German Reformed, have
been led by their study of Scripture
and the ancient authors to adopt and
advocate similar principles totally con-
trary to those of the reverend mode-
rators. They certainly cannot put
forth their statements, therefore, as
certain and evident facts or truths,
admitted by all who have studied the
Scriptures and ancient authors, even
among Protestants. Their reitera-
tion of them consequently establishcf
Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Pope's Letter, 223
nothing, proves nothing ; in no wise
can be alleged as a justification of
their position. It is a mere defining
of their position, which gives no new
information whatever to any person,
and therefore the discussion may
justly be relegated to the arena of
regular polemics.
So far as the reverend doctors have
made use of arguments, however, it
is proper that we should pay some
attention to these, and this they have
done in regard to a few points, al-
though with the brevity to which the
natmre of their document restricted
them.
(i.) Their first argument is against
theauthority of tradition. It is that,
by receiving the teachings of tradition
as of equal authority with the teach-
ings of Scripture, we incur the
condemnation pronounced by our
Lord against the Pharisees when he
said, " Ye make void the word of God
by your traditions^ The answer to
this is obvious. The traditions of the
Pharisees were private, human, recent
traditions, not derived fi*om the oral
teaching of Moses or other inspired
prophets, but firom the unauthorized
glosses or interpretations of the text
of the law, made by the rabbis and
scribes Exercising their own private
judgment. They were contrary to
the true sense of the law, subversive
of it, and maintained in opposition to
the authority of Jesus Christ, the di-
vinely commissioned interpreter and
judge of doctrine. What has this to
do with a tradition descending firom
the oral teaching of Jesus Christ and
the apostles, agreeing with, explain-
ing, and supplementing the teaching
of the Scripture ? The canon of the
New Testament is such a tradition,
and the Presbyterians have, conse-
quently, if their opinion is a true one,
incurred the condemnation of the
Lord by receiving it. That traditions
which are derived firom the pure,
original source of revelation are to be
received, is proved by the command-
ment of St. Paul to the Thessalonians
to " Stand firm : and hold the tradi-
tions which you have learned; whether
by word or our epistle,^** This is pre-
cisely what Catholics do. We hold
all that has been delivered to us
by the apostles, whether transmitted
through the Scriptures or through
tradition. Presbyterians reject apos-
tolic and Catholic tradition, but make
void the word of God ; that is, they
pervert or deny a great portion of the
doctrine revealed by Jesus Christ
through the apostles, by their own
human, unauthorized traditions.
Thus, they reject a number of the
books of the Old Testament declared
canonical by the same apostolic tra-
dition which fixes the canon of the
New Testament, by following the
tradition of the Jews. They follow,
in respect to divers other essential
points of doctrine as well as discipline,
the traditions of Luther and Calvin.
Practically, they are entirely under
the control of this human, modem
tradition, which is designated by the
reverend moderators as "the princi-
ples which prompted our ' ancestors,'
in the name of primitive Christianity,
and in defence of the *true faith,*
bravely to protest against the errors
and abuses which had been foisted
upon the church;" that is to say,
against Catholic and apostolic tra-
dition.
(2.) Their second argument is in
favor of the right of private judgment
— that is, according to their way of
understanding this right — against the
authority of the teaching church as
the final, supreme judge of doctrine.
The argument in brief is, that the
Scriptures address the individual
mind and conscience of every reader
in an authoritative manner, command-
ing him to search their pages, pro-
* a Tbeat. u. 14.
224 Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Pope's Letter,
mising him the divine illumination
to understand their meaning, holding
him responsible to God for the belief
and practice of their teachings, and
forbidding him to listen to any teach-
er who shall present to him any doc-
trine differing from that which they
contain. Suppose we grant all this.
What then? Presbyterianism gains
nothing. It cannot defend itself
against other forms of Protestantism.
It cannot establish its system either
of doctrine or discipline. Moreover,
an able, profound, biblical scholar,
such as is Dr. Pusey, for example,
will be able to prove from the Scrip-
ture the greater number of all those
Catholic doctrines against which
these divines protest as errors of the
Roman Church. Among these doc-
trines thus contained in Scripture,
and ascertainable even by one who
begins his search properly qualified
and disposed, but without any other
authority except private judgment to
direct him, are the authority of tradi-
tion and of the church. What now
is the individual to do ? The Scrip-
ture, as he supposed when he began
to search it, teaches the right and
duty of private judgment upon its
own contents, as the exclusive method
of learning the truths revealed from
heaven to men. He has followed
this method conscientiously, relying
on the promise of divine illumination
made to all sincere seekers after
truth, and he now finds himself re-
ferred to another authority, that of
the church. What is he to do now ?
Reject the Scriptures and the whole
system of positive Christianity as
inconsistent and self-contradictory?
The Presbyterian divines cannot
sanction this conclusion. Then he
must conclude that he had imper-
fectly apprehended what the Scrip-
tiu-es teach respecting the right and
duty of the individual to judge of
their true sense and meaning, and
must harmonize in some way their
teaching on this point with their
teaching on the other point, namely,
the authority of the church. This is
the way in which many have reached
the church by the road of private
judgment They have opened and
searched the Scriptures, assuming at
the outset that they are the inspired
word of God, addressed to them as
individuals and intelligible to their
own private reason, assisted by grace,
without any extrinsic aid or interpre-
ter. The fact that they have been
able to reach the same knowledge of
their true sense which the Catholic
Church imparts to her children in a
shorter way, is no proof, however,
that this is the ordinary way in which
the Lord intended that men should
gain this knowledge. \Ve deny to-
tally that it is. It is very easy to
assume the Scriptures in arguing with
Catholics who affirm their authority.
We deny, however, that the assump-
tion is justifiable on Protestant princi-
ples. When the reverend doctors
quietly say, " We open the Scrip-
tures," we meet them at once with a
denial of their logical right to assert
that there are any Scriptures to be
opened. If the word of God is mani-
fested to each individual directly
through a book, without human
media, that book must be a miracu-
lous work of God created by him im-
mediately, and authenticated by some
manifest sign from heaven. The
Bible is not such a book. It is not a
book at all, in the strict sense of the
word. It is a collection of writings
made by the church, authenticated as
divine by her authority, and therefore
always presupposing her existence
and the existence of that faith and
those laws by which she is constituted
the church. To say that the exhor-
tations of the sacred books of Scrip-
ture are addressed to each individual
singly, without reference to the church
r
Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Popes Letter, 22$
of which he is a member or of the
doctrine which she teaches, is about
as sensible as to say that St. Paul's
direction to " salute Andronicus and
Junias " was directed to the modera-
tors of the two assemblies.
If all explicit teaching of the reveal-
ed truths were contained in the Scrip-
ture, exclusively, and sufficiently for
the immediate instruction of all the
^thful, the Scripture would clearly
and distinctly affirm this, and furnish
us with a description of itself or
canon specifying the books which are
inspired, duly authenticated by St.
John, the last of the apostles. It
does nothing of the kind, and the
moderators are forced to allude to
certain indirect references which are
made to the authority of the Scrip-
ture in some of the sacred books.
These indirect statements are not
without their value as proofs of the
Catholic doctrine of inspiration, but
the}' by no means support the posi-
tion of tlie moderators. Our Lord
directs the unbelieving Jews to search
the Scriptures of the Old Testament,
because they testify of him, the living
teacher, as the Vicar of Christ now
points to the pages of the New Testa-
ment, where Protestants may find the
proofs of his divine commission and
authority. St. Timothy is commend-
ed as having studied the same Scrip-
tures of the old law, which made
him **wise unto salvation" by pre-
paring him to receive the oral teach-
ing of St. Paul. St. Peter incidentally
informs us that the epistles of St. Paul
are a p)ortion of the inspired Scripture,
when he gives the caution to all who
read them that in them *^are sonie
things hard to be understood, which the
unlearned and ututable wrest, as also
the other Scriptures, to their ownperdi-
^on^* All this is in perfect harmony
with the teachings of the Catholic
Church, as any one may see without
♦ 3 Peter Hi. 16.
vol- X. — 15
our taking the trouble to develop the
matter any further.
The promise of the Holy Spirit to
the faithful generally is not in the
least contrary to the doctrine of the
infallibility of the teaching church,
and the duty of obeying its decisions.
It is a necessary condition to the
participation in this light of the Holy
Spirit that an individual should be a
member of the body of Christ — the
church — in which the Spirit resides.
He must be instructed and baptized
in the faith, the true doctrine must be
given to him, the key to the sense of
the sacred writings must be furnished
him, the criterion of discernment be-
tween true and false interpretations of
the revelation of Christ must exist in
his mind, in order that he may exer-
cise his judgment rightly. Under
these conditions, the private Christian
can possess the faith in himself in
such a way that he needs no man to
tell him what the true doctrine of
Christ is, and detects at once the
heresy of any false teacher, even
though he be a priest or bishop, who •
attempts to preach his own new and
private opinions contrary to th«;
Catholic faith. This is that supemac
tural, Catholic instinct pervading thfi
church and keeping the faithful loyal'
to their religion, under the longest
and bloodiest persecutions, like those
which the Irish and the Poles have
endured with such martyr-like com
stancy. This " unction from the Holy
One " was in the fathers of the first
six councils, by the confession of the
reverend doctors themselves, and in
.the universal church which adhered
to the true faith attacked by the
Arian, Nestorian, and Monophysite
heretics. And if so, this same unction
must have enabled them to- under,
stand the true doctrine of the apostles
on all other points of the Christian
faith, as well as on the Trinity and!
Incarnation. If this unction is in all I
226 Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Pope's Letter.
true Christians, then they must all
believe alike, in all ages and all
places. \Vhy, then, do the Presbyte-
rian divines reject the doctrines of the
fathers of the first six centuries, and
the doctrines of all Christendom dur-
ing these and subsequent centuries,
until the revolution of the sixteenth
century, concerning the sacraments,
the priesthood, and other matters of
the most essential character ?
(3.) The third argument is, that the
doctrine of a human priesthood im-
plies a denial of the priesthood of
Jesus Christ, or of its sufficiency. We
are surprised to see such manifestly
inconsequent reasoning in a document
coming fi'om a body of such high re-
pute for ability and learning as the
Presbyterian clergy. The affirmation
that the Bible is the word of God im-
plies, then, a rejection of Jesus Christ
as the Word of God, or a denial of
his sufficiency. The recognition of
human teachers and pastors implies,
then, the rejection of Jesus Christ as
the teacher and pastor, or the denial
of his sufficiency. What, then, are
the i)s^ thousand Presbyterian pas-
tors but so many usurpers of the titles
and offices of Jesus Christ ? Christ
and the Holy Spirit are sufficient for
each man without any human inter-
vention. Away, then, with your
church, your sacraments, your assem-
blies, your ministers, your confession
of faith, your bibles. Every man is
enlightened by the Holy Spirit, and
has unrestricted access to God
through Jesus Christ, as the fanatics
said in the time of Luther, who had
no argument by which he could refute
them, and was forced to call on the
princes to use the more efficacious
weapon of the sword, and to sweep
away the too consequent but most
unfortunate imitators of his own ex-
ample by a deluge of blood.
(4.) The fourth argument is, that
there can be no apostolic succession
in the church, because bishops do
not possess the gifts and perform the
miracles of the apostles. This argu-
ment merely proves that the apostles
can have no successors in that which
was peculiar to themselves as founders
of the church, or fathers in the spiri-
tual order of the line of succession.
They alone received immediately from
Jesus Christ the revelation of Chris-
tian faith and Christian law. Their
successors received this deposit from
their hands without any power to add
to it or take from it. There is no ne-
cessity that the successors of the
apostles should receive by a new reve-
lation that which they have received
from the apostles themselves by tradi-
tion. They need not the gifts neces-
sary to originate, but only those ne-
cessary to preserve and continue the
work of Christ, committed to the
apostles. It is, therefore, no argu-
ment against the infallibility of the
episcopate in preserinng, proclaiming,
explaining, or protecting against con-
trary errors the deposit of faith re-
ceived from the apostles, to say that
it lacks the immediate inspiration ne-
cessary to an infallible proclamation
of revealed truths at first hand. The
miracles wrought by the apostles as
signs of their apostleship authenticate
this revelation as taught by their suc-
cessors to the end of time, and seal
the credentials of the episcopal line
which they founded throughout its
entire length without any new mira-
cles. As to the fact of the establish-
ment of the hierarchy containing the
three distinct grades of bishop, priest.
and deacon, deriving its power throuj^h
episcopal ordination from the apostles,
it is enough to refer to the learned
works of Protestant authors who have
fully proved it. Catholic authors ^0
not teach that bishops succeed to the
extraordinary apostolic office of the
apostles, but only to their episcoi)al
office. We hold that St. Peter alone
Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Popes Letter, 227
has successors to the plenitude of his
apostolic power, with the reservation
of so much as only the founder of the
line could or need exercise. To this
supremacy of the successor of St.
Peter the divines object still more
strongly than to the power of the
episcopate, that it substitutes the pope
in the place of Jesus Christ. It is
ver)' hard to find by what logical pro-
cess this conclusion is reached. The
divines admit that St. Peter and the
apostles were the infallible teachers
and rulers of the church. If their
argument is sound, they cannot ad-
mit this without substituting the apos-
tles in the place of Jesus Christ. If
the church could be governed by a
human, infallible authority for half a
century, without prejudice to the
supreme authority of Jesus Christ, it
could be governed for an indefinite
number of centuries in the same way,
without any such prejudice. It is
quite irrelevant to this side of the
question whether this authority is
exercised by one or by several, over
local churches or over the church of
the whole world, Christ is the head
of all particular churches as well as
of the church universal. If it is com-
patible with this headship of Christ
that a man should be the pastor of a
single congregation, it is quite as much
so that he should be a pastor over a
diocese, over a province, over a na-
tion, over a collection of nations, or
over the whole world. The reverend
doctors have therefore confused the
i«ue. It is simply a question of fact
as to what constitution Jesus Christ
actually gave the church, and what
powers he delegated to his ministers.
The Presbyterians, on their own prin-
ciples, are bound to prove from the
New Testament alone that our Lord
did not give the church an episcopal
and papal constitution, but did give
it a Presby'terian polity. When they
i&ade their case out against the Epis-
copalian divines on the one side, and
against such Catholic authors as Arch-
bishop Kenrick, Mr. Allies, F. Bottal-
la, and F. Weninger, on the other, it
will be time to listen to them, but not
sooner.
We have done with the arguments
of the reverend doctors, but we can-
not withhold an expression of surprise
at the signs of the divine sanction to
their principles which they appeal to,
apparently in Heu of the miracles
which are wanting, or of the four
marks by which the church used to
be known in the old times. That
men believing in total depravity and
election should appeal to the tempo-
ral prosperity of nations — the mass of
whom, on their principles, are hope-
lessly doomed to everlasting fire, there
to be tormented for ever, even for
those actions which the world calls
virtuous and brilliant — ^as a proof of
the divine favor, is somewhat strange.
We wonder they did not add, " Behold
we are rich and increased in goods ;
in this great capital where we are as-
sembled, our churches are principally
in the upper portion of the city, hand-
somely carpeted, richly cushioned, and
principally frequented by the wealthier
classes. Indeed, we are the church
both of the hlite and of the elect."
We have done with the arguments
by which the reverend doctors sustain
their protest against the Poman
Church, and will devote the rest of
our space to a consideration of those
by which they sustain their claim to
be recognized as orthodox. Catholic
Christians. Their line of argument
is certainly remarkable, and must
strike many of their readers with
surprise. It is an attempt to take the
position held by the Catholic Church
during the first five or six centuries, to
identify their cause with that of the
early fathers and councils, to shelter
themselves under the aegis of a Catho-
lic creed, to use Catholic language,
228 Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Popes Letter,
appropriate the Catholic name, and
ntiake profession of adhering to Catho-
lic unity and the communion of the
Catholic Church. There must be a
wonderful charm and power about
this word when even Presbyterians
are compelled to bow before its ma-
jesty, and to acknowledge that their
cause is lost if they cannot indicate
their right to inherit and blazon on
their escutcheon this glorious, world-
subduing tide. " The name itself of
Catholic keeps me," says St. Augus-
tine, the favorite doctor of the Pres-
byterians. The divines of the assem-
blies are, therefore, compelled by the
very attitude they have taken, in
justifying themselves as orthodox be-
lievers before the holy see, to claim
that appellation which was the distinc-
tive mark and sign of that ancient
body whose faith is acknowledged by
both sides as the standard and crite-
rion of orthodoxy. This language is,
however, evidently only adopted for
the occasion. It is not the natural,
ordinary phraseology of Presbyterians,
who are not accustomed to teach and
preach to their own adherents the ne-
cessity of Catholic unity, communion in
the Catholic Church, agreement with
the first six councils, or to call their
doctrine the Catholic faith. These
words must have a definite meaning.
They are not mere phrases or pure
synonyms of other words equally sig-
nificant of the same ideas. Catholic
is not merely another name for true,
or scriptural, or apostolic. It will not
do for one to give out a system of
doctrine which he has constructed by
his own private judgment upon the
Scripture, or learned by a private illu-
mination, or taken from the writings
of a particular set of religious teachers,
and call it Catholic because he thinks
it is proved to be true, and ought to
be universally received. The term
Catholic includes in its signification
completeness and integrity of truth ;
but its specific sense is concrete, visi-
ble universality of outward profession,
the quod semper^ quod ubique, quod
ab omnibus^ of Vincent of Lerins.
This universality in time and space is
the mark and outward manifestation
of the integral, divine truth, and those
who accept it and proclaim it as such
must necessarily hold that the inde-
fectibility of the visible church is
guaranteed by Almighty God. It is
unmeaning for those who hold that
the body of the visible church, as
organized under its legitimate pastors,
can apostatize from the pure faith of
the gospel, and the line of true be-
lievers be continued invisibly, or in a
small, separated section of professed
Christians, to make use of the word
Catholic, or pretend to agree with
the fathers of the first six centuries
in their profession of Cathohcity as
opposed to heresy. The marks of the
church, unity, sanctity, catholicity,
and apostolicity, if they are really
marks, as declared by all who profess
to be Catholics in the genuine, natu-
ral, commonly accepted sense of the
word, must be so burnt into the object
they are intended to mark that they
are ineffaceable and easily read and
known by all men. The young
Mohican hero Uncas was recognized
by the aged Indian chief and prophet
Tamenund as the legitimate heir of
the noblest and most royal line of the
northern sachems, by the figure of
its sacred emblem, the tortoise, tatooed
upon his breast. The name Catholic
is, as it were, the totem which marks a
peculiar ecclesiastical race, descended
from the ancient fathers, indelibly
stamped upon its breast as the sure
sign of its legitimacy. It is in vain,
therefore, that the Presbyterian doc-
tors vaunt their acceptance of the
Catholic symbol, the Apostles* Creed,
including as one of its essential arti-
cles, " I believe the holy, Catholic
Church." They do not believe this
Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Popes Letter, 229
article in the Catholic sense, as under-
stood by the whole ancient church,
namely, as designating a well-known,
specific, visible body, and implying
a full belief of all the doctrines
authoritatively proclaimed by that
body. Among a thousand others
we take one text of St. Augustine,
which we have hit upon at random,
expressing this sense : " Catholica
fides est autem haec — constitutam ab
illo raatrem ecclesiam, quae Catholica
dicitur, ex eo quia universaliter per-
fecta est, et in nullo claudicat, et per
totum orbem diffusa est" " The Ca-
tholic faith is this — ^that the mother
dhurch was constituted by him, which
is called Catholic, because it is uni-
versally perfect, and is diffused through
the whole world."* Moreover, the
profession in general terms of holding
the Catholic faith, or the avowal even
of a creed completely orthodox, avails
nothing to those who are outside the
Catholic communion, and make their
orthodox profession a pretext for
keeping up a separate organization
in opposition to the legitimate pastors.
All die ancient separatists made aloud
outcry that they were true, genuine
Catholics. The modem ones, from
the Greeks to the Presbyterians, imi-
tate their example. There is a power
residing in that name which all ac-
knowledge. They feel that their
daim to be truly apostolic, orthodox
diurches, holding the pure doctrine
and order established by the apostles
and apostolic men, will be utterly de-
molished if they yield the tide to
Catholicity. Hence they have tried
to arrogate it to themselves, and
to affix nicknames to the Catholic
Church. But their efforts have always
been in vain. When they are divested
of the disguises and borrowed raiment
which they throw around their own
proper fonn, the sign on their breast is
* De GcnM ad Litteram. Op. Impu Cap. i,
H'aad 4.
wanting, and none of the black paint
widi which they strive to smear it
over can mar or cancel the indelible
imprint which the numberless lan-
cets of persecution have cut and
graven into the very flesh of the ma-
jestic figure of the true body of the
Son of God. Hear once more St.
Augustine: "The Christian religion
must be held by us, and the commu-
nion of that church which is Catholic,
and is called Catholic, not only by its
own members, but also by all its ene-
mies. For, whether they will or no,
the very heretics themselves and the
offepring of schisms, when they talk
not with their own friends, but with
people outside, call the Catholic
Church nothing else but Catholic.
For they cannot be understood unless
they designate her by that name by
which she is denominated by the whole
world."*
The profession of agreement with
the first six councils is equally falla-
cious. Why the first six and not the
last twelve ? The Catholic Church
receives all the eighteen councils with
equal veneration, and is now prepar-
ing herself to celebrate the nineteenth,
which will have equal authority with
the first, because the fathers will be
equally congregated together in die
Holy Ghost, with the presence of
Christ in the midst of them, and the
inexhaustible virtue of his promise,
Lo ! I am with you always , even to
the consummation of the world. The
separated bodies of Christians are
ranged in an ascending series of pro-
testers against these councils, who re-
ject a greater or lesser number accord-
ing to the date or reason of the judg-
ment pronounced in them against
their several errors. The Greeks re-
ject all but the first seven, the ortho-
dox Protestants all but sbc ; the Mo-
nothelites rejected the sixth, the Euty-
chians the fourth, the Nestorians die
• De Vcr. ReL v. a.
230 Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Popes Lettet,
third, the Macedonians the second,
the Arians the first, in which they are
followed by the modem Unitarians.
It is evident enough that there is a
principle of consangumity binding
together all these families, from those
who reject the Council of Nice to
those who repudiate the Council of
the Vatican. The Catholic Church
is marked by the unbroken continuity
of oecumenical councils. The other
churches reject as many of these
councils as seems good in their eyes,
and accept the decisions of the others
because they are in accordance with
their own opinions. They do not
submit to the councils ; they judge
them, and ratify such of them as they
approve. The profession made by
the Presbyterian doctors of receiving
six councils amounts, therefore, to
nothing as a plea in defence of their
orthodoxy. Upon their own prin-
ciple, they might just as rightfully re-
ject these six councils as the seventh.
They really reject and deny their
authority as councils, they repudiate
the very principle on which they
were constituted, and affirm their own
supreme right to judge. They acknow-
ledge the truth of the doctrines which
the}- defined ; but it is purely on the
ground that these doctrines agree
with their own private opinions re-
specting the sense of the New Testa-
ment. The whole of this portion of
the letter, in which the Presbyterian
doctors attempt to use Catholic
phraseology, is evidently nothmg but
a piece of special pleading. They
do not venture the assertion that the
church of the period of the six coun-
cils — that is, the three centuries and a
half between the years 325 and 680—
was identical in doctrine or discipline
with the Presbyterian Church of the
United States, which they represent.
Nevertheless, they seem to wish to
leave the impression on the minds of
their readers tliat the fathers, the
councils, the common belief and prac-
tice of those ages sustain their cause.
The editorial comment in the Einin-
gelist boldly asserts that such is the
case. The small number of scholars
well read in patristic theology who
are found among the Presbyterian
clergy will probably not risk their re-
putation for learning or put at hazard
the success of their cause by any such
rash statement As a general rule,
however, the Presbyterian clergy and
theological students, though well-
educated scholars in the college cur-
riculum and certain special profes-
sional branches taught at the semina-
ries, have not turned their attention
to ancient Christian history and litera-
ture. They know much more about
Turretin than they do about St Au-
gustine. It is quite probable, therefore,
that a very general impression pre-
vails among them, that they are raJly
on the whole in conformity with the
doctrine of the great fathers of the
ancient church. This is a delusion
which a little study of the original
works of the fathers themselves would
soon dissipate. We could not d^
sure any thing more efficacious for this
purpose than the study of St Augus-
tine, called by Luther the greatest
teacher whom God had given to the
church since the days of the apostles,
and revered in a most remarkable way
by all those who follow the Lutheran
and Calvinistic confessions.* The
deeply learned men and independent
thinkers among Protestants under-
stand this well, and the notion of the
half-learned sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries that Protestantism can take
•
its stand on the era of the fint «^
councils is a mere remnant of roist
that hangs for a while over portions
of the landscape, but is destined soon
• The reader is refiened to a treatise entitled i»#*^
tn St. AugHstim, which is published in *i^
volume as the PrMcm* cf tkt Agt^ at the o»» "
this magazine.
Reply of the Presbyterian Assemblies to the Popes Letter, 23 1
to disappear before advancing light.
St. Augustine is diametrically oppos-
ed to the first principle of Presbyterian-
ism and all Protestantism, that prin-
ciple which is the dominant idea of
the Presbyterian reply to the Pope.
He says, " Non crederem Evan-
gelio nisi me commoveret Ecclesias
Catholicas auctoritas," " I would not
believe the gospel unless the author-
ity of the Catholic Church moved me
to do it."* Prof. Reuss, of the Pro-
testant theological faculty in the
University of Strasburg, says that
"6t Augustine's principles come to
their result in this famous saying, dia-
metrically opposed to the fundamental
principle of all Protestant theology."!
Julius Miiller, another professor in
the same faculty, says of all the fa-
thers : " This must be openly admitted
by every unprejudiced historical in-
vestigation, that not merely the eccle-
siastical theology of the middle ages,
but even the patristic theology of the
fourth, fifth, and sucth centuries, are,
upon every point that is a matter
of dispute between Catholicism and
Protestantism, more on the side of the
former than of the latter."t
Presbyterians cannot make any
thing by an appeal from the Council
of Trent to the first six councils.
They have no connection either by
continuity of thought or succession
with historical Christianity, and their
only resource is to maintain that the
trae interpretation of the gospel,
which was lost before the Council of
Nice assembled under the auspices of
Constantine, has been restored by
Calvin, Luther, and Knox. How
they can account fbr the fact that the
church which, on their theory, had
subverted the apostolic church, was
imening in its definitions of the great
dogmas of the Trinity, Incarnation,
* Con. Ep. Manich. L 6. t Sur Le Canon, p. 169.
t Quoted by Ddllinger. Church and Churches p.
«98.
Original Sin, and Grace, is only known
to themselves. It is only by a happy
inconsistency that orthodox Protes-
tants have preserved that portion of
the CathoHc faith which they have
received by tradition from their an-
cestors. The true Protestant prin-
ciple of individualism necessarily
tends to master the contrary prin-
ciple of faith in the minds of Pro-
testants, and to produce the doubt, the
denial, the hostility to all positive
dogmas which marks the most ad-
vanced rationalism. All this was
working in Luther himself, whose
brain contained the seeds of the bitter
fruit which has ripened in the minds
of his followers in our day. He him-
self was the prey of doubt, and gave
utterance to the strongest expression
concerning the absurdity of the prin-
cipal doctrines of his own system.*
Thrown upon the discussion of what
the Scripture is, and what it means,
with nothing to appeal to but private
judgment, Presbyterianism, or any
other form of Protestantism, has no-
thing to look forward to but an end-
less shock and collision of conflicting
opinions, which can have no other
effect than the resolution of the whole
mass into its component atoms.
We have concluded our remarks
upon the reply of the Presbyterian
moderators to the pope's letter. While
we have been forced to point out dis-
tinctly that the principle of its protest
against the doctrine and authority of
the Roman Church is totally subver-
sive of all faith, yet we willingly ac-
knowledge that some of the most
sacred and fundamental dogmas of
faith are held and professed by the
respectable bodies in whose name it
was written. Their doctrine is like a
superb ancient torso to which plaster
limbs ani head have been added.
Although their principle is equally
• See Audin*8 Life 0/ Luther^ vol. u. p. 418, where
reiereQces and quotatioos are given.
232
A Hero, or a Heroine?
destructive of all faith with that of
the Arians, yet we by no means re-
gard them in the same light. The
authors of heresies who mutilate the
faith are very different from those who
receive and hold with reverence this
mutilated faith. Their intellectual and
moral worth, their philanthropy and
zeal for God, the value of many most
excellent works which they have writ-
ten in defence of the divine revelation,
we fully appreciate. That great num-
bers have been and are in the spirit-
ual communion of the Catholic Church
we sincerely hope. We desire that the
schism which has separated them from
our visible communion may be healed,
not only for their own spiritual good,
but also that the Catholic Church in
the United States may be strength-
ened by the accession of that intel-
lectual and religious vigor which such
a great mass of baptized Christians
contains in itself. Above all things, we
desire that all who acknowledge our
Lord Jesus Christ as their Lord and
Sovereign should be united in mind,
and heart, and effort, in order that his
universal kingdom over the nations
of the earth may be established as
speedily and as completely as pos-
sible.
A HERO, OR A HEROINE?
CHAPTER I.
A HERO.
" You say he is handsome ?"
" No ; I said he was nice-looking,
and gentlemanly, as of course Philip*s
cousin would be. But you know I
judge only from a photograph."
" How vain you are of your lover,
Jessie ! You would be just as proud
•of him if he had not his handsome
f face, of course ?"
" Of course I would."
" I will not marry a handsome
man ! However, tell me some more
about the cousin. Why should he
*bury himself at Shellbeach ? I
• should think a man of any aspiration
•could not endure such a contracted
life. I suppose he is as gossiping
and weak-minded as a country minis-
ter."
" My dear Margaret !"
" I know you think me uncharita-
ble. The truth is, men exasperate me;
and then remember I am twenty-five
and not engaged."
" You have no one to blame except
yourself."
" I don't know about that. Is it
my fault that young men are all
alike, and inexpressibly wearisome ?
Seriously, I am tired of being Miss
Lester, and mean to change my con-
dition. Why do you look at me in
that peculiar manner ?"
" I was wondering how you would
suit the doctor."
" Does he want to be suited ?"
" I should think so, from his let-
ter."
" Jessie, give it to me this moment
I must see it."
" I will not give it to you. I will
read you something he says. No,
you are not to look over my shoul-
der; sit down peaceably, or else I
shall put the letter in my pocket."
" Why Jessie, what is the matter
with you ? I never saw you so dig-
nified in all my life. I suppose the
A Hero, or a Heroine?
233
letter is all about Philip, and that is
why you choose to keep it to your-
self. Well, here I am, meek as a
lamb, actually submitting to you. It
is too absurd !"
With these words, Margaret, who
had seated herself on a sofa near
her friend, jumped up, seized the
letter and tore it open, while Jes-
sie held out her hands imploringly,
but did not offer to resist her impetu-
ous companion. Margaret glanced
at the first two pages.
" Philip, Philip. Don*t be alarmed ;
I would not be hired to read it. Let
me see ; what is this ? * Why was not
I fortunate enough to have you my-
self?' Aha! you have two irons in
the fire, you artful little creature ?"
" Don't be silly, Margaret, but read
on."
" I don't know about this ; I shall
not scruple to warn Philip, if you
are getting yourself into trouble.
AVhat comes next ? * But since so
charming a companion is beyond my
reach, cannot you undertake to find
me some one as much like you as
possible, or at least just as nice, who
would not be afraid of a quiet, hard-
working life with a poor doctor, in
the dullest of country towns ? A
sweet temper is, of course, the first re-
quirement ; moderate personal attrac-
tions; some sense and experience,
and a litde money for herself. Of
course I want a great many more
things, but these will do for the pre-
sent. So if you know of a young
woman, strong and healthy — to think
that a doctor should have almost for-
gotten those important items ! — send
her down here, will you? and I will
marry her on the spot* Well, I will
not read any more of your letter,
unless there are any more of this
modest man's requirements. But se-
riously, Jessie, I think I would do
very well for him, and you may write
and tell him I am coming."
" Margaret, of course you are in
fun ? How can you look so sober ?
You would not surely mean any thing
so improper."
" I am in very earnest, and really
it is quite refreshing to be so. I am
tired out with my third season of
balls, operas, Germans, and all that
kind of nonsense, and I would like
to see a little of real life. I have
not quite made up my mind what I
will do ; but I will go up-stairs for an
hour, and then I will tell you what
to write to the doctor. My good
old aunty shall be favored with a
long visit from her niece, whom she
has not seen for five years; and in
the mean time, you are not to say one
word to your mother or to any one
else. Do you hear, Jessie? Come,
promise me."
The promise was given, and Jessie
was left in great perplexity for near-
ly two hours, when a message was
brought her that Miss Lester would
be glad to see her up-stairs. She
found her friend at a little writing-
table, in a sort of boudoir between
their rooms, where the girls used to
work and read in the mornings, and
receive calls from their intimate
friends.
" There !" said Margaret, rising as
she entered ; " sit down there, Jessie,
and read what I have written; you
are to copy it in your answer to the
doctor's letter. Read it aloud to me ;
I want to hear how it sounds."
Jessie read as follows :
II
I highly approve of your wish to mar-
ry, and think I can help you in the matter. I
have some one in my mind that comes pret-
ty well up to your different requirements —
at least those you have specified; for of
course I cannot pretend to answer for the
* great many more things * which you want,
but have not mentioned. Moreover, this
young woman is a dear friend of mine, and
is willing to marry, if she can be satisfied.
She says she will go to Shellbeach and stay
with a relation, in order to see and to b^
234
A Hero^ or a Heroinef
seen, on condition that you will be at her
dbposal to a reasonable degree during her
visit, which she will limit to six months,
and that, at the end of that time, you will
write her a true statement of how 3^00
stand afiected toward her. On her part,
she will promise to marry you, if by that
time you both desire it I may as well tell
you that her name is Margaret Lester, and
that she will stay with old Miss Spelman,
Mrith whom you are on such friendly terms.
This whole matter, you will understand, is
to rest between you, Miss Lester, and my-
selC"
Jessie was too much accustomed
to her friend's eccentricities to be
very much astonished by this unex-
pected termination to their morning's
conversation. She disapproved, how-
ever, of the whole affair, and remon-
strated as strongly as she dared ; but
she had grown to defer to Margaret's
stronger will, and now felt it impossible
to oppose her. " Besides," as Margaret
said, "what could be more natural
than that she should go to stay with
old Aunt Selina ? It was only what
she ought to have done before."
And, to crown all, Jessie was inform-
ed that a letter had been already
written and sent to Miss Spelman,
and Margaret intended to go, at any
rate.
The discussion lasted some time,
and ended by Jessie's tmwillingly
placing herself at the desk and writ-
ing a letter, which, though it contain-
ed the exact words of the copy given
above, also enlarged, in Jessie's own
affectionate language, on her friend's
good qualities, attractions, and popu-
larity, and had nearly alluded to the
very handsome income, which would
so far exceed the doctor's not unrea-
sonable demand. But that Margaret
cut short ; it was enough, she said, that
he should believe her to have a little
pin-money; for of course he would
expect to support the family, if he
had any spirit, and if he had not, she
would have nothing to do with him.
Poor Jessie groaned over Margaret's
dowmight speeches, but did not at-
tempt to change her decision. The
letter was at last sealed and sent, and
Jessie could only wonder at Marga-
ret's high spirits for the rest of the
day. She had never looked hand-
somer, <x been more amusing, or
played more finely than on that eve-
ning, when Mrs. Edgar gave a little
party. She was so kind to the young
men, that they all were charmed with
her and with themselves, and quite
expanded tmder the warmth of her
bright smiles.
Jessie, on the contrary, was pre-
occupied and distressed. She felt un-
comfortable at what she had done, at
the thought of the secret she was
keeping from her mother, and trou-
bled when she remembered the ap-
proaching separation from her friend.
How she wished Margaret were not
so hard to please! Why could she
not Uke that pleasant Mr. Lothrop,
who was so handsome, so rich, and
who would so gladly have availed
himself of the smallest encourage-
ment to make her an offer? How
kindly she smiled on him to-night!
Why couldn't she be satisfied with
pleasing him? And then what was
the chance that this fastidious giri
would take a fancy to Dr. James,,
whom, though she had never seen,
she believed to be plain and unat-
tractive? What could come of it,
except trouble for the poor man ?
Of coiuse he would fall in love with
Margaret, while she would think of
nothing but amusing herself. " And
I shall have been the instrument of
bringing disappointment and imhap-
piness to Philip's cousin and dearest
friend."
All these thoughts kept Jessie in a
very unenviable state of mind during
the evening, and she was thankful
when she could escape to her own
room, and write a long letter, before
going to bed, to her absent lover; of
A Hero, or a Heroine f
235
course not disclosing Margaret's se-
cret, but disburdening her mind of
many anxieties on her friend's ac-
count.
While the answers to the letters
written in so impulsive a manner are
being expected with some impa-
tience, a few words should be said
on the history and circumstances of
Margaret Lester, about whom a good
deal is to be written in these pages.
CHAPTER II.
PRELIMINARY.
Margaret's mother died when she
was about fourteen years old, and her
father, unwilling to toke the direction
of his daughter's education, placed
her at an excellent boarding-school,
where no expense was spared to give
her every advantage, and where, be-
ing perfectly happy, she remained un-
til she was nineteen. It was at this
school that she formed the friendship
with Jessie Edgar which was after-
ward to be so great a benefit to her.
Jessie was the second daughter of a
wealthy New York family, and it
was at her home that Margaret pass-
ed her first Christmas vacation, and
all her succeeding holidays.
Jessie's gentle, yielding nature
found great enjoyment in Margaret's
boldness and self-reliance, and Mar-
garet, who began by protecting and
supporting the other's timidity and
shyness, ended by heartily admiring
and loving her sweet and unselfish
room-mate. They became ** insepa-
rables," in school-girl phrase, and
when school-days were over, and Mr.
Lester thought that the best comple-
tion to his daughter's education would
be a little travelling, Jessie's mother
consented to her accompanying her
dear fiiend. For two years they
visited beautiftil places together, and
iSdt their friendship drawn more close-
ly, as their sympathies became en-
larged.
But this happy experience came to
a sudden and sorrowful end. Mr,
Lester had a dreadful fall while they
were coming down a mountain, and,
after lingering a few weeks in extreme
suffering, died, leaving the two girls
quite alone in a foreign land. They
had a sad journey home; he had
been the life and soul of their exp>edi-
tion, and, having travelled a good
deal before, had been able to be the
pleasantest kind of guide for them.
It had been hard to prevail on Mar-
garet to leave the Swiss town where
he lay buried in the litde grave-
yard; but Jessie's love prevailed,
and they came safely back together
to Mrs. Edgar's hospitable house.
Once there, the kind fiiends would
not let Margaret think of leaving
them, and she had grown to consider
the pleasant house almost as her own
home.
It was long before she recovered
her high spirits, but at twenty-three
she was induced to go into society
with Jessie, who had waited for her.
She was, from every point of view, a
desirable match — young, rich, and
fine-looking ; gay and good-humored.
Pleased with herself and her surround-
ings, she thoroughly enjoyed her first
season, and was unmistakably a
belle. The next year, however, was
a disappointment ; there was a same-
ness in her life and amusements that
became irritating to her. Jessie was
engaged to be married, and Marga-
ret found herself jealous of her
fiiend's divided confidence. But,
though she said to Jessie that she
would Uke to follow her example,
" to be able to sympathize with lov-
ers' rhapsodies," like the princess in
the fairy-tale, she found fault with all
her admirers; criticised them, nick-
named them, and discouraged their
attentions as soon as these became
236
A Hero, or a Heroine?
exclusive. A very gay summer at a
fashionable watering-place followed
this wearisome winter, and Marga-
ret entered upon her third season
disposed for any thing but enjoy-
ment. No one who saw her in so-
ciety would have guessed her real
character. High-spirited, gay, liking
to astonish and slightly shock her
friends by her behavior, a littie of
what is termed " a trainer," there lay
underneath this careless exterior a
depth of real sentiment that only one
or two people whom she truly loved
were aware of. To be loved for her-
self, and to love, were her aspirations.
First, she was perfectly aware of
her own attractions, and believed she
could have almost any man of her
acquaintance, if she should choose to
make herself agreeable to him ; but
she could not believe in any one's
disinterested attachment to her.
"They all know I am rich," she
would say to Jessie ; " they would not
take me and poverty. Now, I would
be glad, if I were poor, to marry a
poor man; then I could believe in
his love, and we could have some
trials to bear together."
Secondly, she earnestly wished to
love; but this, with her, meant a
great deal. She wanted to look up
to some one, to honor and believe in
him ; she thought of this much more
than of the sentiment ; for she knew
she should find that with the rest.
She was tired of taking the lead, and
of having her own way. How glad-
ly would she submit herself to a noble
guide ! She imagined herself almost
as a queen stepping down from her
throne, resigning sceptre and authori-
ty, and saying, with Miss Procter,
" Love trusts ; and ibr ever he giTes, and gives alL*'
" But these young men," she said
to Jessie, " are so intensely matter-of-
fact! They would think my brain
softening, if they knew what I want-
ed and expected to find." At an-
other time she said, " If I could only
find something a litde different! I
think I will go to Australia, marry a
squatter, and see all the queer ani-
mals. My money would be worth
while out there. "
It has been said that Margaret had a
maiden aunt living at Shellbeach, her
mother's only sister. This lady she
had seen but once since her return
from abroad, when Miss Spelman
came to New York on purpose to
take her niece home with her. Mar-
garet, however, was not willing to
leave the Edgars, and so her aunt re-
turned to Shellbeach, a little offended
by her niece's preferring strangers to
her own flesh and blood, but, on the
whole, perhaps relieved that her
quiet home was not to be invaded
by a person of so startling a charac-
ter as she conceived Margaret to be.
A visit had been agreed upon be-
tween them; but this had been de-
clined and deferred so many times
that the old lady, again offended, had
given up proposing it. If it had not
been for Margaret's curiosity about
Jessie's friend, Doctor James, she
certainly would not have remember-
ed her duty to her mother's only sis-
ter; while it is equally true that, if
it had not been for that convenient
relative, she could not for a moment
have entertained the idea of taking the
lion (that is, the doctor) by storm
in his den. For of any likelihood of
being captivated herself in this ad-
venture, it must be acknowledged,
she had no thought. Her curiosity,
her strongest weak point, was tho-
roughly excited about this doctor.
That a man with a fine education, a
profession, and enough money to
live respectably, (all which infor-
mation she had obtained from her
fiiend,) should isolate himself in a
stupid litde sea-side town, because
he liked to do so and enjoyed it, was to
A Hero, or a Heroine?
237
her a mystery which demanded to be
cleared up at once. How she should
like to astonish this hermit! How
she would dress ! How she would
shock his ideas of propriety, if he had
any! He would be surprised and
overpowered, of course, and then —
well, then she would beat a graceful
retreat, and come back to Jessie's
wedding in the best of spirits.
" I shall take C^cile and the Mar-
chioness and Jimmy, and you will see
that we shall have an exciting time.
I shall make myself so delightful to
dear Aunt Selina that she will not
hear of my staying less than six
months ; and I shall study housekeep-
mg, economy, and medicine, and ex-
periment on C^cile when she is sick."
" Why do you take the Marchion-
ess?"
" How can you ask ? I must have
exercise ; and who knows but I may
make myself useful by visiting the
distant patients when the doctor's
horse is tired ?"
"But why not take Lady Jane?
Sie is much handsomer."
"She is too fine for my purpose.
I don't want to seem wealthy, you
know; and the Marchioness goes
mousing along, her head level with
her tail, in true Morgan style, and
looks any thing but extravagant.
Then Jimmy will keep us awake, and
bark at Aunt Selina's cats when
other excitement fails."
" How do you know she has any
cats?**
" Of course she has cats ! Half a
dozen, I have no doubt. Who ever
heard of an ancient maiden living
alone without cats? How I wish
the answers would come !"
They did come, in due time;
Miss Spelman's first, cordially wel-
coming her niece to Shellbeach
for any length of time, or for good
and all. Margaret felt rather asham-
ed, as she saw how her aunt had fall-
en into the trap, and how completely
her Qwn good faith had been taken
for granted. She mentally resolved
that, if it depended on her. Miss
Spelman should not repent her gene-
rosity; she would make herself as
delightful as she could, cheerfully
give up her own convenience, if ne-
cessary, and make up for her long
neglect of so disinterested a relation.
This letter arrived on the third
day of expectation ; the doctor's, not
until a full week had elapsed. "A
doctor's time is not his own, and the
number of invalids at Shellbeach has
been greater than usual." It would
be well to give the letter in full, at
least so much of it as relates to Mar-
garet and her proposition.
" If it were the first of April," wrote the
doctor, " I should find no difficulty in com-
prehending your letter ; as it is not, I am
inclined to believe that I am being * sold ;'
but I do not believe practical jokes are in
your line, and you write apparently in good
earnest. Therefore, if your original friend
seriously recommends such an experiment
as this, I can but acquiesce, of course.
Miss Spelman also informs me that her
niece * is coming ;* so I feel that any opinion
I may express on the subject is superfluous.
However, it seems to me that there should
be an equality of position in this matter,
and I will say that I agree to Miss Lester's
terms, provided she agrees to mine. I
have but one condition, and it is her own :
that at the end of the time she appoints she
will, simultaneously with me, that is, at a
given hour, write me * a true statement of
how she stands affected toward me* — which
means, of course, tell me honestly if she
loves me. I have a right to say that I
think this plan doubtful in its purpose, its
practicability, and its probable results."
Not a word more was given to the
subject; the letter spoke briefly of
Philip, of Jessie, and terminated.
Margaret of course saw this let-
ter in the same forcible way that she
saw the other. Jessie thought she
would be offended, and so she was,
but that did not have the result Jes-
sie secretly hoped for.
" He is not well-bred, and evident-
238
A Hero, or a Heroine ?
ly thinks a great deal of himself.
How I shall enjoy snubbing \iva\ !"
" You are going ?"
" I should think so ! Do you sup-
pose I shall disappoint Aunt Selina
for such rudeness as this? But I
will have no more second-hand deal-
ings." And so saying, she sei/.ed pen
and paper, and wrote as follows :
"Dr. James: I accept your condition.
Six months from next Monday, which will
be July 1 8th, at eleven o'clock in the even-
ing, we will write our letters.
" Margaret Lester."
Jessie was not allowed to see this
note, which was at once dispatched
to Shellbeach.
"And now," Margaret said,
"comes the fun of arrangements.
We will go up-stairs and consult
about my clothes, and all that I
shall take with me."
CHAPTER III.
passengers for shellbeach.
Dr. James's letter had been receiv-
ed on Tuesday; the following Mon-
day, at about three o'clock on a
bleak and gray January afternoon,
Margaret, accompanied by her maid
and terrier dog, arrived at the little
way-station of Shellbeach, and ascer-
taining that Miss Spelman's carriage
had not arrived, walked into the
little waiting-room and to the air-
tight stove, which was, however,
barely warm. Her teeth chattered,
and she stamped her feet and rubbed
her hands ; the French maid follow-
ed, bearing bag and shawls, shivering
and casting forlorn glances around
her. The little dog alone seemed in
good spirits, and ran about, inquiring
into every thing, and snuffled suspi-
ciously at a man who sat wrapped in
a shawl, reading a book, and at two
small boys, who were partaking of
frost which they scraped oflf the win-
dows.
" Well, we're all frozen, so it's no
use saying it's cold," said Margaret,
walking about the room ; " but I'm
famished, and as cross as a bear."
" O mademoiselle ! it is terrible,"
cried C^cile, with a sort of little
shriek.
" It is a forlorn place, certainly ;
let me see if my provisions are ex-
hausted," Margaret said, taking the
bag. The little boys at tlie window
became deeply interested, and paus-
ed in their unsatisfactory repast.
" One seed-cake ! How exciting !
What ! you want it, do you ? Wdl,
take it," she said to the littie dog,
who jumped upon her, and while ho
devoured it she watched him, saying
reflectively, " Little pig ! if 1 were
dying of starvation, and it were my
last crumb, he would eat it. How
do I look, C^cile ? I am all covered
with cinders."
" Yes, mademoiselle ; you look like
a fright."
Margaret smiled, and returned to
the platform, where she made inquir-
ies of a man who was looking help-
lessly at her trunks how they were
to be got to Miss Spelman's. Hav-
ing arranged that matter, she asked,
" Can't I have that buggy to drive
up in ? Does it belong to the man in-
side there ?"
" It belongs to him," said the dri-
ver, with a grin, and Margaret turned
away in despair.
" The train was early," said a boy
standing by, "and perhaps the
young lady's team will be along
soon."
Margaret, who had her purse in
her hand, at once presented the boy
with twenty-five cents, as an acknow-
ledgment for the ray of encourage-
ment he had volunteered. He bore
it philosophically, and she returned
to the room.
A Hero, or a Heroine f
239
" C^cfle, it's only two miles to Miss
Spclman's ; suppose we walk ; it will
be warmer than waiting here. Give
me the bag, and you take the shawls,
and we will inquire the way."
She accompanied these words with
a look of indignation at the man
who was fortunate enough to have a
buggy at his command; but to her
great surprise, he rose, and, approach-
ing her, said :
"The train was early, and I ex-
pected Miss Sf>elman's carryall ; but
it is evidently not coming, and you
must manage with my buggy."
" You are Doctor James ?" said
Margaret with an inquisitive look.
" You are right ; and you are Miss
Lester," he replied. " I am sorry
you have had to wait in the cold ;
but when I saw you had a compan-
ion, I thought it would be wiser to
wait for the carryall. Miss Spelman
said she should probably send; but
asked me, at any rate, to meet you.
I will drive you home and come back
for your maid."
" But it's so cold here, and C^cile
feels the cold more than I. Could
we not p)ossibly go three in the bug-
gy? Would it be too much for the
horse ?"
The doctor smiled for the first
time; he was pleased by her thought
for her maid.
" You and I are good-sized people,
but she is small. I think Rosanna
can stand the weight ; but it will not
do to start cold. I propose we go
over to the store and get thoroughly
wamied."
" Oh ! delightful," cried Margaret,
"the thought of being warm again
is almost too much for me."
The doctor led the' way across the
raihx)ad track to a kind of variety
store, where there was certainly no
reason to complain of the cold.
The air was stifling, and conveyed
to Margaret's sense of smell the im-
pressions of soap, molasses, pepper-
mint drops, brown paper, and onions,
at one breath ; but she was too grate-
ful to be warm even to make a face,
which under other circumstances
she would doubtless have done.
Seated in chairs before the energetic
little stove, she and C^cile toasted
hands and feet while the doctor went
for the horse. When he returned,
they were quite ready to start, and
the bag being stowed away in the
box, they put on all their wrappings,
by the doctor's aekice, and packed
themselves into the bugg}^ Jimmy
curled himself under his mistress's
feet, the buffalo robe was well tucked
in, and the sturdy-looking mare start-
ed with her load with a willingness
which showed she too was glad to
have her face toward home. It was
cold enough in spite of their comfor-
table start, and, to make matters
worse, Margaret's veil blew away;
but she would not have alluded
to it for the . world. The doc-
tor seemed absorbed in his driv-
ing, and C^cile occupied with
her aching toes ; and allowing it to
escape seemed to her so feminine
and weak-minded a proceeding that
she bore the cutting wind in silence
rather than expose her carelessness.
Her gratitude to the doctor for res-
cuing her from her uncomfortable
situation, and the genial feelings pro-
duced by her warming at the stove,
now gave way to reflections on this
man's previous behavior, as he sat
wrapped in his shawl, in the cold
little waiting-room. What a hard-
hearted, outrageous monster he must
be I Why did he not speak at once,
and be sympathetic and kind ? Of
course he was studying her, and no
doubt criticising her, at that unfa-
vorable moment It chafed her to
think to what an inspection she had
been exposed, and how utterly she
had been at a disadvantage. At last
240
A Nero, or a Heroine?
she broke the silence by saying ab-
ruptly,
" Does not extreme hunger add to
one's capacity for being cold ?"
She intended to embarrass him by
reminding him of his profession, but
she was disappointed ; for he answer-
ed at once, with a slight movement
of his mouth, not however a smile,
" Extreme hunger ? Yes; especially
such as the poor feel, who may have
tasted nothing for two or three days,
nor meat for as many months. How
long is it since you breakfasted ?"
" At eight," she replied shortly.
The doctor, remembering with a
little compunction that he had both
breakfasted and dined, hastened to
say,
" That is a long time for a person
accustomed to regular meals. I am
quite sure you will find a better re-
ception in the matter of dinner than
you experienced at the station."
" I do not understand why my
aunt did not send for me."
" Nor I ; she said to me, * I shall
send the carryall, if possible ; but you
will oblige me by meeting my niece,
and if any thing should happen to
prevent my man's being there, you
will bring her home.' I am sure
only you and the dog were ex-
pected."
" Yes, I said my maid would pro-
bably come in a day or two ; but she
was able to get ready to accompany
me.
»>
Then there was silence once more,
till Dr. James drew up his horse before
a well-clipped, flourishing hedge, and,
getting out, opened a small brown
gate, and carried the bag and shawls
up the neat gravelled path. The
short afternoon had come to a close,
though it was scarcely four o'clock,
and the firelight shone pleasantly
out from the windows, where the
curtains were drawn aside. The
doctor deposited the wrappings on
the steps, said hastily, " Good-by,
Miss Lester, I shall caU on you as
soon as possible," and was in his
buggy and driving quickly away be-
fore she had time to utter a word.
She had stood for a moment, expect-
ing the door to be thrown open at
once; she even wondered that her
aunt was not awaiting her on the
threshold; but as no one appeared,
she gave the bell a rather decided
pull. Instantly the door was 0|f«ned
by the neatest of maids, in -a white
apron, who beamed upon the guests
while she took the bag and shawls.
Margaret walked at once toward the
bright fire, which shone out of an
open door, and there in the middle
of the room stood a little lady, who
met and embraced her, saying in an
agitated voice,
"Welcome, my dearest niece, a
thousand times !"
" Thank you, aunt ; I am almost
perished! How pleasant the fire
looks !"
Miss Spelman was trembling in
every limb, but Margaret's decided
tones, quite free from emotion of any
kind, composed her. She drew an
easy-chair to the fire, and then turn-
ed to Cecile, who stood hesitating in
the hall.
" You brought your maid, did you
not, dear Margaret ? That is good ;
it will make you more at home.
Ann, I hope you will make Miss
Lester's maid quite comfortable.
Her name, my dear ? Oh ! yes, Ceci-
lia." And as the w^oman disappeared,
she continued, " I am glad you have
so respectable and steady an attend-
ant, my dear ; when I heard she was
French, I feared she might be very
dressy and flippant, and get restless
in our quiet Httle household."
She gently helped Margaret to lay
aside her things ; then, as she seated
herself in the comfortable chair and
held out hands and feet to the grate*
A HerOy or a Heroine f
241
fill flame, the little lady once more
placed her hand on her shoulder, and
kissed her forehead.
" F(Mr an the world like your poor
father," she said sofdy. As Marga-
ret was silent, she continued, " But I
must tell you why I did not send for
you- I beg your pardon, my dear
child, for such apparent neglect
The fact is, I have a new man, and
dare not trust him alone with the
horses, and I have a cold and was
afraid to go out this raw day. If it
had been milder, nothing should have
kept me at home ; but as I had ask-
ed our good doctor to meet you, I
knew you would really be provided
fiar. Then, I thought it would seem
so uncourteous to let him give his
valuable time to going to the station
for you, and then disappoint him of
the pleasure of bringing you home.
Vou see, I did not look for your
maid. O dear! how very rude
you must think me." And the poor
lady stopped short, quite appalled at
her own conduct, the impropriety of
which for the first time impressed her.
" No matter now, aunt, I'm safely
here."
"And thankful I am to have you,
dear; but to think that I should
have allowed you to drive home
alone with a strange young man ! "
" I was not alone with him."
"But I did not know that; and,
dear me! how did you all get
here ?"
"Why, sandwiched, three in the
buggy, of course ; C^cile in the mid-
dle; it was the shortest way. He
wanted to bring first me and then
Cjfecile, but I would not let him.
However, don't worry about it now,
aunty. I would like to go to my
room, I think, and make myself pre-
sentable; I am covered with cin-
ders."
"Certainly. You will find a fire
there, and, I hope, every thing you
VOL. X. — 16
want. If not, you must let me
know." So saying. Miss Spelman
led the way up-stairs to a good-sized
room, where a little wood%fire was
burning and candles were lighted.
The trunks were already there, and
C^cile was unpacking and laying
out what her mistress would want.
"We have tea, generally, at six;
but I have ordered it to-day at five,
for I know you need both dinner and
tea. Cecilia will find me down-
stairs if you want any thing." With
these words. Miss Spelman withdrew
and closed the door.
"I have arrived at that period
of starvation," remarked Margaret,
" when I am resigned to wait indefi-
nitely for my food, provided it comes
at last." At that moment a knock
announced Ann, who brought in a
waiter with cup and saucer and tea-
things. " Miss Spelman thought a
cup of tea would be warming."
Very soon Margaret was sitting in
her wrapper and slippers, in a littie
rocking-chair, sipping her hot tea,
while C^cile brushed and arranged
her hair. She began to feel fktigued ;
but that was rather a delightful sen-
sation, now that she had nothing to
do but rest and be comfortable. Be-
fore five, she went down to the par-
lor, where her aunt once more re-
ceived her with a littie speech, and
then came the looked-for tea-dinner.
It appeared that Miss Spelman knew
what was good as well as Mrs. Ed-
gar, and Margaret, as she surveyed the
well-spread table, the spotless linen,
the shining glass and silver, the tempt-
ingly brown chicken before her, the
spongy biscuit and delicate cake, was
glad to find that, at least, she would
not starve.
" I begin to feel a sea-air appetite
already/' she exclaimed; "and O
aunty ! how good every thing tastes."
Miss Selina was pleased, for she
was a hospitable hostess ; and when
242
jl HcTOf or 4M Htmncf
she and Margaret were established
before the fire, curtains drawn, and
the iamp shining brighdy, there was
a mutual good feeling between them,
which, from that time, nothing dis-
turbed. Margaret, as she leaned
back in her chair, holding a litde
screen before her lace, had now time
to examine her aunt more dosely, and
she studied her with considerable
curiosity. She was decidedly p^Hte^
and so very neat and trim about her
dress that she made Margaret think
of a fairy godmother. Her hair was
white, although she was not yet sixty ;
she wore a cap, and soft lace round
her throat ; her eyes were dark and
bright, and her smile very sweet and
cheerful She must have been pret-
ty, Margaret thought, and like that
dear mother so well remembered.
After answering a good many
questions about her life in New York,
Mrs. Edgar, Jessie, and her lover,
Margaret said rather abruptly,
"You see a good deal of Doctor
James, don't you, aunt ?"
" Oh 1 almost every day, my dear.
He has to drive very often over to
Sealing, and my house is right on his
way. He feels quite attached to me,
because, once when his sister was stay-
ing with him, she was sick, and I used
to go and sit with her; and at last,
when she was getting well, and was
able to be moved, I got her to come
and make me a visit ; for I thought it
must be dull for her, with her brother
away so much. So he used to come
every day to see about her, and he got
into the way of dropping in as if he
belonged here, and he has kept it up
ever since."
" What sort of a girl was the sis-
ter ?"
"Oh! she was a charming crea-
ture — pretty and picturesque ; young,
too, and very clever for her age;
and the doctor thought every thing
of her, though he used to find fault
with her and try to improve her, and
was always bringing some hard book
for Lucy to read, or asking me to
tell her this, or remind her of that,
and not let her forget the other, till I
used to think the poor chUd would
have been vexed with both him and
me ; but she used to laugh and shake
her pretty brown curis, and make the
best of it alL I grew to love that
child, Margaret, and I confess to yoa,
if you had not come to me, I would
very probably have offered to adopt
her, and do for her as if she were my
own. I did not suppose you needed
any money, my dear," she added in
an apologetic tone.
"Don't mention your money,
please," cried Margaret "Dear
aunty, I can't manage what I've got
now ; why should I want any more ?
By all means make the pretty Lucy
an heiress, and let her come and live
here, near her brother."
Miss Spelman shook her head, and
Margaret continued,
" But where does Lucy live, and
where does the family come fix>m ori-
ginally ?"
" They have had a country-seat in
Maine for years, and are very nice
people, I would think; the doctor,
at least, is a perfect gendeman. He
has been in the war, was wounded
two or three times ; and when it was
all over, came here because the old
doctor was about to move away.
They knew each other, and so Dr.
James just quietly took the other's
place, and has a great deal more than
filled it ever since."
" But why does he choose to live
in a little place like this ? Jessie told
me something of his benevolence ; but
that doesn't seem reason enough to
keep him here."
"That is the only reason, I am
sure — that, and atUchment to the
place and people. He does an im-
mense amount of good, my dear;
A Hero^ or a Heroine f
243
why, he attends all the poor people,
for miles around, for nothing I"
" But then what does he live on?"
"Certainly not on his fees. He
has a little money of his own— enough
for such a place as this — and that
leaves him free, as he says, to have
no hard money feelings between him
and his patients. The consequence
is, he is worshipped by the poor, and,
in fact, by almost every one both
here and at Sealing; they give him
no peace, and he has to work like a
horse all the time."
" I hope he enjoys it"
"He says he does; but I think
the life is too hard for him."
" And does he intend to live here
indefinitely ?"
"He never alludes to living any-
where else ; but I hope he may mar-
ry some day, and then, no doubt, he
would go where his wife wbhed."
" Don't you think his wishes
ought to be hers ?"
"Certainly, my dear Margaret, I
think so ; but then, I believe I'm old-
^^ioned." Miss Spelman was pleas-
ed, that was evident; and then she
said she knew her niece was a fine
musician, but she was perhaps " too
dred to touch the instrument ?"
Margaret smiled, and though she
was tired certainly, and sleepy be-
sidesy she went with a very good
grace to " the instrument," which she
found to be an old piano, excellent
in its day, but now out of tune and
jingling; the keys were yellow, and
one pedal was broken, but no speck
of dust was to be seen inside or out,
or on any thing else in Miss Selina's
bouse. Margaret, without thinking
much about it, played some very mo-
dem music, such as she generally
ulayed in the evenmgs at Mrs. Ed-
gar's, deep and difficult music, play-
ing well and carefully, without notes ;
till she began to realize how impossi-
ble any execution would be on such
a piano. When she paused, Miss
Spelman said rather plaintively,
" That is very fine, my dear ; but
my taste is not up to the present
standard. And — do you play fi-om
note, dear Margaret ?"
On receiving an affirmative reply,
she went into an adjoining closet,
and brought out one or two old mu-
sic-books, marked on the covers,
" M. and S. Spelman," and with Mar-
garet and Selina alternately written
on the music within. Margaret had
never seen such a collection of cu-
rious, old, simple music. She smiled
as she played, to see her aunt's hands
beating time, and watched the ab-
sorbed expression of her face, varying
fi-om a smile of content to a look of
sadness and regret As she at last
closed the piano, she said,
"I will play these pieces over
when I am by myself, and then I
shall do them more justice when I
play them for you again. Forgive my
many blunders."
Then came cake, fruit, and wine,
at nine o'clock, and then Margaret
was glad to say "good-night" and
go to her pleasant room, where she
found, to her great satisfaction, that
she was soothed to sleep by the
breaking of the waves on Shellbeach.
CHAPTER IV.
A CONFIDENTIAL LETTEIU
Mv Dearest Jessie: I have re-
ceived your , most welcome letter,
and only wish I could tell you how
good it was to hear firom you. It
made me long to see you, dear;
but as I am resolved I will not
be so weak as to give up and
go back to you yet, I will not sen-
timentalize now, nor dwell on my
feelings, which, I assure you, are un-
usually tender for me.
I have now been here three whole
244
A Hero, or a Heroine?
days, and they seem as many months;
the snow-storm which began the
night after my arrival, lasted perse-
veringly till this morning, when there
was a beautiful clear-away, and my
spirits, which were rather drooping,
rose at once. It was very cold, and
Aunt Selina was afraid to go out, and
I was lazy, and passed the morning in
the house. After dinner, however, I
became desperate, put on my shortest
dress and rubber boots, and went
forth with Jimmy on an exploring
expedition. The snow was very
deep ; but I needed exercise, and en-
joyed immensely plunging about in
the fresh drifts, and getting rid, at the
same time, if I must confess it, of a
fair amount of wrath and resentment,
of which your paragon of a doctor
was the cause. Only think, my dear,
of his allowing me to be three days
here without calling ! In such weather,
too, when he must have known I was
penned up in the house with noth-
ing to amuse me, (not that I didn't
amuse myself very well, but he could
not have known that.) How did he
know that I mightn't have caught a
severe cold in that horrid waiting-room
at the station, or driving with him in his
freezing chaise ? And after leaving
me in that abrupt way, waiting on
the steps here, without a single polite
word to me or Aunt Selina, as if he
said, " I have been dreadfully bored
by having to bring you here ; now let
me get away as fast as I can !" Well,
I was provoked with him, and with
myself for caring; but I grew plea-
santer every step I took; and when I
at last found myself on a high bank
right over the sea, and the pretty little
beach with the dear, blue waves break-
ing and foaming below me, I was in a
state of exhilaration and delight that
I can't describe. I could hardly have
torn myself away, except that I was
very cold ; and the sunset light had al-
most faded when I got home. Then*
my dear, what do you think ? Aunt
Selina greeted me with, " O Marga-
ret! what a pity you went out; here
Doctor James has been waiting near-
ly an hour for you, and he wanted so
much to see you, and was so sorry
that he couldn't come before! But,
my dear, he has been away, and only
got home this morning." That was
funny, was it not ? " He looked so
nice," Aunt Selina said. " I wish you
could once see him nicely dressed ;
he doesn't take enough pains with
himself generally." Now, I know
that aunty was as much surprised as
I that this call had not been made
before, and a great deal more dis-
turbed. She praises the doctor on
every occasion, and I am sure she
wanted him to make a favorable im-
pression on me. She has been very
curious about our drive from the sta-
tion ; but I have said very little about
it, except that I thought we were all
of us cold and cross.
Well, I was nicely wet fit>m my
snowy walk ; but after I had changed
my dress and had my tea, I felt
splendidly. At eight o'clock the bell
rang — a wonderful circumstance, so
far — and after a little delay in the hall,
in walked the doctor. I suppose he
could not bear that his get-up should
be thrown away, and he really look-
ed very nice indeed. I am sure he
prides himself on his feet and hands,
which are small — ^not in themselves,
but for his size — and well shaped.
His clothes were any thing but fash-
ionable ; but they fitted him well, and
looked as if he were at home in them,
and something in his general appear-
ance made me feel that he had in-
tended to do me honor, and I was
quite mollified toward him. Aunt
Selina was enraptured. I was— can
you imagine it? — a little embarrass-
ed, ha\ing been wholly taken by
A Hero, or a Heroine t
245
surprise at his making his appear-
ance; he was calm and at his ease.
He explained his apparent neglect of
me, expressed regret at finding me
out this afternoon, and asked about
my walk, etc. He is provoking in
many ways, Jessie, but in one espe-
cially : he is so stingy of his smiles ; I
can express it in no other way. He
b the most serious person I ever saw;
even when it would be polite to
smile, he will not; but moves the
muscles round his mouth in a pecu-
liar way that makes me want to say
to him, " Well, why don't you do it ?
It won't hurt you!" His eyes are
not particularly large, but gray, and
k)ok as if they saw as much as mine,
only he does not stare as I do, but
seems to take in every thing with one
glance. I did not fiind him difficult
to talk to, as I imagined I should,
but am surprised to find how much
he knows. He asked me to play,
but did not like the piece ; and when
I tried him with a little of Aunt Seli-
na's music — which I described to you
in my first letter, you remember — ^he
adced for Beethoven, That he enj oy-
ed, I believe, and a few of my little
French airs, one of which he recog-
nized, and I discovered, to my as-
tonishment, that he had been abroad.
He spoke of organ music, and when
I told him about my desire to learn
to play on the organ, said he thought
I could do so here, as there were
both a good organ and organist at
Sealing. And, if he arranges it so, I
am to take lessons once or twice a
week, and practise in the litde church
here. Well, dear Jessie, this letter
must come to a close, as I am sleepy.
Give my best love to your dear mo-
ther ; write soon and tell me all about
your own a&urs and Philip.
Always your loving
Margarst.
SfiELLBEAai, Dec 21.
CHAPTER v.
A SLEIGH-RIDB.
On the morning after Margaret
had written the letter to her friend,
given above, she was finishing her
breakiast at about nine o'clock, while
litde Miss Spelman busded about in
her china-closet, and around the
room, when a jingle of bells was
heard, and in a moment more. Dr.
James appeared at the dining-room
door.
" Miss Lester, do you feel in the
mood for a sleigh-ride? I have to
go over to Sealing, and shall be glad
to take you."
" Oh ! yes," cried Margaret, jump-
ing up firom the table, " of all things
what I would like best ; but I must
change my dress, I am afraid. I will
not be ten minutes, if you can wait."
" I have a call to make near here,
and will come back for you."
In a short time Margaret ap-
peared, dressed in a dark blue suit
with black dog-skin furs, and a very
jaunty round cap to match on her
head.
"Will you be warm enough?"
asked the doctor, surveying her.
" I have my cloak besides," said
Margaret, displaying a very thick
and heavy mantle, of every color of
the rainbow.
As they drove off. Doctor James
remarked,
" You will set this quiet little place
on fire, with your bright colors ; we
don't see such brilliant things here
very often."
" Gay colors are the fashion," said
Margaret, "and I almost always
wear them. I get very tired of them,
however, and wish my style were not
prononcL I quite long sometimes to
wear neutral tints, and cool, delicate
colors."
" Miss Edgar wears such shades,
246
A HerOf or a Heroine?
does she not ? She is so pexfectly re-
fined and lady-like.**
Margaret glanced at him quickly
and answered,
" She does, when she is willing to
take the trouble ; but I generally have
to insist upon her dressing becoming-
ly. When we were in Paris, we were
both told about our different styles,
and how we should dress; and I
think it is worth while to consider
the subject, and Jessie does not ; that
isalL"
^ Does not Miss Edgar care for
dress?"
"I think she does; but for dress
without any reference to herself.
She is very fond of pretty things, and
would be quite contented to wear a
rose-colored bonnet, or a birdof-
paradise evening dress, if I did not
prevent it. You admire Miss Edgar
very much, do you not. Dr. James ?"
*' As much as I can admire a lady
I have never seen. But why should
you think that I admire her ?"
" And if she were not already en-
gaged, you would like to marry her
yourself, would you not ?"
Margaret spoke impulsively; and
before she had uttered the last words
would gladly have swallowed the sen-
tence whole, but it was too late. The
doctor's face flushed, and he said
very slowly,
" Did Miss Edgar show you that
letter ?"
" Yes — I mean no ; that is, I mean,
Dr. James, that I took it away from
her and read it myself. She did not
want me to see it; it was all my
fault. Jessie is gende, and I am
rough, and I tyrannize over her very
often."
Margaret's voice sounded remorse-
ful, and the doctor softened.
"There was no reason why you
should not have seen that letter, any
more than any other. I would not
have Miss Edgar other than Philip's
wife for any thing in the world ; and
my saying I would have liked her
myself, was meant only as a joke,
and I am SMit she understood it sa
Indeed, I was hi from being in ear
nest when I wrote that letter."
It was now Margaret's turn to
change color, and her face burned;
an unusual and painful thing for her.
She felt at that moment as if ^e
would like to find herself on the op-
posite side of the world. What an
absurd position she was in ! This man
must regard her as a fool, or worse.
What business had she to be at Shell-
beach at all, or here in this sleigh,
beside one on whom she had not
the smallest claim, and who had no
reason to think her any thing but a
forward, unlady-like girl, as she was?
These, and many equally disagree-
able thoughts rushed through her
mind, before Dr. James said plea-
santly,
" Is it possible you keep up yonr
city hours here, and breakfast at nine
o'clock? How luxurious your life
must be !"
" Does nine seem late to you?"
asked Margaret, making an effort to
speak carelessly; " it is eariy to me.
When we used to come home from
parties at three or four in the morn-
ing, we breakfasted at eleven or even
twelve. But there is no excuse for
sleeping late here, I know; I might
go to bed at eight o'clock in the eve-
ning, except when we have a visitor,
as we did last night But you see
there are no bells; my room is dark,
and C^ile never comes in till I ring
for her. Then, Aunt Selina says she
does not mind."
" Miss Spelman is not a very eariy
riser herselfl But, Miss Lester, I
think a poor man's household ought
to be up with the dawn." He smil-
ed at her in a firiendly way as he
spoke^ and Margaret laughed.
'' And the mistress of a poor man's
A HerOf or a Heroine f
247
household ought to call all the mem-
bers of the family, ought she not ?"
" I think so ; that is a very impor-
tant matter. Yet I know few things
in our daily life which require more
heroism than getting up in the morn-
ing at the right time. Though I
ought to be accustomed to being
called at any and every hour, I never
find it grows easy to forsake my
pillow; and whenever it is not im-
peratively necessary for me to get up,
I prolong my morning nap in the
most cowardly way."
" Were you in earnest when you
said getting up early was heroism ?"
'^ It is a grand name for a small
matter, certainly ; but I was in earnest
when I said it."
'* I should so like to be a heroine !
It is almost worth while to try the ex-
periment"
They now drove into the main
street of the town of Sealing, and
there Dr. James showed Margaret a
bookstore, the circulating library,
and pointed out one or two more
shops, and asked her if she thought
she could occupy herself for half an
hour, while he visited a few patients.
•* I may be gone even longer than
that," he said, "and it would be
very cold for you to sit in the sleigh
and wait"
" I should like to explore the town
very well," she answered ; " and I will
meet you in an hoiu:*s time wherever
you say. O Dr. James! I want a
ded very much; I delight in coast-
ing. Could I get a good one here ?**
" There are no toy-shops, properly
speaking, but there is an excellent
carpenter across the street, and he
would make you a satisfactory sled,
I have no doubt"
'* There is coasting about here, I
hope?"
•* Yes, there are one or two capital
hills. If you like, we will go to the
carpenter's now, before I leave you ;
perhaps my advice on the subject
would be acceptable."
They ordered the sled, and Mar-
garet added, with a sideway glance at
Dr. James, that the word "Enter-
prise " was to be printed in red letters
on one side, and " 1867 " on the
other. The apothecary's shop was
appointed as the place of rendezvous,
and the doctor drove away.
He was back again first; but after
waiting and wondering a few min-
utes, she came round the comer,
looking at her watch, with a bright
color, and her dress white with snow.
" I am on time," she cried; "just
an hour. Dr. James ; and I have had
such a splendid time! But I have a few
things at the different shops; will
you stop for them ?"
From a small shop, combining the
establishments of a small watch-ma-
ker, a locksmith, and a bell-hanger,
a man came out with a parcel which
Margaret insisted on holding in her
own hands all the way home.
** What do you think it is ?" she
asked.
" I can't imagine what you should
want from that shop, but the shape is
very much hke a clock."
"You are right; it is an alarm-
clock."
Dr. James smiled, but made no
comment ; and as they drove home,
she gave him an account of the hour
she had spent alone.
" I got one or two books from the
library; pretty trashy, I should think,
but it was entertaining to read the
names of the well-worn volumes on
the shelves. I visited the dry-goods
store, and then determined to explore ;
and pretty soon I found a little street
which was one steep hill, down which
some small boys were coasting. They
seemed harmless and meek, and after
bestowing upon them a paper of
sugar-plums I had just bought, I re-
quested the loan of a sled. You
248
A Hero, or a Heroine?
should have seen the astonishment
depicted on their faces, and heard
the giggles and rapture when, taking
the largest sled from the unresisting
hand of its owner, I asked for instruc-
tion as to establishing myself upon it
and starting, and then went full
speed down the hill, regardless of the
houses on either side and the shouts
of my friends above me. It was
splendid. Dr. James! I don't know
when I have enjoyed any thing so
much ! Well, I dragged my sled up
again, and asked for six more coasts,
hinting at more candy to be forth-
coming ; but I found all offers of
compensation quite unnecessary, as
the little fellows were as enraptured
as I at the performance, and each
begged me pathetically to try his
sled. But I held to my first choice ;
and though on the third coast I upset
and rolled in the snow, I persevered
till I found my hour was almost up,
and then abandoned my sled to its
owner."
Dr. James seemed much entertain-
ed by this description, and Margaret
added,
" But for the credit of human na-
ture, and especially of boy nature,
which I have always considered to
be remorseless to the last degree, I
must tell you that when I fell off my
sled into the snow the boys did not
laugh at and deride me, but came
running down the hill to see if I were
hurt — a circumstance which pleased
me very much."
The drive back to Shellbeach seem-
ed all too short for Margaret; she
was left, as before, on the doorstep
with her several bundles; but this
time she entered as a member of the
family, glowing with the exercise and
almost as noisy as Jimmy, who came
barking and leaping to welcome his
mistress. She gave a detailed ac-
count of her drive to her aunt, ending
with the exclamation, " And Dr.
James both smiled and laughed! I
feel that I have achieved a triumph I"
CHAPTER VI.
ANOTHER LETTER.
The following is a letter which Dr.
James wrote to his friend Philip :
" You ask me to tell you about Jessie's
friend, who has come to stay with my old
crony, Miss Spelman, and I see that you are
curious to know my sentiments regarding
her. I also suspect, from the tone of your
remarks, that you think it would be a very
good thing for a poor doctor like me, etc,
etc. That this coincides with Miss Selina's
course of reasoning on this matter, I am
pretty certain ; iot before Miss Lester cune
she was continually praising her to me, and
now I can see that every opportunity is
improved to bring us together. Would you
believe it, Philip ? — ^when the young lady ar-
rived, Miss Spelman manoeuvred so as to
give me a Ute-^-UU drive with her from the
station to the house ! She was disappoint-
ed in her plans, as there were both a maid
and a dog to be packed into my chaise be-
sides Miss Lester. But what seems so
plain to other people's eyes, I cannot say
is so to mine. You want a description of
her, and add a hope that I have found the
ideal of our college days. I laugh as I re-
call that ideal, and think of the reality be-
fore my mind's eye. Picture to yoorselC
then, a tall young woman — five feet eight
inches, I should say — large in proportion,
and a decided brunette. She is called hand-
some, as you know, but I do not agree to
this ; though if the adjective were sJkcmy^
I should have no objection to make. Her
style is rather loud, or, as she herself says,
* pronomi^ She has a pair of very brown,
inquisitive eyes, which see, I am sore,
much more than they have any right to see.
She has a good deal of color, but not the
changing blush we used to talk oC Her
dress ? Of course I cannot give you a cor-
rect description of that ; but the first time I
saw her in, the house, she wore very deep
purple with ornaments of gold, a gold baod
on her hair, and long, barbarous eardrops.
The next time, in the morning, she was
dressed (I am not joking) in bright scarlet,
worked all over with black ; and she went
to drive with me in a round fiir cap that
would have been appropriate to a young
swell in New York, but hardly to a lady.
But all these objections are, after all, mtncv.
A HerOf or a Heroine f
249
when I come to the great one ; my dear fel-
low, she is an heiress ! Now, you know
very well my mind on this subject ; and I
know you will think of my £&vorite verse,
* Where I want of ridtcs find.
Think what with them I would do,
That without them dare to woo.'
*^ But in this case I feel sure that I should
not be a disinterested lover. I could never
forget her money. By the way, I suspect
that she did not intend me to know she was
wealthy ; Jessic*s note gave the impression
that she had, as I wished, enough to secure
her own comfort ; but Miss Spelman took
care to let me understand how very well her
niece was provided with * earthly goods.*
** I see I am allowing myself to find fault
with Miss Lester and criticise her, a thing
I have resolved I will not do. I will there-
lore suppress a good deal more of disap-
proval I was going to write, and see what I
can tell you in her praise. In the first
place, I think she is good-tempered ; I have
seen her thoughtful of her maid, and good-
natured when she was both cold and hun-
gry. She is entertaining, intelligent, and
companionable. I enjoyed her society when
I drove her over to Sealing, and she is
wonderfully fresh and simple in her tastes
for a biau New Yorker, surfeited with
gayeties as she has been. She is a good
musician, though she does not sing. Her
hands are her best feature : large and shape-
ly and well kept ; they are also warm,
smooth, and womanly.
" Where is my dream, Philip ? Would not
your gentle Jessie more nearly fulfil it?
You will say that dreams 'go by contraries ;'
true perhaps of those we frame at night, un-
consciously ; but does that wise maxim hold
good of day-dreams and castles in the air
also ? Now, you have chosen well and wise-
ly for yourself^ and my best wish is that you
and your loving helpmate may live to enjoy
all the bliss you hope for ; but I must wait
imtil my wife manifests herself, as I am
sore she will, unmistakably, and for that I
am content to wait until I am an old man.*'
It will be seen from this letter
that Dr. James had not disclosed,
even to his old friend, the secret of
Margaret's visit to Shellbeach; nei-
ther was Jessie more communicative
on the subject; for they were both
rather ashamed of the affair. Marga-
ret herself, to tell the truth, was not
free from a like embarrassment ; there
was something manly and unassum-
ing about the doctor, a freedom from
all pretension and assertion, that
made her feel, when with him, quiet
and almost diffident. This, however,
she did not acknowledge to ha:self;
and her high spirits determined her
to carry out her plan, and brave all
the obstacles which her appreciation
of the circumstances suggested to her.
From one point of view, her coming
was a success; Miss Spelman was
charmed with her, and spoke of her
remaining indefinitely. She made
much of and petted her in a way
Margaret was not accustomed to, and
which was very pleasant to her. She
could almost imagine, now, what it
would be to have a mother's love
and care during these years of
her youthful womanhood. True, her
aunt was no support, and her advice
was not always wise; but Margaret
was both by nature and habit self-
reliant, and the person was not come,
she thought, to whom she could
abandon the reins of government, and
in whose favor she might abdicate.
CHAPTER VII.
FROM THB LABORING CLASSES
After a week had passed in her
aunt's well-ordered household, Mar-
garet received a few ceremonious
calls from the ladies of Shellbeach
and Sealing, wliich, in the course of
another week, she returned with due
formality with her aimt The visit-
ing acquaintance of Miss Spelman
at Shellbeach consisted of a few
elderly ladies, of whom Margaret saw
but litde during her visit, though they
were kind and cordial, and always
gave her a pleasant welcome to their
houses.
There was one caller, however,
of whom Margaret was destined to
see a good deal, and who deserves a
more particular description. She was
flr« J»
'J'k,
Beadm dfed; and then they're si-
*3TS SO set aboot getting to church,
2zii drcadfollj pot oat if thej are
^ -^r" ■ - :i -nn^fc: itKK. -wrr g e irtited now and then."
- Do fom think so? Wdl, Norah
$rr$ to mtj * I dearly love to go to
^:<T Mjbs. and to pay my respects
zc tie suets' days; btrt the priest
tdls =« to nund my duty in the
b:asc ist. and I wouldn't feel easy
t3 eo aad leaTe that poor lamb (one
ci ber names for my &ther) with
DL. ,=l: i ^*.*%:> Tsrm'^ osat actse to look after his dinner.' "
- Wei long may she prove a trea-
VLUs aH** and the old lady
* -" — ■-' ' SLi Mjs sbook her head doobtfuDy.
wxi " Yca'Te cook to a pretty place,
3r a Mas Lester," said Martha Bumey;
ptetty enoo^ now, with its
: l1 nis Icj £Tsii white dress of snow ; bat I don*t
-re i3»i T-:«' kaow what yoall say to it when the
-xiesziebciise ycung gr ee n comes out, and the
tcTiis begin to sing. But what do
find to do with yoarsdf ?**
•* XoChing very usefid yet I have
my attention principally to
coasting ; I have got a. new sled, and
iLZ r.izcs. have found some charming coasts
abcat here. I go oot before break-
" \^ .rc tr- vrl jC rt^izi *B!ess me! how many ages is it,
> '. "r*" T-j*^ sc**. *.
I -fr >-c— -;:. J-iRTs uccc I wcader, since I did that?" cried
te lusKS zx Mass Barney. ^ Then yoa do not keep
boQis in the morning ?"
•I dii at first, through force of
-.^ mi*a Xi-Tsas it=r.. Lilrc:;tc: now I have an alarm-clock,
^ »i^.-« *•. --^ r.T N-iaa rr aad uy getting op at six, and drcss-
^^•M ^_ -v-j^ ^*i;«s^BEinni :sc wTihoat a fire.
...1 ^*cr TO51 ?J^ «st 5be -Very welL very well indeed, for
'^.-^ r .^,« K-iicrrc sBis£:.3e a New Yorker! Ah! I see you will
' ^ oc; jȣ ^'^ " MiT die do fi)r the country. You must never
— - X xt <fn: ^-:« WJd |P away, but make up your mind to
s: -:rl V: t r» biessed settie down here."
,> V .^ vx - Tu Mas JAar" *That*s what I mean to have her
.1 .t: sT :n; j»u>.viinc:T asJ^ do,* said Miss Spehnan; "and Mar-
-*"'"***** gxret said she would consider the
^ ♦w*^ irrcw jLXia: >^
\^<, ^ -*ari«rcccet Miss Barney^ call histed a full
a,^-;. ^-.:r :x-l I J^^ h»i « ham; thai she enveloped hersdf in
n v-^ss. sott ST poor oid ckdk aad hood, and shaking Mar-
A Hero, or a Heroine f
251
garet once more warmly by the hand
took her departure.
** Who is she, aunt ? I think she
must be a character, and mean to cul-
tivate her acquaintance."
" Yes, she has a story. Her father
— lamb, indeed!" cried Miss Spel-
man, interrupting herself ; " that
Norah had better call him 'poor
wolf;' to be sure he is reaping the
fruits of his misdeeds, but he has
richly deserved his troubles. Well,
he was a swindler ; that is all. His
poor wife died of the shame when
the biggest of hb robberies came to
light, and he went steadily down-hill,
with this brave daughter trying to
keep him straight. He spent one or
two poor little legacies she had left
her, and at last became the broken-
down, imbecile old man he is now.
When he was too feeble to prevent
her, Martha took him out of the
great city where he lived, and they
somehow foimd their way here ; and
then she went to work and has sup-
ported him ever since. She teaches
in the public school over in Sealing ;
she is the head lady teacher now,
and with that, and a little she has
had left her within a few years, she
supports herself and him."
" Is it not a hard life for her ?"
" Very, but she prefers obscurity ;
and that is the best employment she
can get here. She is a fine woman,
independent and brave, owing no
one any thing and taking care of
herself. She had a lover once, they
say," continued Miss Selina, drop-
ping her voice ; " but when it all came
to light about her father's transac-
tions, of course she released him."
" And he accepted it ?"
" Why, certainly he did, dear Mar-
garet ; no man would wish to marry
a woman with such a father."
Margaret drummed with her foot
on the fender, but made no reply.
" I like Martha Bumey's company,
and I try to make her come here
often ; but it is hard to induce her to
leave her father. She says she has to
be away from him so much of each
day, that it is not right to let him
pass any more time alone."
"Well, I suppose she would not
object to my going to see her."
"She would be delighted to see
you. She has all her evenings, and
Wednesday and Saturday afternoons.
She is very fond of young people."
The Sealing callers do not demand
a parricular description. There were
a few young ladies, none of whom
Margaret much liked; she thought
them assuming and silly. One of them
crowned her other offences by reply-
ing to a question of Margaret's about
Miss Bumey, " Oh ! yes, very esti-
mable person, I believe ; I do not
know her. Were you aware that
she teaches in the public school ?"
TO BB CONTINUED.
252
The Immutability of the Species.
THE IMMUTABILITY OF THE SPECIES.*
I.
For a century and a half, the at-
tention of the scientific world has
been repeatedly called to theories
purporting to prove the evolution of
the species. Before the last dozen
years, they elicited nothing but de-
served contempt from those conver-
sant with the phenomena of which
they treat. Their absurdity was
transparent, alike in their conclusion
and in the i»'ocesses by which that
conclusion was held to have been
reached. They were in succession
fully refuted. But there arose a class
of ma), somewhat superior in intel-
lect and ingenuity to the propound-
ers of these speculations, who were
imbued with similar atheistic princi-
ples. They directed all their efforts
toward the conception of a theory
more capable than the others of at-
taining a respectable scientific status.
It would have been matter of great
surprise, then, if this concentration
of intellectual energy had not result-
ed in something sufficiently plausible
to startle the world.
In the year 1859, M^' Charles
Darwin, one of the first naturalists
of England, propounded his theory
of development, in a work termed
The Origin of Species, This purport-
ed to be a full and conclusive confir-
mation of the hypothesis of evolution.
The theory was elaborate and inge-
nious, and on its appearance was im-
mediately advocated by many men
* The Origin of Specus. By Charles Daxwin,
A.M., F.R.S., etc. Fourth edition.
Tht Variation of Animali and PUmis ttndor
Domestication, By Charles Darwin, A.M., F.R.S.,
etc. Two volume*, 8vo. London : John Murray.
1868.
The PrincipUs of Biology. Vol. I. By Herbert
Spencer. London : Williaqis & Norgate. 1864.
to whom it was not wholly imexpect-
ed. Its congruity with their atheis-
tic views can alone furnish an ade-
quate explanation of the haste with
which they declared themselves its
advocates. This harmony with pre-
conceived ideas was confessedly the
chief inducement urging them to
accept the theory. Hear Mr. Her-
bert Spencer's conception of the
spirit in which a person should ap-
proach the subject : " Before it can
be ascertained how organized beings
have been gradually evolved, tliere
must be reached the conviction that
they have been gradually evolved,"
The italics are his own. Mr. George
Henry Lewes, in an article in the
Fortnightly Review for April ist,
1868, says :
*< There can be little doubt that the ac-
ceptance or rejection of Darwinism has, in
the vast majority of cases, been wholly de-
termined by the monistic or dualistic atti-
tude of the mind. And this explains, what
would otherwise be inexplicable, the var'
prising fervor and focility with which men^
wholly incompetent to appreciate the evi-
dence for or against natural selection, have
adopted or * refuted ' it"
That Mr. Lewes and other really
able men have been so influenced,
we entertain not the sUghtest doubt
But their failure to discover and ap-
preciate the evidence against the
theory, we ascribe not to incompe-
tency, but to the bias of a foregone
conclusion. We hail with delight
the efforts of these men to sustain
the theory, confident that, the greater
the light thrown upon it, the more
glaringly palpable will become its ab-
surdity.
We purpose to show, in this and
The ImfpiHtability of the Species.
253
other articles, that the fects which
are seemingly so congruous with the
conception of evolution are in reality
grossly at variance with it, and strict-
ly in accordance with the doctrine
of special creations. We will pro-
ceed at once to their consideration.
Variations form the data of Dar-
win's theory. These, as facts, cannot
be disputed. Variation is everywhere
seen. Scarcely any species, either
animal or vegetable, has escaped this
tendency. While some species have
not presented differences among their
individuals sufficiently marked for
the formation of varieties, a multitude
of other species display modifications
which form the characteristics of
dozens of widely distinct breeds.
Not less than one Itundred and fifty
distinct strains and varieties have de-
scended from the original wild pig-
eon, columba livia. All these varie-
ties result fi'om man's careful selec-
tion, and his judicious pairing of
those individuals which possess the
required modifications. This he does
in sure reliance on the law of here-
dity, which transmits to the oflfepring
the most minute peculiarities of the
parents, saving, of course, when they
are brought into conflict with oppo-
site characters. These variations are
both in the direction of increase and
in the direction of decrease. Here
we find a variety formed by the ap-
pearance of a modification not ob-
servable in the species under nature,
and there a variety formed by the
total or partial suppression of one
or more characters. Now, few por-
tions of the organization are incapa-
ble of modification. Darwin has
conclusively shown that even the
bones and internal organs have been
greatly modified. To realize fully
the extent and scope of variation, it
is necessary to consult Darwin's late
work. Animals and Hants under Do-
vustication. Many of the modifica-
tions — especially those most wide-
ly divergent — constitute differences
greater than those which distinguish
species from species, and, in some
few cases, genus from genus.
It may here be thought that we
have made too great concessions;
that the logical and inevitable con-
clusion from the facts, as we state
them, is the evolution of the species.
Not so. For the more numerous
and the more widely divergent the
modifications are shown to be, the
more easily will we be able to prove
to demonstration the fixity of the
species.
As these varieties (or incipient spe-
cies, as Darwin conceives them to
be) were formed through the selec-
tion by man of slight successive mo-
difications, Darwin affects to believe
that variations arose in the wild state ;
that they were accumulated and pre-
served by nature by a process analo-
gous to man's selection ; and that by
the long continued accumulation and
conservation, through countless ages,
of these modifications, the species
have evolved fi-om one another.
This selective power of nature he in-
fers from the struggle for existence
constantly carried on in the wild state,
wherein the weak succumb, and the
fittest, strongest, and most vigorous
survive, and, according to the theory,
attain to a higher development.
Many objections have been urged
against Darwin's theory. Some have
questioned the efficiency of natural
selection ; and others have contend-
ed that selection necessarily implies
a selecter. Some have considered
Darwinism sufficiently disproved by
the absence of the transitional links
between the different species. Others
have asserted the inconceivableness
of the primordial differentiation of
parts in organisms when they all pre-
sented the simplest structure. An-
other argument has been adduced
254
The Immutability of the Species.
fix)m the tendency of domesticated
animals and plants, when neglected,
to recur to the ancestral form tmder
nature. Some assume a limit to va-
riation ; while others have contended
that domestication of itself has intro-
duced something plastic into organ-
isms, enabling them to vary, and that,
therefore, the analogy drawn between
animals and plants under domestica-
tion and those under nature is inad-
missible. Others assert that domes-
tic animals and plants have been ren*
dered in an especial manner subser-
vient to the uses and purposes of
man. In conformity with this view,
they also aiiirm that the conception
of species is, for that reason, not
applicable to the creatures under do-
mestication. For ourselves, we con-
cede that the analogy between do-
mesticated and nattu^l animals and
plants is a just one, in the light in
which the phenomena of variation
are generally regarded. For we
wholly dissent from the opinion of
the introduction by domestication of
any thing plastic into organisms, and
firmly believe in the operation of
secondary causes in the formation of
varieties.
These arguments, in the form in
which they are adduced, are incon-
clusive. Their weakness springs from
an error into which those who have
urged them have fallen, which vitiates
at the Start all their reasoning. To
this error we shall presently advert.
But while we cannot conciu: in their
premises, we have something more
than an intuition of the truth of their
common conclusion.
The facts, of which the Animals
and Plants under Domestication is a
vast repertory, admit of a theory
more conformable than that of Dar-
win to the phenomena of variation ;
a theory which fully accounts for the
appearance of the profitable modifi-
cations under domestication, (confess-
edly inexplicable on Darwin's theo-
ry,) and for the formation of races
under nature ; a theory admitting of
still further variation; and whidi is
at the same time strictly in accor-
dance with the doctrines of spedal
creations and of the immutability of
the species. This tdeological ex|^-
nation, of which we conceive die
phenomena of variation to be suscq>-
tible, we will render amenable to all
the canons of scientific research.
And in doing so, we will rely for our
proofe upon no evidence but that
furnished us by noted evolutionists.
The seeming concurrence of all
the evidence in favor of Darwinism
results from a misconception by all
of the true nature of its data. In
all the arguments adduced by the
advocates of special creation in dis-
proof of Darwin's hypotheses, these
variations have been tacidy admitted
to arise by evolution. That they
have thus arisen seems to be taken
for granted. In this admission lies
their error. Upon this current con-
ception of varietal evolution rests
the whole evolution hypothesis.
Upon the validity of this assump-
tion we join issue with Darwin,
as we conceive that upon this point
the whole question hinges. For
it is not a litUe illogical to con-
cede the evolution of varieties, and
to deny the evolution of species. If
we can show that this assumption is
invalid, the whole evolution fabric
will fall.
Darwin tacitly assumes that the
existing state of nattu-e is the normal
or primordial condition of animals
and plants. The difficulty hitherto
experienced in confuting his errors
springs from acquiescence in this as-
sumption. True it is that Darwin
does not believe in the validity of
this assumption, but merely makes it
to show the inconceivableness of the
negation of evolution. With him a
The Immutability of the Species.
^^S
species is not fixed but fluctuating,
and is merely a subjective concep-
tion, having no objective reality. Be-
lieving in the converse assumption,
we advance the following theory:
That animals and plants have degetie-
rated under nature^ and that the fa-
vorable modifications arising under do-
mestication are due to reversion to the
perfect type,
Darwin, in treating of variations,
refers them indiscriminately to rever-
sion and to evolution. This he does
according to no law, rule, method,
or formula. The mere circumstance
that he has one subject under con-
sideration, suffices to induce him to
ascribe to reversion a modification
which, in another portion of his work,
he, with strange inconsistency, attri-
butes to "spontaneous variability."
He affects to deem it a sufficient an-
swer to the ascription of characters
to reversion, to appeal to the absence
of such characters in the species
under nature. If the assumption of
degeneration and subsequent favora-
ble reversion can lay even the least
claim to tenabiUty, this answer is in
no wise satisfactory. If it can be
conclusively shown that most, if not
all, creatures in a state of nature, are
in a degenerated condition, then the
irresistible inference will be, in the
absence of any other rational expla-
nation, that favorable variations are
ascribable to reversion.
While, as Herbert Spencer says,
" a comparison of ancient and mo-
dem members of the types which
have existed firom paleozoic and me-
sozoic times down to the present day
shows that the total amount of change
(in animals) is not relatively great,
and that it is not manifesdy toward
a higher organization," paleontology
furnishes us with many facts showing
the great size of ancient mammals,
and marked degeneracy in their
descendants. Thus, Darwin concurs
with Bell, Cuvier, Nilsson, and others
in the belief that European cattle —
the Continental and Pembroke breeds,
and the Chillingham cattle — are the
degenerate descendants of the great
urus, (bos primigenius,) with which
they cannot now sustain a compari-
son, so greatly have they degenerat-
ed. Caesar describes the urus as
being not much inferior in si^e to the
elephant An entire skull of one,
found in Perthshire, measures one
yard in length, while the span of the
horn cores is three feet and six inch-
es, the breadth of the forehead be-
tween the horns is ten and a half
inches, .and from the middle of the
occipital ridge to the back of the
orbit it is thuteen inches, {Owen's
British Fossil Mammals^ pp. 500, 501,
502.) The common red deer have
so greatly undergone degeneration
that the fossil remains of their pro-
genitors have been held to be those
of a distinct species, (strongylocerus
spelaus,) An advocate of 13arwin-
ism — a i^Titer in the Edinburgh Re-
view for October, 1868— differs with
Owen on this point, and holds that
the common red deer are their de-
scendants, greatly degenerated. From
their antlers it is inferred that thev
equalled in height the megaceros,
whose height to siunmit of antlers
was ten feet four inches, {Owen's
British Foss» Mam,) So marked is
the difference in the size of the antlers,
says the Edinburgh reviewer, that it
would be possible to ascertain ap-
proximately the antiquity of a depos-
it in which they might be found
firom that fact alone. The horse
and the elephas antiquus have also
been shown to have decreased in
size.
Changes similar to these have been
adduced by the advocates of evolu-
tion, to show the manner in which
species have been formed under na-
ture. But these, we apprehend, im*
256
The Immutability of the Species.
ply devolution rather than evolution.
They also serve, contend they, as
illustrations of the harmony subsist-
ing between the organism and its
environment. If by this is meant
ihat the organism responds to every
marked change in the environment,
we admit the harmony. But if con-
gruity between a perfect physiological
state and the changed conditions is
implied, we demur. Certain condi-
tions are absolutely essential to the
growth of characters and to general
perfection. When they are so modi-
fied as to entail the diminution or
loss of any positive feature, this tells
upon the organism. Darwin, noting
that the appearance of certain cha-
racters was invariably consequent
upon the presence of certain condi-
tions, says (in order to avoid any
thing like a teleological implication)
that we must not thence infer that
those or any conditions are abso-
lutely necessary to the growth of
any organs or characters. That Dar-
win errs, and that full physiological per-
fection cannot exist except where there
is full general growth, and full growth
of all parts or organs, we shall clear-
ly demonstrate when, in a future arti-
cle, we treat of the laws of compen-
sation or balancement of growth, of
correlation, of crossing, and of close
interbreeding. But whether there
exists harmony between the organ-
ism or not, there is none the less de-
terioration. And when reversion to
the type firom which the organism
has degenerated takes place under
domestication, it is termed evolution.
But those proofs of degeneration
and subsequent favorable reversion
upon which we chiefly rely are those
afforded by Darwin himself. On
page 8, Vol. I. of his late woric, he
says, " Members of a high group
might even become, and this appa-
rently has occurred, fitted for simpler
conditions of life; and in this case,
natural selection would tend to sim-
plify or degrade the organism; for
complicated mechanism for simple
actions would be useless or even dis-
advantageous." The efficiency of
natural selection in this respect we
fully concede.
And again, on page 12, "During
the many changes to which, in the
course of time, all organic beings
have been subjected, certain organs
or parts have occasionally become of
little use, and ultimately superfluous,
and the retention of such parts in a
rudimentary and utterly useless con-
dition can, on the descent theory, be
simply understood." We heartily
concur in this explanation furnished
by the descent theory, as we fully be-
lieve all that is attributed to the law
of hereditary transmission, the par-
ticularities of the hypothesis of pan-
genesis excepted.
Treating of a symmetrical growth,
he cites the cases of " wrong fishes,"
gasteropods or shell-fish, of certain
species of bulimus, and many achiti-
nellse, verucca, and orchids, and in-
fers, fix)m their being as liable to be
unequally developed on the one as
on the other side, that the capacity
for development is present, and that
it is due to reversion, "And as a
reversal of development occasionally
occurs in animals of many kinds, this
latent capacity is probably very com-
mon." (P. 53, vol. ii.)
On pages 58, 59, and 60 are giv-
en cases of " the re-development of
wholly or partially aborted organs."
The corydalis tuberosa properly has
one of its two nectaries colorless, des-
titute of nectar, and only one half
the size of the other. Its pistil is
curved toward the perfect nectary,
and the hood, formed of the inner
petals, slips off the pistil and stamens
in one direction alone, so that when
a bee sucks the perfect nectary, the
stigma and stamens are exposed and
The Immutability of the Species,
257
rubbed against the insect's body.
"Now," says Darwin, "I have ex-
amined several flowers of the cory-
dalis iuberosa^ in which both necta-
ries were equally developed, and con-
tained nectar ; in this we see only the
re-development of a partially aborted
organ ; but with this re-development
the pistil becomes straight and the
hood slips off in either direction ; so
that the flowers have acquired the
perfect structure, so well adapted
fo insect agency, of dielytra and its
allies. We cannot attribute these co-
adapted modiflcations to chance, or
to correlated variability ; we must at-
tribute them to reversion to a primor-
dial condition of the species." Upon
Darwin's hypothesis, all the beautiful,
delicate, involved, and harmonious
adjustments, coadaptations, relations,
and de|>endencies in organic nature
musty at some time, have arisen by
evolution. But here he apparently
assigns their coadaptation as a rea-
son for not ascribing these modifica-
tions to chance, or to corrdated varia-
bility ; as if their evolution were in-
conceivable. Does this consist with
his theory? What difficulty exists
against their evolution now, which is
not susceptible of being urged with
equal if not greater force against
their evolution ages ago ? Why push
the question further back in time?
Was the evolution of these modifica-
tions less inconceivable then than
now ? If so, why ? In default of
an answer, we have no alternative but
to conclude that all favorable modifi-
cations arise by reversion.
Having given several cases of the
"reappearance of organs of which
not a vestige could be detected^** he de-
clares it " difficult to believe that they
would have come to full perfection
in color, structure, and function un-
less those organs had, at some for-
mer period, passed through a similar
course of growth." We surmise that
VOL. X. — 17
at the moment in which Darwin con-
ceived such a difficulty, his singularly
powerful imagination was impaired
by over-exercise. We trust that, on
the recurrence of such a mental state,
he will cease to marvel at us for ex-
periencing a like difficulty in conceiv-
ing the evolution of any favorable
characters.
After giving the opinion of several
natiuralists — ^in which he concurs —
^^ that the common bond of connec-
tion between the several foregoing
cases is an actual though partial re-
turn to the ancient progenitor of the
group," he says, " If this view be cor-
rect, we must believe that a vast
number of characters capable of evo-
lution (!) lie hidden in every organic
being." Here Darwui, as if he had
demonstrated the tendency to revert
too dearly for the tenableness of his
theory, asserts that the appearance
of these characters, which have been
by him attributed to reversion, is at-
tributable to evolution. The incon-
sistency is manifest But this may be
taken as a type of the whole of Dar-
winism. For the author, after ac-
quainting us, without the slightest
apparent hesitation, with facts show-
ing degeneration to have been Utde
short of imiversal, declares that he
is forced to believe that favorable
modifications are due to " spontane-
ous variability," as they are other-
wise inexplicable; seeming to be
wholly oblivious of ever having men-
tioned previous degeneration. This
reminds us of another inconsistency
of which evolutionists are guilty.
They never tire of inveighing against
the reference of phenomena to what
they term "metaphysical entities,"
sudi as "vital power," "inherent
tendency," "intrinsic aptitude," etc
But this by no means precludes their
use of the same phrases when treat-
ing of phenomena which refuse to
be moulded into even seeming con-
258
Tlie Immutability of the Species.
formity to their hypotheses. Again,
these characters cannot be due to
evolution if they are a return to the
ancient progenitor of the group ; for
that implies the possession of a larger
number of characters in the pro-
genitor than in its descendants;
which directly militates against evo-
lution, which is an advance from the
simpler to the more complex. But
Darwinism is in part but an inge-
niously disguised and elaborate re-
vival of the idea of Geoffroy St.
Hilaire. He conceived "that what
we call species are various degenera-
tions of the same type." Races un-
der nature are, upon our theory, caus-
ed by degeneration ; they are various
degenerations of a specific type.
Observing that races were thus caus-
ed, Geof&oy St Hilaire, we appre-
hend, instituted an analogy between
races and species, and inferred from
the former being various degenera-
tions of a specific type, that the lat-
ter were the various degenerations
of a generic (or a still higher) type.
He was also induced thus to con-
clude by the fact that characters,
which were held in common by all
the species of a genus, were in some
species in a rudimentary state. But
the sterility of hybrids precludes the
possibility of this common origin of
the species. In so far as this hy-
pothesis relates to species, Darwin
adopts it. The fact that races have
been similarly caused, he ignores, as
that is grossly at variance with his
:h)rpothesis of evolution, which lays
•claim to plausibility only in the ab-
sence of any rational explanation of
the appearance of favorable modifi-
cations under domestication. Were
races confessed to be the degenerations
•of a specific type, then it would be
apparent to the capacity of a boy
that the appearance of characters un-
der domestication was due to rever-
sion. Had not Darwin accepted the
idea of St. Hilaire, his theory would
be devoid of its present semblance
of unity and coherency. Having
started out to prove tlie common ori-
gin of the species by evolution^ he pre-
serves the appearance of consistency
in his illustrations by assuming an
identical conclusion, but one arrived
at, as he unwittingly shows, by pos-
tulating degeneration. This furnishes
him with a seeming confirmation of
his theory; but as these hypotheses
of degeneration and evolution are
wholly incongruous, the vain endea-
vor to blend them harmoniously in-
volves him in many inconsistencies
and absurdities. Thus, in endeavor-
ing to prove community of ori-
gin of the species, he, in conformity
with the conception of degeneration,
accounts for the appearance of dia-
racters by reversion, and then, appre-
hensive that this attribution would be
wholly subversive of his theory of
development, ends by inconsistently
and gratuitously terming them in-
stances of evolution. The expres-
sions quoted above illustrate this.
He has shown that the modifica-
tions are due to a return to the ancient
progenitor of the group, and then
says, "If this view be correct, we
must believe that a vast number of
characters capable of evolution (!) lie
hidden in every organic bemg."
Many other instances of this incon-
sistency could be given, but the fol-
lowing will, we trust, suffice. After
adducing cases of bud variation, he
says, " WheH we reflect on these facts,
we become deeply impressed with
the conviction that, in such cases, the
nature of the variation depends but
litde on the conditions to which the
plant has been exposed, and not in
any especial manner on its individual
character, but much more on the
general nature or condition, inherited
fix>m some remote progenitor of the
whole group of allied beings to whicb
The Immutability of the Species.
259
the plant belongs." Mark the con-
sistency. The appearance of necta-
rines on peach-trees by bud variation
is here ascribed to reversion, while in
numerous other places it is adduced
as one of the most striking mstances
<^ evolution. He has cited the cases
of bud variation as instances of evo-
lution, to prove community of origin
of the species, and then assimies the
community of origin of the species to
account by reversion for the appear-
ance of nectarines and all bud varia-
tions. But Darwin may go on in-
volving himself in a succession of
absurdities, in the just confidence
that, however gross they may be,
they will not be observable so long
as his opponents admit the evolution
of varieties.
On page 265, he declares it " im-
possible in most cases to distinguish
between the reappearance of ancient,
and the first appearance of new cha-
racters." This of course implies that
some characters arise by evolution.
Now, how are we to discriminate be-
tween those arising by reversion and
those arising by evolution ? What is
the distinguishhig characteristic of the
latter ? Darwin has failed to inform
us. We deny evolution in any case
— ^** sport," strain, race, variety, or
species. Darwin takes it for granted
in the cases of '^ sport," strain, and
variety, after having shown degene-
ration to have been almost universal.
He professes to believe that these
are due to evolution. What is evo-
lution ? Is it not '' a name for a hy-
pothetical property which as much
needs explanation as that which it is
used to explain " ? Whence results this
beUef in evolution ? From intuition ?
This knowledge of the existence of
such a potent factor is doubdess very
enviable, especially when it is pos-
sessed by able scientists. But — to
follow a train of thought pursued in
another connection — it needs some
guarantee of its genuineness. For
the first impulse of a scientific scepti-
cism is to inquire by what means
these scientists have acquired such a
knowledge of the cause of variations.
If it was gained firom a study of na-
ture, then it must be amenable to all
the canons of scientific research ; and
these assure us that the appearance
of favorable modifications is wholly
inexplicable except upon the hy-
pothesis of reversion, and that evolu-
tion is merely a name for a cause of
which we are presumed to be igno-
rant In science an explanation is
the reduction of phenomena to a se-
ries of known conditions, thus bring-
ing what was imknown within the
circle of the known. Does the hy-
pothesis of evolution fulfil this re-
quirement? Has it not been con-
fessed that " spontaneous variability,"
or evolution, stands in the place of
ignorance ? Is not the ascription of
characters to evolution a "shaping
of ignorance into the semblance
of knowledge " ? Has not Darwin
shown that such it is, when he firank-
ly acknowledges his ignorance of the
cause of the appearance of favorable
modifications, and when he attrib-
utes them to " an innate spontaneous
tendency" ? Of what validity, then,
can an hypothesis be, when the as-
sumption upon which it is ground-
ed is, confessedly, wholly gratuitous ?
Before it cin be entided to a hearing
in a scientific court of inquiry, it is
necessary that it furnish some war-
rant for assuming evolution. We
rely with the most implicit confi-
dence upon Mr. G. H. Lewes con-
curring with us in deeming this re-
quisite.
On page 350, Darwin says, " Many
sub-varieties of the pigeon have re-
versed and somewhat lengthened
feathers on the back of their heads,
and this is certainly not due to the
species under nature, which shows no
26o
Tlie Immutability of the Species.
trace of such a structure; but when
we remember that sub- varieties of the
fowl, the turkey, the canary-bird,
duck, and goose all have top-knots
or reversed feathers on their heads,
and when we remember that scarcely
a single natural group of birds can
be named in which some members
have not a tuft of feathers on their
heads, we may suspect that reversion
to some extremely remote form has
come into action." A high develop-
ment of the " extremely remote form,"
together with degeneration under na-
ture and subsequent favorable rever-
sion, is here manifesdy implied.
On page 247, the tendency to pro-
lification is ascribed to reversion to a
former condition.
" With domesticated animals," says
Darwin, on page 353, " the reduction
of a part from disuse is never carried
so far that a mere rudiment is left,
but we have good reason to believe
that this has often occurred under
nature."
Speaking of the gradual increase in
size of our domesticated animals, he
says, " This fact is all the more strik-
ing, as certain wild or half-wild ani-
mals, such as red deer, aurochs, park-
catde, and boars, have, within nearly
the same period, decreased in size."
(P. 427.)
On page 61, Vol. II., he says, " It
is probable that hardly a change of
any kind affects cither parent with-
out some mark being left on the
germ. But on the doctrine of rever-
sion, as given in this chapter, the
germ becomes a far more marvel-
lous object ; for besides the visible
changes to which it is subjected, we
must believe that it is crowded with
invisible characters, proper to both
sexes, to both the right and left side
of the body, and to a long line of
male and female ancestors, separated
by hundreds or even thousands of
generations from the present time;
and these characters, like those writ-
ten on paper with invisible ink, all
lie ready to be evolved (!!!) under
certain known or unknown condi-
tions." If this is the case, is not the
scope of reversion sufficiently wide to
cover every favorable modification
which has arisen, or may arise, under
domestication ?
But these extracts from Darwin's
Animals atid Plants under Domestiea''
Hon, strongly confirmatory as they
are of our hypothesis, ill sustain a
comparison with the last we shall
adduce. Fuller concession no one
could reasonably desire.
" With species in a state of nature,"
says Darwin, on page 317, " rudimen-
tary organs are so extremely com-
mon that scarcely one can be mentioned
which is wholly fi-ee irom a blemish
of this nature." Stronger confirma-
tion of our h3rpothesis, short of a full
and unequivocal confession of its va-
lidity, we are utterly unable to con-
ceive. Are we not, after this, justified
in ascribing to reversion every favor-
able modification which has arisen or
may arise?
Having thus furnished full warrant
for assuming degeneration and sub-
sequent favorable reversion, and for
alleging the -complete gratuitousness
of the converse assimiption of evolu-
tion, let us turn our attention to the
grand principle of natural selection.
It is scarcely possible to read Dar-
win's graphic description of the
struggle for existence among animals
and plants, and not marvel at their
survival. Creatures under nature are
subjected to the greatest vicissitudes
of climate. Thousands are bom into
the world with delicate constitutions,
inherited from* their progenitors.
These enter into competition Mrith
their fellows for the means of subsis-
tence; and although they eventually
succumb, they have, during their
short lives, by this competition, in-
The Immutability of the Species,
261
duced the deterioration of their
stronger companions. All without
exception have to struggle, fh)m the
hour of their birth to the hour of their
death, for existence. Natural extinc-
tion carries off those whose impaired
constitutions are inconsistent with pro-
longed existence. Consequent upon
natural extinction is the survival of
the fittest and strongest Darwin avers
that the weaker portion of the species
having been carried off by natural ex-
tinction, the next generation, having
been derived only from the stronger
portion of the race, will be of a still
stronger constitution. This is not the
case. Natural extinction does not ar-
bitrarily carry off the weak, but merely
tiiose whose extremely impaired con-
stitutions are incompatible with life.
Many sturvive between which and the
conditions there is litde compatibility.
And even the ofl&pring of those
which are the strongest are subjected
in their turn to the same if not
worse conditions, and to the same
if not severer competition ; for the
probability is, that the increase in the
number of animals and plants has
been great Thus degeneration is
ever active. If the climate foils to
entail deterioration, and becomes fo-
▼orable, the same result is produced
by the severe competition conse-
<iuent upon ^an astonishingly rapid
increase in numbers.**
Darwin implies that natural selec-
tion is something more than the cor-
relative of natural extinction. That
it B, he has not shown. All the facts
*ow that the one is merely the cor-
I'dative of the other. The semblance
of the converse being the case is
pven, we conceive, by the constant
"se, when speaking of tiiose preserved
by natural selection, of the superla-
tive, as strongest, fittest, most vigor-
^^ Under natiue, unfavorable
modifications are ever arising, and
^iw»e animals and plants which pos-
sess them in a marked degree are
carried off by natural extinction.
Natural selection, in its turn, operates
merely by the preservation of those
organisms which have imdergone
litde or no modification. The two
factors are only different a^>ects of
the same process. One necessitates
the otho:. More than this, natural
selection is not That it acts by the
preservation of successive favorable
modifications, Darwin has signally
failed to adduce a single instance to
prove. Instances of adaptation he
has adduced, but they are invariably,
except where man has intervened,
those of degeneration. A description
of the process of natural selection is
always accompanied with an account
of the incessant war waging through-
out nature, resulting in natural ex-
tinction. Following this is natural
sdection, preserving the fitter, strong-
er, and more vigorous. Now, a tol-
erably dear conception of our view
may be gained by considering that,
although those preserved may be the
fitter, stronger, and more vigorous, in
comparison with their brothers or
contemporaries, they may be — and
the vast majority of the instances
adduced by Darwin show this to be
the case — less fit, less strong, and
less vigorous than their progenitors.
Those instances adduced which do
not imply this, show no advance on
the progenitors, but merely a struggle
against degeneration and a contmu-
ance in the same state. For animals
and plants under natiue can scarcely
hold their own. Many of them are
reduced to the lowest condition com-
patible with life. If they do not re-
main stationary, their movement is in
the direction of degeneration. Does
not Darwin's assertion, before advert-
ed to, that rudimentary organs are
so extremely common that scarcely
a single species can be mentioned
which does not possess such a blem-
262
The Immutability of the Species.
ish, imply the preexistence of condi-
tions sufficiently adverse to entail
unfavorable changes in almost every
point or character in an organism ?
It is not a little amusing to see that,
in numbers of the exemplifications of
the process of natural selection given
by Darwin, the animals and plants
are subjected to extreme vicissitudes
of climate, the severest competition,
and other unfavorably modifying in-
fluences, and although deterioration
is acknowledged to result, and it is
manifest that all are unfavorably
modified, he invariably concludes
with the assertion that the strongest
and most vigorous survive. This as-
sertion is true in one sense, but is
false when viewed with reference to
the inference intended to be drawn.
It will be seen that the more correct
assertion would be, those survive
which have undergone less modifica-
tion or none.
But independently of these consid-
erations; even upon the supposition
that natural selection was equally
powerful with man's selection in the
formation of. varieties or races, that
as strongly pronounced and as wide-
ly divergent modifications as those
observable imder domestication had
arisen under nature, the efficiency of
natural selection is a matter of no
moment For the argument there-
from begs the whole question. It
takes for granted the whole point
really in controversy. It assumes
that those modifications which may
arise, or which have arisen, are due
to evolution. It is not in the least
inconsistent with our views that fa-
vorable varieties or races should arise
under nature. As a matter of fact,
we deny their ever having arisen.
But we are not by this denial estop-
ped from believing it possible for them
to arise in the futiu^. For were the
conditions to change, and to become
as favorable as those to which ani-
mals and plants are subjected under
domestication, races would then arise.
They would probably be fewer in
number, but a nearer approach to
perfection could be attained, the con-
ditions admitting ; for man's improve-
ment of the animals and plants under
his care is retarded, owing to his not
being as yet perfectly conversant with
the conditions requisite for their full
development. But the modifications
which may arise imder nature will be
due to reversion. The improvement
of natiual species will imply their
previous degeneration. Darwin con-
ceives variations to arise by evolution,
and concession of this is essential to
the validity of his argument The
question then recurs. Are the favora-
ble modifications which have arisen,
or which may arise, due to evolution
or to reversion ? Until this point is
settled in favor of the ascription to
evolution, Darwin's argument from
natural selection is wholly irrelevant
An illustration may perhaps con-
duce to a clearer conception of the
relation in which the theories of evo-
lution and reversion stand to each
other. The following will, we be-
lieve, fully serve this purpose.
Conceive a glass tube, bent into
the shape of the letter V, of which
the lefl leg alone is deariy visible.
In this, water is seen slowly ascend-
ing by a succession of apparently
spontaneous impulses. •* Now," argue
a certain class of philosophers, '* this
is a peculiar case. The water here
manifestly does not acknowledge the
law of gravitation. It must, then,
conform to a law sui generis ; a law
of which we are wholly ignorant; a law
which transcends the scope of our in-
telligence. This law, be it what it
may, we will term evolution. Now,
as this name, given arbitrarily, is the
only explanation of which the singu-
lar ascent of the water will admit, we
are forced to conclude that the wator
The Immutability of the Species. 263
wiQ, if similarly confined above as etc. This attribution is one of the
here belowy continue to rise for ever, stock objections against every thing
Any theory other than this is incon- which does not tally with the ideas
ceivable. The assumption of a limit current among positivists. The ad-
to the ascent of the water is manifest- vocates of Darwin, of whom most, if
ly wholly gratuitous. What evidence not all, are followers of Comte, wax
is there to induce the belief that there eloquent and enthusiastic while on
exists such a limit ?" But would not this theme. Here they disport them-
the calculations of these philosophers selves after the manner of men con-
be signally confotmded by the remov- scious of having alighted on a subject
al of the covering of the right leg of highly calculated to call forth their
the tube, disclosing the downward most happy thoughts. Here their
course of the water fix>m a certain rhetoric is consummate, and their
height? Th?^ analogy, we presume, turns of expression singularly felici-
is clear to all. The a^:ent of the tous. Their affected indignation at
water in the left leg answers to the the assumed absurdity of thus ac-
i^)pearance of the profitable modifica- counting for phenomena knows no
tions under domestication, the apex bounds. So thrilling is this tirade,
of the tube to the existing state of and so perfect the simulation of hon-
nature, and the descent of the water est indignation, that we, though of a
in the right leg answers to degenera^ somewhat cold temperament, have,
tioD under nature; while the height through sympathy, olten caught and
from which the water has descended retained for a moment the infection
in the right leg, and to which in the of enthusiasm. When our feelings
left leg it is ascending in conformity ceased to have full sway, and when
to the rule that water always seeks its oiu" reason returned, we were in a fit
own level, in like manner answers to state to appreciate fully the great
the perfect type of the species fix)m power of eloquence,
idiich the animal or plant has degene- After animadverting thus severely
rated, and to which it is reverting. on this ascription of phenomena, it
But, even assuming that the argu- was not to be expected that .these
ment firom the gratuitousness of the positivists would be guilty of the in-
aasumption of varietal evolution, to- consistency of advocating a theory
gether with that fix>m the explanation the basis of which was one of these
afforded by the theory of reversion, "metaphysical entities." Very litde
is inconclusive, there is yet another credence, we are sure, would be giv-
wfaich may be adduced. en to the assertion that the founda-
Darwin's theory is condemned by tion of Darwin's theory was an occult
its advocates. For it is one of a class quality. For that theory has again
of theories which, they contend, are and again been held up to the world
not entided to any consideration or as a shining sample of what can be
hearing in a scientific court of inquiry, effected in science by conformity to
Doubtless many of our readers, at the positive process of discovery.
least those conversant with science. Yet such is the case. Darwin, on
have spent many a pleasant hour page 2, Vol. I. of his late work, says,
perusing numerous well-written pages " If organic beings had not possessed
filled with protests against the ascrip- an inherent tendency to vary^ man
ticm of phenomena to such endties as could have done nothing." In nu-
" plastic force," " vital power," " intrin- merous other portions of his work
sic aptitude," "inherent tendency," may be found the reference of varia
264
The Immutability of the Species,
tions to " an innate spontaneous ten-
dency," (p. 362, Vol. I.,) to " sponta-
neous or accidental variability," (p.
248. Vol. II.,) to the " nature or con-
stitution of the being which varies,"
(p. 289, Vol. II.,) and to " other me-
taphysical entities." So frequent is the
recurrence of these expressions that it
is scarcely possible to open any por-
tion of his work and not alight on
one. The whole of Darwin's theory
is deduced from this occult quality in
animals and plants. And this is a
theory advocated by G. H. Lewes,
and a number of others who have
given in their adhesion to positivism !
If this explanation is, as they claim,
imphilosophical, are they not bound
to withdraw their support from such
a theory? Does not their present
position argue a total want of consist-
ency? Which is the more entitied
to support, even from their own pro-
fessed stand-point, a theory which
refers favorable variations to an in-
nate tendency in organisms, or that
which ascribes variations to rever-
sion ? No; as any other view would
be incompatible with the success of
their darling theory, they are perfect-
ly content to consider variation as an
ultimate law, even though such a
consideration involves a gross incon-
sistency. Regardless of this, they
advance the theory, and, when en-
gaged on a collateral point, marvel at
their opponents for doing that which
they have done at the start, and com-
placently extol the clearness of their
own views, which have been arrived
at by the aid of an hypothesis based
upon the same occult quality against
which they are now exhausting all
their eloquence.
The truth is, that these " metaphysi-
cal entities " are in almost as frequent
use among positivists as among their
adversaries. They are, perhaps,
more ingeniously disguised. But a
close examination of their specula-
tions will elicit the fact that they are
guilty of the same (alleged) absurdity,
and on a point, as in the present in-
stance, most materially affecting their
whole theory. But these explana-
tions are denounced as metaphysical
merely to facilitate the reception of
their finely spun theories. The dawn
of science in any department of
knowledge is invariably preceded by
a mist This acts as a false medium,
through which the subjects of science
are dimly seen, presenting a most
monstrous aspect This is rendered
still more distorted by the ingenious
but absurd theories of men bent
upon tracing a want of harmony be-
tween science and religion. Their
h3rpotheses, at first sight, apparently
preclude the need of these phrases,
but they are at last necessitated to
use them in accoimting for phenome-
na of which the ascription to known
£3u:tor8 would be grossly at variance
with their views. The use of these
entities is in some cases only provir
sional with us, to be abandoned on
the advent of true knowledge; for
religion does not shun the light of
true science. In this transitional
period between complete ignorance
and fiill knowledge, these speculative
theories are propounded. They pur-
port to furnish an explanation of all
phenomena, and to dispense with the
necessity of using " metaph3rsical en-
tities." Their adoption is necesdtat*
ed, contend their propounders, if the
converse theories are conceded to be
imscientific This we deny, and ap-
peal to the existing low condition of
scientific knowledge, which precludes
for a time the possibility of the for-
mation of any well-founded theory.
This theory of evolution, for instance,
is confessedly founded on ignorance
— ignorance of the law to which its
data conform. But when science ad-
vances, and when facts are expos-
ed to the dear sunlight of precise
The Immutability of the Species,
265
and impartial investigation, perfect
harmony is observable between sci-
ence and religion; and the absurd-
ity of the theories which were urged
fcHr our adoption becomes manifest
Past experience justifies our belief
that such will ever be the case. For
it is only those departments of know-
ledge which are abandoned to specu-
lation which present facts seemingly
at variance with religion. We refuse
to accept the alternatives which they
ofifer, confident that, as they are at
variance with religion, they are not
the legitimate products of true sci-
Races under nature have been
formed exclusively by degeneration.
By this we do not wish to imply any
innate tendency in organisms to de-
generate. The degeneration of which
we speak is solely induced by the
direct and indirect action of the con-
ditions of life. Upon assuming cer-
tain conditions necessary to full
growth, the formation of natural
races becomes deductively explicable.
It is with regret that we observe a
disposition on the part of some of
the advocates of special creation to
bdieve growth independent of the
conditions. The dependence of
growth upon the conditions cannot
be disputed. Nor do we wish to
dispute it; for it is, to our mind,
strong confirmation of the doctrine
of final causes. The supporters of
the evolution hypothesis maintain
that an organism has the capacity for
adapting itself to any conditions, so
diat they are not so marked and
sudden as to entail extinction. We
acquiesce in this thus far — where
the conditions are favorable, improve-
ment ensues. But with us improve-
ment implies previous degeneration.
And when the conditions are adverse,
a change for the worse results in pro-
portion to the change in the condi-
tions. Such adaptation as this we
admit. But we fancy Darwin would
consider this too teleological to be a
concession. Adaptation, with him,
implies harmony. This harmony we
will not gainsay. But if the condi-
tions induce the total or partial sup-
pression of any part or character, we
contend that this adaptation of the
organism to the conditions is not
consistent with complete physiologi-
cal integrity. The departure from a
state of integrity is directly propor-
tioned to the retardation of growth
of either the organism as a whole, or
of only one or more of its organs or
characters. This repression is the
criterion by which to judge of the
adverseness of the conditions. For
our belief in this incompatibility be-
tween fiUl integrity and conditions
which entail the loss or diminution
of any part, character, feature, or or-
gan, we will, in a future article, fur-
nish full warrant.
Starting out, then, with perfect
specific types, we will be able to ac-
count for the formation of races
without the aid of an equivocal pro-
cess, without postulating any occult
quality, and by means in every way
analogous to those which, as Darwin
has shown, play an important part in
inducing modification.
From the instances of degenera-
tion adduced by Darwin, we may in-
fer that the conditions of life were at
one time extremely adverse. And
surely, if they were sufficiently unfa-
vorable to involve the reduction of
most important organs to a rudimen-
tary condition, they must also have
caused the suppression of many minor
characters. The climate in most
coimtries has been adequately rigo-
rous to act upon the organization as
a whole, and thus entail deterioration
in size; and as these unfavorable
conditions ranged from those but lit-
tle unfavorable to those barely com-
patible with life, the retention of the
2(A
The Imtnutability of the Species.
organism in each or several of these
stages would create diversity of size ;
for climate acts with different degrees
of force in different countries. Then
in a single country the animals or
plants would be subjected to closely
similar conditions, and long continu-
ed subjection to these would produce
uniformity of size, and indigenous
races.
In addition to these modifications
consequent upon the direct action of
the climate on the whole organization,
there would result minor changes.
The conditions of life would in dif-
ferent districts or coimtries be imfa-
vorable to different parts or charac-
ters. The reduction of these parts
would follow, and this would, through
correlation of growth, involve modi-
fications in other portions of the or-
ganization. For, says Darwin, "all
the parts of the organization are to
a certain extent connected or corre-
lated together."
Owing to these causes there would
be disproportionate deterioration of
the characters. When an organ of
which the function is activity would
be little exercised, it would become
atrophied. Different situations would
occasion more or less disuse of or-
gans, and these would consequently
be differently modified. Then their
modification would call for the mo-
dification of other characters. Thus,
the legs in some animals are made
more or less short by disuse, and by
correlation the head is reduced in
size, and changed in shape. Loss
of characters, such as the crest of
feathers on the head, and watde,
conjoined with changes in other parts
of the organism, would, through cor-
relation, produce more or less dimi-
nution in size of the skull. General
decrease in size, and loss of tail or
tail-feathers, would lessen the number
of the vertebrae, which result would
induce other changes. When the
hair is affected by humidity of cli-
mate or other causes, the tusks, horns,
skull, and feet become modified.
There is also correlation of degenera-
tion between the skin and its various
appendages of hair, feathers, hoofs,
horns, and teeth ; between wing-feath-
ers and tail-feathers; between the
various feattu^es of head and skull.
With animals, a small supply of
food would cause decrease in size;
and with plants, an insufficient quan-
tity of the necessary chemical ele-
ments, together with the starvation
consequent*upon the close contiguity
of other plants, would produce the
same result. Diseases peculiar to
certain localities, heights, and climates
have also played their part in the
modification of animals and plants.
Given, then, a perfect type, the
imfavorable action of these elements
— ^eat and cold, dampness and dry-
ness, light and electricity, disuse, dis-
ease, absence of some ojf the neces-
sary chemical elements, and insuffi-
cient supplies of food — ^together with
that of their countless modifications,
acting separately and conjointly, di-
rectly and indirecdy through correla-
tion, is amply adequate to the pro-
duction of the modifications by
which, as we conceive, races have
been formed.
That it is possible for characters to
appear after having been lost iot a
greaf length of time, is amply shown
by Darwin in his chapters on rever-
sion. Individuals of breeds of cat-
tle that have been hornless for the
last one hundred or one himdred
and fifty . years occasionally give
birth to homed calves. Charac-
ters, he assures us, may recur after
an almost indefinite number of ge-
nerations. " From what we see of
the power of reversion, both in pure
races and when varieties or species
are crossed, we may infer that cha-
racters of almost any kind are capar
Haydn's First Lessons in Music and Love,
267
ble of reappearance after having been
lost for a great length of time."
Speaking of the transmission of color
during centuries, he says, " Never-
theless, there is no more inherent im-
probability in this being the case
than in a useless and rudimentary
organ, or even in only a tendency to
the production of a rudimentary or-
gan, being inherent during millions
of generations, as is well known to
occur with a multitude of organic be-
ings. There is no more inherent im-
possibility in each domestic pig, dur-
ing a thousand generations, retaining
the capacity to develop great tusks
under fitting conditions, than in the
3roung calf having retained for an
indefinite number of generations ru-
dimentary incisor teeth which never
protrude through the gimis." The
power of reversion is further shown
in the cases of pelorism before given.
And again, he urges that, " It should
also be remembered that many cha-
racters lie latent in organisms ready
to be evolved (?) under fitting condi-
tions." But it is scarcely necessary
to adduce proofs of the possibility of
reversion ; for, if characters arise in
species which have confessedly de-
generated, it is the height of absur-
dity to attribute them to evolution,
rather than to reversion.
Many objections, we are sure, will
suggest themselves, and many doubts
will be expressed whether the theory
here enunciated will cover all the
facts. We feel confident of succeed-
ing in obviating every difficulty, and
in dissipating all such doubts. In
this article we have shown upon
what an infirm basis the evolution
hypothesis rests, and have suggested
a legitimate alternative. In our
forthcoming articles, we shall show
still further weakness of the views of
Darwin and Spencer, and point out
facts which, while grossly at variance
with the development doctrines, af-
ford conclusive proof of the objec-
tive reality of the species.
HAYDN'S FIRST LESSONS IN MUSIC AND LOVE.
The Hungarians, like the Austrians
and Bohemians, have great love for
music. " Three fiddles and a dulci-
mer for two houses," says the pro-
reib ; and it is a true one. It is not
unusual, therefore, for some out of
the poorer classes, when their regular
business fails to bring them in suffi-
cient for their wants, to take to the
fiddle, the dulcimer, or the harp,
playing on holidays on the highway
Qt in taverns. This employment is
generally lucrative enough, if they
are not spendthrifts, to enable them
not only to live, but to lay by some-
thing for future necessities.
An honest wheelwright, called
"merry Jobst," on account of his
stories and jokes, lived with Elschen
his wife, in a cottage in the hamlet
Rohrau, on the borders of Hungary
and Austria. They were accustomed
to sit by the wayside near the inn on
holidays; Jobst fiddling, and El-
schen playing the harp and singing
with her sweet, clear voice. Almost
every traveller stopped to listen, well
pleased, and on resuming his journey
268
Haydn s First Lessons in Mnsic and Love,
threw often J a silver twopence into
the lap of the pretty young woman.
Jobst and his wife, on returning home
in the evening, found their day's work
a good one.
The old cantor of the neighboring
town of Haimburg passed along the
road one afternoon, and in the arbor,
opposite the tavern, sat merry Jobst
fiddling, and beside him pretty El-
schen, pla3ring the harp and singing.
Between them, on the ground, sat a
little chubby-faced boy about three
years old, who had a small board
shaped like a violin hung about his
nedc, on which he played with a wil-
low twig as with a genuine fiddle-
bow. The most comical and siupris-
mg thing of all was, that the httle
man kept perfect time, pausing when
his father paused and his mother had
a solo, then falling in with his father
again, and demeaning himself exact-
ly like him. Often, too, he would
lift up his clear voice, and join dis-
tinctly in the refrain of the song.
" Is that your boy, fiddler ?" ask-
ed the music-teacher.
" Yes, sir, that is my little Seperl." •
" The little fellow seems to have a
taste for music."
" Why not ? I shall take him as
soon as I can to one who can teach
him."
The cantor came firom this time
twice a week to the house of merry
Jobst to talk with him about his litde
son, and the youngster himself was
soon the best of fiiends with the
good-natured old man. So matters
went on for two years, at the end of
which time the cantor said to Jobst,
" If you will trust your boy with me,
I will take him, and teach him what
he must learn to become a brave lad
and skilfiil musician."
Jobst did not hesitate long, for he
saw clearly how great an advantage
* The diminutiTe for " Joseph," in the dialect of
the country.
the instruction of Master Wolferl
would be to his son. And though it
went harder with pretty Elschen to
part with Joseph, who was her only
child, yet she gave up at last. She
packed up the boy's scanty wardrobe
in a buncUe, gave him a slice of bread
and salt and a cup of milk, embrac-
ed and blessed him, and accompani-
ed him to the door of the cottage,
where she signed him with the agn
of the cross three times, and then re-
turned to her chamber. Jobst went
with them half way to Haimburg,
and then returned, while Wolferl and
Joseph pursued their way till they
reached WolferFs house, the end of
their journey.
Wolferl was an old bachelor, but
one whose heart, despite his gray
hairs, was still youthful and warm.
He gave daily lessons to the little
Joseph, and taught him good princi-
ples, as well as how to sing and to
play on the horn and kettle-drum;
and Joseph profited thereby, as well
as by the other instructions he receiv-
ed in music.
Years passed, and Joseph was a
well-instructed boy; he had a voice
as clear and fine as his mother's, and
played the violin as well as his fa-
ther; he likewise blew the horn, and
beat the kettle-drum, in the sacred
•music prepared by Wolferl for church
festivals. Better than all, Joseph
had a true and honest heart; had
the fear of God continually before
his eyes, and was ever contented, and
wished well to all.
The more Wolferl perceived the
lad's wonderful talent for art, the
more earnestly he sought to find a
patron for him, for he felt that his
own strength could reach little fur-
ther, when he saw the zeal and abili-
ty with which his pupil devoted him-
self to his studies. Providence so
ordered it at length that Master von
Renter, chapel-master and musical
Haydfis First Lessons in Music and Love,
269
director in St. Stephen's Church, Vi-
enna, came to visit the deacon at
Haimburg. The deacon told Mas-
ter von Reuter of the extraordinary
boy, the son of the wheelwright Jobst
Haydn, the pupil of old Wolferl,
and created in the chapel-master
much desire to become acquainted
with him. The next morning, ac-
cordingly, Von Reuter went to Wol-
fijrl's house, which he entered quietly
and unannounced. Joseph was sit-
ting alone at the organ, playing a
^mple but sublime piece of sacred
music from an old German master.
Reuter, astonished and delighted,
stood at the door and listened atten-
tively. The boy was so deep in his
music that he did not perceive the
intruder till the piece was concluded,
when, accidentally turning rotmd, he
fixed upon the stranger his large dark
eyes, expressive of astonishment in-
deed, but sparkling a friendly wel-
come.
" Very well played, my son !" said
Von Reuter at last. " Where is your
foster-father ?"
"In the garden,*' said the boy;
• «* shall I call him ?"
" Call him, and say to him that
Ae chapel-master Von Reuter wishes
to spesJc to him. Stop a moment!
You are Joseph Haydn, are you
not ?"
"Yes, I amSeperl."
" WeU, then, go."
Joseph went and brought his old
master, Wolferi, who with imcovered
head and low obeisance welcomed
the chapel-master and music director
at St Stephen's to his humble abode.
Von Reuter, on his part, praised the
musical skill of his protkgky inquired
particularly concerning the lad's at-
tainments, and examined him formal-
ly himself. Joseph passed the exami-
nation in such a manner that Reu-
ter's satis&ction increased with every
answer. After this he spent some
time in close conference with old
Wolferl ; and it was near noon before
he took his departure. Joseph was
invited to accompany him and spend
the rest of the day at the deacon's.
Eight days after, old Wolferl, Jobst,
and pretty Elschen, the younger son,
little Michael, on her lap, sat very de-
jectedly together, and talked of the
good Joseph, who had gone that
morning with Master von Reuter to
Vienna, to take his place as chorister
in St Stephen's church.
11.
Wenzel Puderlein, a noted hair-
dresser in the Leopoldstadt of Vien-
na, was one day dressing the hair of
the Baron von Swieten, first physician
to the empress, when he heard the
great man's son ask permission to
present to him a wonderful young
musician, whose talents were begin-
ning to attract public attention. Pu-
derlein was happy to say he knew all
about him, having long been hair-
dresser to the chapel-master Von Reu-
ter, in whose house young Haydn
had lived ten or eleven years. He
had been chorister at St Stephen's,
but had been obliged to relinquish
the position two years before, having
lost his fine, clear soprano voice after
a severe illness.
"And what does young Haydn
now?" asked the baron.
" Ah I your honor, the poor fellow
must find it hard to live by giving
lessons, pla3ring, and thus picking up
what he can ; he sometimes also com-
poses, or what do they call it ? He
lives in the house with Metastasio;
not in the first story, like the court
poet, but in the fifth ; and when it is
winter, he has to lie in bed and work,
to keep himself from freezing ; he has
a fire-place in his chamber, but no
money to buy wood to bum therein."
" Tliis must not be; this shall not
/
270
Haydfis First Lessons in Music and Love,
be !" cried the Baron von Swieten, as
he rose from his seat "Am I
ready ?"
"One moment, your honor— only
the string around the hair-bag."
" It is very good as it is. Now
begone !"
Puderlein vanished.
"And you, help me on with my
coat, give me my stick and hat, and
bring me your young teacher this
afternoon." Therewith he departed ;
and young Von Swieten, full of joy,
went to the writing-table to indite an
invitation to Haydn to come to his
father's house.
Meanwhile Joseph Haydn sat sor-
rowful, and almost despairing, in his
chamber. He had passed the morn-
ing, contrary to his usual custom, in
idle brooding over his condition.
Now it appeared quite hopeless, and
his cheerfulness seemed about to take
leave of him for ever, like his only
fhend and protectress. Mademoiselle
de Martinez. That young lady had left
the city a few hours before. Haydn
had instructed her in singing, and in
playing the harpsichord ; and by way
of recompense, he enjoyed the privi-
lege of boarding and lodging in the
fifth story in the house of Metastasio.
All this now ceased with the lady's de-
parture, and Joseph was poorer than
before; for all that he had saved he had
sent conscientiously to his parents,
only keeping so much as sufficed to
furnish him with decent though plain
clothing.
"But where now?" thought he;
and asked himself, sobbing aloud,
" Where shall I go, without money ?"
Just tlfcn, without any previous
knocking, the door of his chamber
was opened, and, with bold carriage
and sparkling eyes, entered Master
Wenzel Puderlein.
" Come to me !" cried the hair-dress-
er, while he stretched his curiing-irons
like a sceptre toward Joseph, and
pressed his powder-bag with an air of
feeling to his heart " To me ! I will
be your father; I will foster and pro-
tect you; for I have feeling for the
grand and the sublime, and have dis-
cerned your genius. I will lead you
to art — I myself; and if, before long,
you be not in full chase, and have
not captured her, why, you must be
a fool, and I will give you up !"
"Ah! worthy Master Puderlein,"
cried Haydn, surprised, " you would
not receive me when I know not
where to go nor what to do ?"
" Now, sit you down on that
stool," said Puderlein, " and do not
stir till I give you leave. I will show
the world what a man of genius can
make of an indifferent head.**
" Are you determined, then, to do
me the honor of dressing my hair,
Master von Puderlein ?"
" Ask no questions ; but sit stilL"
Joseph obediently seated himself,
and Wenzel began to dress his hair
according to the latest mode.
When he had done, he said with
much self-congratulation, " Really,
Haydn, when I look at you and think
what you were before I set your head
right, and what you are now, I may,
without presumption, call you a be-
ing of my own creation. Now pay
attention: you are to dress yourself
as quickly as possible, and collect
your movables together, that I may
send to fetch them this evening.
Then betake yourself to the Leopold-
stadt, to my house on the Danube,
No. 7; go up the steps, knock at
the door, present my compliments to
the young lady my daughter, and tell
her you are so and so, and that Mas-
ter von Puderlein sent you; and if
you are hungry and thirsty, call for
something to eat and a glass of Ofener
or Klosteruenburger; after which you
may remain quiet till I come home,
and tell you further what I design for
you. Adieu I"
Haydiis First Lessons in Music and Love.
271
Therewith Master Wenzel Puder-
lein rolled himself out of the door,
and Joseph stood awhile with his hair
admi^bly well dressed, but a little dis-
concerted, in the middle of his cham-
ber. When he had collected his
thoughts at length, he gave thanks with
tears to God, who had inclined the
heart of his generous protector toward
him, and put an end to his bitter neces-
sity ; then he gathered, as Puderlein
had told him, his few clothes and
many musical notes together, dress-
ed himself carefully in his best, shut
up his chamber, and after he had taken
leave, not without emotion, of the
rich Metastasio, walked away cheer-
fully and confidently, his heart full of
joy and his head full of new melo-
dies, toward the Leopoldstadt and
the house of his patron.
III.
When young Von Swieten came
half an hour later to ask for the young
composer, Signor Metastasio could
not inform him where "Giuseppe"
had gone. How many hours of de-
spondency did this forgetfiilness on
the part of the renowned poet pre-
pare for the poor, tmknown, yet in-
comparably greater artist, Haydn !
When Joseph, after a long walk,
stood at length before Puderlein's
house, he experienced some novel
sensations, which may have been
consequent on the thought that he
was to introduce himself to a young
lady and converse with her ; an idea
which, from his constitutional bashful-
ness and his ignorance of the world,
was rather formidable to him. But
the step must be taken, nevertheless.
He summoned all his courage and
knocked at the door. It was open-
ed, and a handsome damsel of eigh-
teen or nineteen presented herself be-
fore the trembling young man.
In great embarrassment he faltered
forth his compliments and his mes-
sage from Master Wenzel. The pret-
ty Nanny listened to him with an ex-
pression of pleasure, and of sympathy
for th^ forlorn condition of Jier visitor.
When he had ended, she took him by
the hand, to his no small terror, with-
out the least embarrassment, and led
him into the parlor, saying in insinuat-
ing tones, " Come in. Master Haydn ;
it is all right. I am sure my papa
means well with you ; for he concerns
himself for every dunce he meets,
and would take a poor wretch in for
having only good hair on his head !
But you must give in to his humors a
little; for he is sometimes a trifle pe-
culiar. Now tell me, what will you
have? Do not be bashful; it is a
good while since noon, and you must
be hungry from your long walk."
Joseph could not deny that such
was the case, and modestly asked for
a piece of bread and a glass of water.
Nanny, laughing, tripped out of the
room. Ere long she returned, follow-
ed by an apprentice whom she had
loaded with cold meats, a flask of
wine, tumblers, etc She arranged
the table, filled Joseph's glass, and
invited him to help himself to the
cold pastry and whatever else await-
ed his choice. The youth fell to,
timidly at first, then with more cour-
age, till, after he had, at Nanny's
persuasion, emptied a couple of
glasses, he took heart to attack the
cold meats more vigorously than he
had done for a long time before ; mak-
ing the observation mentally that if
Mademoiselle Nanny Puderlein was
not quite as distingui and accomplish-
ed as his departed patroness, the hon-
ored Mademoiselle de Martinez, still,
as far as youth, beauty, and polite
manners were concerned, she would
not suffer by a comparison with the
most distinguished dames in Vienna.
When Master Wenzel Puderlein
came home an hour or two later, he
V
272
Haydn's First Lessons in Music and Love,
found Joseph in high spirits, with
sparkling eyes and cheeks like the
rose, already more than half in love
with the pretty Nanny.
Joseph Haydn lived thus many
•months in the house of Wenzel Pu-
derlein, burgher and renowned y^<M^r
in the Leopoldstadt of Vienna, and
not a man in the imperial city knew
where the poor but gifted and well-
educated artist and composer was
gone. In vain he was sought by his
few friends; in vain by young Von
Swieten ; in vain, at last, by Metas-
tasio himself. Joseph had disappear-
ed from Vienna without leaving a
trace. Wenzel Puderlein kept his
abode carefully concealed, and won-
dered and lamented, like the rest,
over his loss, when his aristocratic
customers, believing he knew every
thing, asked him if he could give
them any information as to what had
become of Joseph. He thought he
had good reason and undoubted
right to exercise now the hitherto
unpractised virtue of silence; be-
cause, as he said to himself, he only
aimed at making Joseph the happiest
man in the world !
Joseph cheerfully resigned himself
to the purposes of his friend, and was
only too happy to be able undisturb-
ed to study Sebastian Bach's works,
to try his skill in composing quar-
tettos, to eat as much as he wanted,
and, day after day, to see and chat
with the fair Nanny. It never oc-
curred to him to notice that he lived,
in a manner, as a prisoner in Puder-
lein's house; that all day he was
banished to the garden behind the
dwelling or to his own snug chamber,
and only permitted to go out in the
evening with Wenzel and his daugh-
ter. It never occurred to him to
wish for other acquaintances than
their nearest neighbors, among whom
he was known simply as " Master
Joseph ; " and he cheerfully delivered
every Saturday to Master Wenzel the
stipulated number of minuets, waltzes,
etc., which he was ordered to com-
pose. Puderlein carried the pieces
regularly to a music-dealer in the
Leopoldstadt, who paid him two
convention-guilders for every fuU-
toned minuet, and for other pieces in
proportion. This money the hair-
dressisr conscientiously locked up in
a chest, to use it, when the time
should come, for Joseph's advan-
tage. With this view, he inquired
earnestly about Joseph's greater
works, and whether he would not
soon be prepared to produce some-
thing which would do him credit in
the eyes of the more distinguished
part of the public.
"Ah! yes, indeed," replied the
young man. " This quartetto, when
I shall have finished it, might be ven-
tured before the public; for I hope
to make something good of it Yet
what can I do? No publisher
would take it, because I have no dis-
tinguished patron to whom I could
dedicate it !"
" That will all come in time," said
Puderlein, smiling. "Do you get
the thing ready, yet without neglect-
ing the dances."
Joseph went to work; yet every
day he appeared more deeply in love
with the pretty Nanny ; and the dam-
sel herself looked with very evident
favor on the dark though handsome
youth. Wenzel saw the progress of
things with satisfaction; the loveis
behaved with great propriety, and he
buffered matters to go on in their
own way, only interfering, with a lit-
tle assumed surliness, if Joseph at any
time forgot his tasks in idle talk, or
Nanny her housekeeping.
But not with such eyes saw Mosjo
Ignatz, Puderlein's joumejrman and
factotum hitherto; for he thougbt
himself possessed of a prior claim to
the love of Nanny. It was gall and
Haydn's First Lessons in Music and Love,
273
wormwood to Ignatz to see Joseph
and the fair girl together. He would
often fain have interposed his pow-
der-bag and curling-irons between
tbem when he heard them singing
tender duets; for Nanny had really
a charming voice, was very fond of
music, and was Joseph's zealous pu-
pil in singing.
At length Ignatz could no longer
endure the torments of jealousy.
One morning he sought out the mas-
ter of the house, to discover to him
the secret of the lovers. How great
was his astonishment when Master
Wenzel, instead of falling into a vio-
lent passion and turning Joseph out
of doors without ftirther ado, replied,
with a smile, that he was well pleased
to have it so. In vain Ignatz urged
his own prior claims to Nanny's favor,
and the encouragement he had re-
ceived from fether and daughter.
His pretensions were treated with
the utmost scorn.
The journeyman declared he would
instantly quit the hair-dresser's treach-
erous roof, and him and his periwig
stock. He hastened to pack up his
goods, demanded and received his
wages, and left the house vowing
vengeance against its inmates. Pu-
deriein was incensed; Nanny laugh-
ed ; Joseph sat in the garden, troub-
ling himself about nothing but his
quartetto, at which he was working.
Wenzel Puderlein saw the hour
approaching when the attention of
the imperial city, and of the world,
would be directed to him as the pro-
tector and bene^tor of a great mu-
sical genius. The dances Joseph had
composed for the music-dealer in
the Leopoldstadt were played again
and again in the halls of the nobility.
All praised the lightness, the spright-
Hness and grace that distinguish-
ed them; but all inquiries were
vain, at the music-dealer's, respecting
die name of the composer. None
VOL. X. — 18
knew him, and Joseph himself had
no idea what a sensation the pieces
he had thrown off so easily created
in the world. Master Wenzel, how-
ever, was well aware of it, and wait-
ed with impatience the completion
of the first quartetto. At length the
manuscript was ready. Puderlein re-
ceived it, took it to the music pub-
lisher, and had it sent to press imme-
diately, which the sums he had from
time to time laid by for Joseph enableil
him to do. Haydn, who was confident
his protector would do every thing
for his advantage, committed all to
his hands; he commenced a new
quartetto, and the old one was soon
nearly forgotten.
They were not forgotten, however,
by Mosjo Ignatz Schuppenpelz, who
was continually on the watch to play
Master Puderlein some ill trick.
The opportunity soon offered; his
new principal sent him one morning
to dress the hair of the Baron von
Fiimberg. Young Von Swieten chanc-
ed to be at the baron's house, and
in the course of conversation men-
tioned the balls frequently given by
Prince Esterhazy, and the delight-
ful new dances by the unknown com-
poser. In the warmtii of his descrip-
tion the youth stepped up to the
piano and began a piece which caus-
ed I^atz to prick up his ears, for he
recognized it too well; it was Nan-
ny's favorite waltz, which Joseph had
executed expressly for her.
" I would give fifty ducats," cried
the baron, when Von Swieten had
ended, " to know the name of the
composer."
" Fifty ducats !" repeated Ignatz.
" Your honor, I can tell your honor
the name of the composer."
" If you can, and with certainty,
the fifty ducats are yours," answered
Fiimberg and Von Swieten.
" I can, your honor. It is Pepi
Haydn."
274
Haydiis First Lessofts in Music and Love.
*'Ho\v? Joseph Haydn ? How
do you know ? Speak !" cried both
gentlemen to the friseur^ who pro-
ceeded to inform them of Haydn's
abode and seclusion in the house of
Wenzel Puderlein; nor did the ex-
journeyman lose the opportunity of
be-powdering his ancient master plen-
tifully with abuse as an old miser,
a surly fool, and an arch tyrant.
" Horrible !" cried his auditors,
when Ignatz had concluded his story.
" Horrible ! This old friseur makes
the poor young man, hidden from all
the world, labor to gratify his avarice,
and keeps him prisoner! We must
set him at liberty."
Ignatz assured the gentlemen they
would perform a good deed by doing
so; and informed them when it was
likely Puderlein would be from home,
so that they could find an opportuni-
ty of speaking alone with young
Haydn. Young Von Swieten resolv-
ed to go that very morning, during
the absence of Puderlein, to seek his
favorite ; and took Ignatz along with
him. The hair-dresser was not a lit-
tle elated to be seated opposite the
baron, in a handsome coach, which
drove rapidly toward Leopoldstadt.
When they stopped before Puderlein's
house, Ignatz remained in the coach,
while the baron alighted, entered the
house, and ran up stairs to the cham-
ber before pointed out to him, where
Joseph Haydn sat deep in the com-
position of a new quartetto.
Great was the youth's astonish-
ment when he perceived his distin-
guished visitor. He did not utter a
word, but kept bowing to the ground.
Von Swieten, however, hesitated not
to accost him with all the ardor of
youth, and described the affliction of
his friends (who they were Joseph
knew not) at his mysterious disap-
pearance. Then he spoke of the ap-
plause his compositions had received,
and of the public curiosity to know
who the admiriible composer was
and where he lived. " Your fortune
is now made," concluded he. " The
Baron von Fiimberg, a connoisseur,
my father, I myself — we will all re-
ceive you ; we will present you to
Prince Esterhazy ; so make ready to
quit this house, and to escape, the
sooner the better, from the illegal
and unworthy tyranny of an avaricious
periwig-maker."
Joseph knew not what to reply;
for with every word of Von Swie-
ten his astonishment increased. At
length he faltered, blushing, " Your
honor is much mistaken, if you think
I am tyrannized over in this house ;
on the contrary. Master Puderlein
treats me as his own son, and his
daughter loves me. as a brother. He
took me in when I was helpless and
destitute, without the means of earn-
ing my bread."
" Be that as it may," interrupted
young Von Swieten impatiently, " this
house is no longer your home; you
must go into the great world under
very different auspices, worthy of
your talents. To-morrow the barop
and I come to fetch you away."
Therewith he embraced young
Haydn with cordiality, quitted the
house, and drove back to the city,
while Joseph stood and rubbed his
forehead, and hardly knew whether
all was a dream or reality.
But the pretty Naimy, who, listening
in the kitchen, had heard all, ran in
grief and aflfright to meet her father
when he came home, and told him
every thing.
Puderlein was dismayed; but he
soon collected himself, and command-
ed his daughter to follow him, and
to put her handkerchief to her eyes.
Thus prepared, he went up to
Haydn's chamber. Joseph, as soon
as he heard him coming, opened the
1
Haydn s First Lessons in Music and Love,
275
door and went to meet him, to in-
form him of the strange visit he had
received.
But Puderlein pushed him back
into the chamber, entered himself,
followed by the weeping Nanny, and
cried in a pathetic tone, " I know all ;
you have betrayed me, and are now
going to leave me like a vagabond."
" Surely not. Master Puderlein.
But listen to me."
" I will not listen ! Your treachery
is clear ; your falsehood to me and to
my daughter! O ingratitude! see
here thine image. I loved this boy
as my own son. I received him, when
he was destitute, under my hospitable
roof; clothed and fed him. I have
dressed his hair with my own hands,
and labored for his renown ; and for
my thanks, he has* betrayed me and
my innocent daughter !"
" Master Puderlein, listen to me.
I will not be ungrateful ; on the con-
trary, I will thank you all the days
of my life for what you have done for
me."
" And marry that girl ?"
" Marry her ?" repeated Joseph,
astonished. " Marry her ? I — your
daughter ?"
" Who else ? Have you not told
her she was handsome ? that you
liked her ?"
" I have indeed ; but — ^"
" No buts ; you must marry her,
or you are a shameless traitor!
Think you a virtuous damsel of Vien-
na lets every callow bird tell her she
is handsome and agreeable ? My in-
nocent Nanny thought you wished to
marry her, and made up her mind
honestly to have you. She loves
you; and now will you desert her
and leave her to grief and shame ?"
Joseph stood in dejected silence.
Puderlein continued, " And I — have
I deserved such black ingratitude
from you, eh ? have I ?" With these
words. Master Wenzel drew forth a
roll of paper, unfolded and held it up
before the disconcerted Joseph, who
uttered an exclamation of surprise as
he read these words engraved on it,
" Quartetto for two violins, bass ^iol,
and violoncello. Composed by Master
Joseph Haydn, performer and com-
poser in Vienna. Vienna, 1751."
"Yes!" cried Puderlein, triumph-
antly, when he saw Haydn's joyful
surprise — "yes, cry out and make
your eyes as large as bullets. I did
that ; with the money 1 received in
payment for your dances I paid for
paper and press- work, that you might
present the public with a great work.
Still more: I have labored to such
purpose among my customers of rank
that you have the appointment of
organist to the Carmelites. Here is
your appointment Now go, ingrate,
and bring my daughter and me with
sorrow to the grave."
Joseph went not ; with tears in his
eyes he threw himself into Puderlein's
arms, who struggled and resisted vig-
orously, as if he would have repelled
nim. But Joseph held him fast, say-
ing, " Master Puderlein ! listen to
me! There is no treachery in me!
Let me call you father; give me Nan-
ny for my wife."
Master Wenzel was at last quiet
He sank exhausted into an arm-chair,
and cried to the young couple,
"Come hither, my children; kneel
before me, that I may give you my
blessing. This evening shall be the
betrothal, and a month hence we will
have the wedding."
Joseph and Nanny knelt down
and received the paternal benedic-
tion. All was festivity in No. 7,
on the Danube, that evening, when
the organist, Joseph Haydn, was sol-
emnly betrothed to the fair Nanny,
the daughter of Wenzel Puderlein,
burgher and proprietor in the Leo-
poldstadt in Vienna,
The Baron Von Fiimberg and
276
A Sketch of the Irish Volunteers,
young Von Swieten were not a
little astonished, when they came
the next morning to take Haydn
from Puderlein's house, to find
him affianced to the pretty Nan-
ny. • They remonstrated with him
earnestly in private; but Joseph re-
mained immovable, and kept his
word, pledged to Puderlein and his
bride, like an honorable young man.
At a later period he had reason to
acknowledge that the step he had
taken was somewhat precipitate ; but
he never repented it, and consoled
himself, when his earthly muse
caused a litde discord among his
tones, with the companionship of that
immortal partner, ever lovely, ever
young, who attends the skilful artist
through life, and who proved herself
so true to him that the name of
Joseph Haydn shall, after the lapse
of centuries, be pronounced with joy-
ful and sacred emotion by our latest
posterity.
PROM THB KEVUB DU IIONDB CATUOUQUB.
A SKETCH OF THE IRISH VOLUNTEERS.
BY COUNT FRANK RUSSELL KILLOUGH, LATE OF THE PONTIFICAL ARMY.
It was worthy of Catholic Ireland,
that noble daughter of the church,
which has preserved intact the faith
of St. Patrick in the midst of strug-
gles, trials, and persecutions of every
kind, to send to the pope a legion of
her sons to fight beside the generous
volunteers whom every vessel brought
fit)m France, Belgium, Germany, and
Switzerland. As my thoughts revert,
after an interval of eight years, to
this noble band, whose organization
I superintended temporarily, I love
to recall the great natural qualities
which redeemed their defects, and,
despite their disorders and uproar, and
their incessant quarrels, won for the
Irish the admiration of Lamoricibre,
and merited the approval of the pope,
who, after the crisis, desired to form
around him a guard of these valiant
soldiers, these indomitable heroes,
these Catholics faithful to the death.
Unfortunately, in the midst of the
fatigues and excitement of this period.
amid marches and countermarches,
orders and countermands, it was im-
possible for me to keep a journal of
the thousand and one strange inci-
dents, daily events, interesting or
amusing, of which I was a witness ;
indeed, they would furnish Alexander
Dumas abundant matter for dramas
and endless tales. I must limit my-
self to those scenes which have left
the deepest impression on my memory.
The 30th of May, i860, found me
in garrison in a small hamlet on the
frontiers of Tuscany, Titta della Pieve,
situated some leagues from Lake Tra-
simene, famous for the struggle be-
tween Hannibal and the Romans,
which took place upon its border.
Thence a sudden order despatched
me to Macerata, a small town of the
Adriatic Marches, where I was to or-
ganize the Irish Legion. Already a
hundred and fifty recruits had ar-
rived, and the order was couchetl in
terms admitting of no delay. I left
A Sketch of the Irish Volunteers,
277
with regret, for in this little hamlet I
had found a family, whose hospitali-
ty had touched me. It was that of
the gpnfalonnier.
The young matron, simple in her
tastes, well educated, and handsome
as Italians naturally are, had under-
taken by her kindness to make us
forget the ungracious reception which
our uniform had won for us in Peru-
gian society. And in this she mani-
fested not only sound judgment and
education, but also rare courage, at
this dangerous time, when the least
respect toward a pontifical officer
merited ^he stroke of the assassin's
dagger. A little later, I was to find
her in Rome, proscribed for her fide-
lity by a violent, iniquitous, and vin-
dictive government. Will she be
aWe to return to her home despite
the cruel vexations to which she has
been exposed? I know not, and
dare not hope any thing of Piedmon-
tese mercy. Could I separate my-
self from that noble Swiss regiment,
dear for so many reasons, beneath the
shadow of whose flag I for the first
time drew my sword for the pope ?
Alas I I was obliged to quit for a long
time, perhaps, my brethren in arms,
whose friendship had become a plea-
sure and encouragement and even a
necessity, to find in a new corps new
associates; and this at the moment
when great events were vaguely ru-
mored, when each could foresee the
necessity of all that was dear to brace
up against the storm, whose distant
echoes were already to be heard.
But military obedience exacted this
sacrifice. I left early on the following
morning, and, after escaping an at-
tack on the diligence by twelve mask-
ed brigands, in the gorges of the Ap-
ennines, I arrived at Macerata on
June I St.
I immediately received a visit from
the almoner of the volunteers, whose
appearance deserves particular de-
scription.
He was an Irish Franciscan fa-
ther, and by his lofty stature and so-
norous eloquence reminded me of
the portrait of the great O'Connell,
which in my childhood I had seen
traced by enthusiastic admirers of
his oratory. When Father Bpnaven-
ture appeared in the midst of the re-
cruits, the men made way for him re-
spectfully. One of them had been
guilty of some breach of discipline.
The priest spoke sweetly to him, and a
few words of tender severity brought
tears to the eyes of the offender. In-
deed, this monk, with his lofty brow
and stately gait, his coarse habit fall-
ing in ample folds from his massive
shoulders, was well calculated to im-
press these children of nature, at
once simple but keen, enthusiastic but
fickle, good in heart but hasty in
character, on whom the priest alone
has fitted the yoke of authority.
I immediately saw the necessity of
establishing the best possible relations
with this influential man. The preli-
minaries of our conversation being
ended, he said, " My dear captain,
will you — "
" Pardon me, reverend father, but
you give me a title to which I have
no right. I am only a lieutenant"
" Why, captain dear, this will never
do. I have announced to the recruits
the arrival of their captain ; they are
prepared to receive you, and all the
prestige of your authority will be lost
if they find that you are only a lieu-
tenant. No; permit me without of-
fence to attribute to you the rank to
which you won't be long coming, if
all that I have heard of you be true.'*
" You flatter me infinitely, and I
am much obliged foi your high opin-
ion; but as we have many things to
do, let us save our compliments for
some future occasion, and look at the
2/8
A Sketch of the Irish Volunteers,
men, whom I must inspect without
delay."
" Immediately, mon cher comman-
dant— "
" Still another thing. Monsieur
TAumonier — "
" They are in the barracks, and I will
l)resent you to them. Come with
me; these good fellows await you
with impatience, and I hope you will
be pleased with them. Remember,
you are captain."
I found the recruits, about a hun-
dred and fifty in number, ranged in
two lines along the vast corridor, and I
must confess that my first impression
was not favorable. They were for
the most part ragged, evidently fa-
tigued by the long voyage. A long
bench stood before them.
" We must remove this bench,"
said I to the priest. "It will be in
the way during my inspection." --
" Not a bit of it, captain dear,"
he answered ; " on the contrary, it
will assist wonderfully for the ceremo-
ny of your presentation. You are
shorter than I, and my height destroys
the effect that you ought to produce,
(he was six feet eight inches in sta-
ture.) Get up on that bench, and
)0u will appear as tall as I, and your
jirestige will increase proportionally."
"All right, reverend father; here
goes for the bench. You are a decid-
ed master of scenic art."
I acted on his advice, and mount-
ed my platform, while the chaplain
prepared his countenance and attitude
for the grand discourse that was to
follow. He waited for silence, and,
when he saw all eyes directed toward
me and all ears open to him,
" Boys," he said, swinging with
majestic movement the loose sleeves
of his habit, " welcome this happy
. day, the object of your ardent desires,
on which you will enjoy the honor
of enrolling yourselves in the army
of the sovereign pontiff, and on
which your names, children of St.
Patrick, will be inscribed on the great
list of the defenders of the papacy.
You see before you, at this moment,
the representative of that august sov-
ereign for whom your Irish and Ca-
tholic hearts beat with filial love.
Welcome with acclamations him
whom God has sent us — the illustrious
Captain Russell," (here he laid his
heavy hand on my head as if he
wished to flatten it,) " the noble descen-
dant of your ancient kings, the wor-
thy nephew of the gallant Marshal
McMahon, the hero of Perugia, into
whose hands I gladly resign the au-
thority which I have hitherto exercis-
ed. Now, boys, from the bottom of
your throats, hurrah for Captain Rus-
sell."
" Hurrah for the captain !" shouted
the hundred and fiix.y.
" And you, captain," (here he turn-
ed his great, benevolent eyes toward
me,) " whom the pope has invested
with the powers of commander until
the arrival of their regular chief, con-
sider in the goodness of your heart
the devotion of these true sons of
Ireland, who, abandoning their homes
and families, came through fatigues,
dangers, and privations, over moun-
tains and seas, to place at your dispo-
sal their lives, their strength, and their
heart's blood."
I answered this harangue as well
as I could, giving with all my might
a hurrah for the pope, which was re-
peated along the line ; then, descend-
ing from my pedestal, I shook wann-
ly the hand of the reverend chaplain,
to testify publicly my trust in him,
and, after the inspection, occupied
myself immediately in forming the
companies. Alas ! the first act oivay
administration was unlucky, and
showed that my brains were not
equal to the organization of an Irish
regiment.
Having learned from the chaplam
A Sketch of the Irish Volunteers.
279
that the recruits of different provinces
mutually entertained profound jeal-
ousy, I thought I would succeed well
in putting all the DubUn men in
one company and all the Kerry men
in another. This disposition having
been made, I assigned to each of
the companies one or more apart-
ments of the barracks, and ordered
them to take immediate possession
of their quarters.
This order, simple in appearance,
was the occasion of a prodigious
storm ; and you would be long divin-
ing its cause.
While the Dublin men executed
my order without delay and betook
themselves quietly to their quarters
on the upper story, the Kerry men,
on the contrary, gathered in several
noisy groups under the conduct of as
many leaders, as if they did not un-
derstand the orders, and finally de-
dared point blank that they would
not obey them.
" Peste, Monsieur TAumonier,"
said I to the chaplain, who observed
with a certain anxiety the disturb-
ance which was brewing, "if things
begin thus, they do not augur well
for the future."
"Wait a bit, captain, before deal-
ing harshly with the culpable. Let me
find out the motives of their resist-
ance."
"All right, father. I await your
rendering an account of them."
The monk stepped firmly up to
the mutineers and endeavored to
speak with them.
" We want the upper floor 1 We'll
have the top floor !" was the only an-
swer he received.
" But, boys, the upper floor is no
better than the lower."
" We want the upper ! The Kerry
lads are not made to be stowed away
on the ground-floor."
" For mercy's sake, listen to rea-
son, or else the captain — ^"
" Down wid Dublin ! Kerry for
ever !"
The monk returned, pale as death,
to explain the cause of the tumult.
The volunteers fi-om " county Ker-
ry," whose blood is proverbially
warm, were indignant because I had
quartered them on the ground-floor,
while the Dublin lads occupied the
upper story ; wherefore they were de-
termined not to budge until this insult
was repaired and Kerry vindicated.
" But, reverend father, the order is
given, and cannot be revoked without
compromising my dignity. Try to
point out to me the leaders; I will
have them arrested. As to the
others—"
" Ah ! captain, remember their in-
experience of discipline."
"That is the very reason why I
wish to be severe with the leaders."
I had the leaders of the disturb-
ance arrested, and, on seeing this,
the remainder quietly dispersed and
occupied without further difficulty
their allotted barracks.
" Boys," said I, going among
them, " the leaders who have brought
you astray are scoundrels, whom I
am going to punish. They have
trifled wickedly with that proud sen-
timent of rivalry which does honor
to the different provinces of Ireland.
Keep this sentiment of noble jeal-
ousy, of just emulation, keep it for
the field of battle, where you can
make better use of it than here."
" Hurrah for the pope ! hurrah for
the chaplain ! hurrah for the cap-
tain !"
A few days later, on a beautiful
afternoon in June, the detachment
of volunteers from Limerick arrived.
They numbered about two hundred,
conducted like the others by their
chaplain, a man at once indefatigable
and full of courage, whose almost
juvenile ardor was irresistibly com-
municated to his companions.
28o
A Sketch of the Irish Volunteers,
I thought that these brave men,
fatigued by a long journey and nu-
merous privations, deserved to be
well treated by that pope to whom
they came thus to oflfer their arms
and blood. Hence, I had prepared
for them at the barracks fresh straw
mattresses and warm soup, and, hav-
ing made these arrangements, went
forward to meet them on the road to
Ancona.
Confused cries and sounding hur-
rahs soon announced the approach of
the column. I presented myself to
the new almoner, whom I recognized
by his long black coat and high gai-
ters. At once he gave a prodigious
hurrah for the pope, which was in-
stantly repeated by the two hundred
volunteers with an enthusiasm of
which the pure races are alone capa-
ble. At the same time they bran-
dished enormous cudgels, which serv-
ed them alike as walking-sticks and
weapons, and with which each man
had provided himself before quitting
his native parish.
It would be difficult to portray the
terror which such scenes produced on
the peaceful inhabitants of the town,
little accustomed to such noisy de-
monstrations. They always avoided
meeting the Ollandesi^ as they then
ignorantly termed them — the Verdoniy
(canary color, half green and half yel-
low,) as they afterward called them,
from the colors of their uniform.
The women were content to gaze
timidly from the windows at these
strange guests; the urchins alone,
braver or more frolicsome, escorted
the newly-arrived, and strove to keep
step with these giants of the north,
four times as great as themselves.
During the bombardment of Anco-
na, which lasted six days, I occupied
with the fourth Irish company a
bastion of the intrenched camp,
situated on a height which command-
ed the city and the defence from the
land side. For some days we
had nothing to shelter us; and to
add to the annoyance, the earth
having been lately turned for the
works ordered by the general, the
first rain changed it to thick mud.
On this couch my men had to sleep,
with naught above them save the
arch of heaven. Nevertheless, they
did not complain, as I might have
expected from their previous con-
duct, and they remained the whole
night exposed to a driving rain on
this wet soil without uttering one
complaint, so much had the sight of
the enemy excited their ardor and
developed their military virtues.
Strange ! It had only required a few
bomb-shells to change these peasants,
so imtractable the evening before,
into sober, patient, and warlike sol-
diers, ready for all sacrifices. Every
afternoon, about five o'clock, the bom-
bardment ceased, as if by agreement,
and then commenced the most ori-
ginal scene which can be imagined.
In the midst of the terreplein of
my bastion they kindled a fire, and
grouped themselves pell-mell around
it, just as chance arranged them, sol-
diers, non-commissioned and commis-
sioned officers. For the latter seats
of honor were reserved, consisting
principally of inverted wheel-barrows,
water-buckets, and old pieces of lum-
ber. The pipes struck up, the gourds
of brandy passed fix)m hand to hand,
and tongues were unloosed ; and as
the day had been more or less excit-
ing, so was the conversation animated.
One of a dramatic turn, endowed
with a long and neglected beard and
draped majestically in some old cloak,
recited with upraised hands some
scene of mighty Shakespeare. An-
other, somewhat younger, sung ten-
derly a national air, a sweet melody
of the poet Moore. I have always
A Sketch of the Irish Volunteers,
281
remembered one of these touching
ballads, and cannot resist giving it
here:
** Ridi and rare were the gems she wore,
And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore ;
Bat oh I her beauty was £ur beyond
Her qurkling gems or snow-white wand.
** * Lady, dost thoa not fisar to stray,
So lone and lovely, through this bleak way ?
Ate Erin's sons so good or so c»ld
As noC to be tempted by woman or gtdd ? '
"'Sirkn^I I (eel not the least alarm ;
No son of Erin will offer me harm :
For though they love woman and golden store.
Sir knight, they love hoiun- and virtue more I *
'* On she went, and her maiden smile
In safety lighted her round the green isle,
And bl»t for ever is she who relied
On £rin*s honw and £rin*s pride.'*
Another, an inhabitant of the
mountains, began some interminable
l^end, in which the ghosts of his an-
cestors played an important part.
Sighs and cries of joy accompanied
the recital, broken only by the mono-
tonous "Airs well," which the sen-
tries on the parapet passed from one
end of the camp to the other. All
listened, awed, wonder-stricken, and
transported in spirit to the hearths
which they had left, and around which
they had often kept joyous vigil by
the light of the burning turf. For-
tunately, no inopportune shell came
from the enemy's batteries to cast its
lurid glare over the joyous group or
glitter on the beard of the singer.
pure and romantic natures ! Oh !
what a natural poesy and gayety sur-
rounds this race, which we are wont
to cover with a cloud of melancholy
sadness. Were I to live a hundred
years, I could not efface the vivid re-
membrance of those noisy vigils at
Bastion No. 8, at the bombardment
of Ancona in i860.
Momentary enthusiasm was their
great motive power. Whoever knew
how to excite them, could obtain
from them whatever he wished.
And then, to see the play of their
chests, their arms and shoulders;
they seemed like so many Vulcans.
The heaviest weights, which an Ital-
ian could scarcely move, gun-car-
riages, shell, beams, blocks of stone,
they radsed without difficulty, and,
placing them on their stalwart shoul-
ders, carried them with the greatest
ease, one after another. From this
I derived much benefit in a critical
situation.
The Piedmontese having, half by
surprise and half by main force, seiz-
ed one of the outposts of Monte Pela-
go, and having there posted a battery,
whence a raking fire entirely com-
manded the bastion which I occu-
pied, I saw that, in order to protect
my men, I must construct a traverse
in the midst of the bastion. But how
remove the earth ? How perform all
the necessary work under the fire
whose balls rained among us and
whistied unpleasantly in our ears?
Fortune favored me ; a heavy rain
storm interrupted the bombardment.
" To work, boys ! to work !" I cried.
" In three hours you must raise twelve
feet in length of a traverse, eight feet
high, five feet thick at the top, and
ten at the bottom, which will with-
stand every thing they may send from
Monte Pelago. Here, you terrace-
makers, come on with your picks
and shovels. And you. Sergeant
Tongue — you are a master carpenter ;
dress these logs and slabs for me, to
make a frame for the work. In this
manner, by God's grace, we will get
ready a traverse that would keep the
devil out, even if we had not the
Pope with us. To work, boys! to
work !'*
In a few hours we had the bastion
sheltered from the fire of the enemy.
Alas ! my poor traverse, fruit of such
generous labor, we did not keep you
long. In fact, the following day all
was over, unfortunately ended ; Bas-
tion No. 8, along with all the others,
passed into the hands of the enemy.
282
A Sketch of the Irish Volunteers,
I did not take part in the defence
of Spoleto, that feat of arms so glo-
rious for the Irish Legion ; but after
seeing these volunteers at the bom-
bardment of Ancona, I can easily ima-
gine what must have been that strug-
gle of twenty-four hours of their two
companies against ten thousand Pied-
montese.
An old cannon of heavy calibre,
for many years laid aside as con-
demned, was buried in a corner of
the fortress. Instantly it was extri-
cated from the debris^ transported by
main force to a height whence it
commanded the enemy, and mounted
on a gun-carriage; and the rusty old
piece, astonished at its resurrection,
killed more men on that one day
than during the entire century of its
past existence.
A decayed, half-ruined gate afford-
ed an entrance into the citadel. The
enemy directed their efforts against
it. The athletic sons of St. Patrick
fell to work, and in an hour it was
braced up and barricaded with ga-
bions, and firmly resisted two succes-
sive assaults of the enemy's column.
I could cite twenty instances of
this kind, where heroic courage join-
ed to prodigious muscular strength
worked miracles. But if a more pro-
saic example will suffice to form an
idea of the strength of these iron
limbs, I would add, softly and not
without a slight blush, that during
the period of my command I never
saw a guard-house door which could
resist their opposing efforts more than
two hours, however well bolted it
might be. After the iniquitous bom-
bardment, which did not respect the
white flag floating over all the works
of the citadel and fort, our general
capitulated, and we were obliged to
abandon the place. The departure
was very trying, and I cannot recall
without grief the humiliation of that
disastrous day. I do not wish to
speak of it, nor could I do so without
bitter tears ; but it gives me pleasure
to remember a spirited act of the
Irish Legion.
It was six o'clock in the evening ;
our companies, of which I command-
ed the last, marched in close column,
flanked, alas ! by a line of Piedmon-
tese, who, I must admit, had more
regard for our misfortune than the
dastardly population of the city.
We passed gloomily the gate which
leads to the Porta Pia, quickening
our step as much as the escort would
allow, when some of my men came
to me. " Captahi," said they, " we
have come to say that Ireland will
blush for her children if she leams
that we abandoned this city without
bidding a last adieu to the pope; we
ask permission to salute him after
our fashion at this last moment"
" I understand ; be quiet for a mo-
ment, and Ireland will be content
with you and with me."
A few moments after this, we
reached the boundary of the suburbs.
As the last man passed the gates of
this unfortunate city, judging the mo-
ment opportune for the execution of
our project, I gave with all the
strength of my voice a last hurrah.
" Hurrah for the pope !" shouted
all in unison. The walls, the city,
the gate, even the ocean itself, were
shaken. To paint the astonishment
of our guards would be impossible.
They consulted together for an ex-
planation of what had just occurred.
Finally, I heard a sous-officer say to
his neighbor,
^^Lasiamo farty sono Irlandesi!
Bah 1 these are Irishmen ; of what u«:
is it to trouble yourselves about their
savage cries ?"
Such was our departure from An-
cona, on the 29th of September, i860,
and such the solemn adieu of the
Irish Legion to the pontifical soil
New Publications,
283
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
The Literature op the Age of
Elizabeth. By Edwin P. Whipple.
Boston : Fields, Osgood & Co. 1869.
The volume of essays bearing this
title is a contribution to our critical
literature by a writer who is, perhaps,
the best of American critics. If "to
see things as they really are *' is, as
Matthew Arnold says, the end and office
of true criticism, Mr. Whipple, we
think, is in literary matters fairly enti-
tled to the distinction we have mention-
ed ; and although we are far from having
in this country such critics as Taine, or
St Beuve, or even Arnold himself, it is
one which, in these days of improved
and improving literary taste among Ame-
ricans, is real and desirable.
The essays in the present volume,
written originally to be delivered as lec-
tures before the Lowell Institute, and
then published during the years 1867
and 1868 in the Atlantic Monthly^ are
upon those subjects in which he is most
at home, and appears always at his best
He is an enthusiastic and thoroughly
appreciative student of English litera-
ture, and though, as the authors and the
works which form the topics of these
essays have been long ago thoroughly
discussed by such critics as Lamb, Haz-
litt, and Leigh Hunt, the critical scholar
will find but little strikingly new in the
book, he cannot fail to derive pleasure
and profit from many things in it which
are preeminently suggestive, and from
the greater clearness and precision which
many of his previous ideas will gather.
The most striking characteristic of
Mr. Whipple in these essays is the
masterly manner in which he connects
the work with the author. He deals
less with words than with things ; less
even with ideas than with mind. He
presents to us especially the mental cha-
racteristics, the habits of thought and
feeling — in a word, the inner self of the
author of whom he is treating. From a
careful studv of the works he has traced
the man, and he gives us now the re-
sult ; and using the works for illustration
and proof, asks us if they are not the
expression of the individual character
which he has drawn. Thus, it is the
arrogant and conceited Jonson, the
bitter and misanthropic Marston, the
" one-souled, myriad-minded " Shake-
speare, rather than arrogance, misan-
thropy, or universality in their writings,
that he portrays by his criticism.
The book manifests also Mr. Whip-
ple's usual independence, which pre-
vents him from becoming the slavish
admirer of any author, however great,
and his innate love of moral purity,
which he shows especially iu his criti-
cisms upon the dramatists.
Its style is marked by that wonderful
control of language and facility of ex-
pression for which Mr. Whipple has
always been distinguished. But we
think it bears evidence of the object for
which the essays were originally pre-
pared — delivery as popular lectures.
Such a sentence as we give below seems
to us to detract from the dignity of style
which we might rightfully expect in the
author. Referring to Jonson's brief
occupation as a mason, Mr. Whipple
says:
" We have no means of deciding whether
or not Ben was foolish enough to look upon
his trade as degrading ; that it was distaste-
ful we know, from the fact that he soon ex-
changed the trowel for the sword, and we
hear no more of his dealing with bricks, it
we may except his questionable habit of car-
rying too many in his hat
Such things as this, which occur more
or less frequently throughout the book,
might have been advantageously omitted
when Mr. Whipple transferred his essays
from the judgment of a mixed audience
at a lecture-hail, to that of the readers
of a book which will be likely to find its
way only into the hands of those who
are interested in its subject. But, as a
general rule, he uses allusions and anec-
284
New Publications,
dotes appositely and well, and gains
much sprightliness and vivacity in treat-
ing of subjects which might otherwise
appear somewhat dull to the general
reader by witty and humorous illustra-
tions.
He has also shown a singular felicity
of expression in many phrases and
figures which seem to embody the result
of a careful study of the author, and by
them he often succeeds in conveying in
one condensed and vivid sentence more
of the essential idea of his criticism
than he could have done in pages of
elaborate discussion. Thus, speaking
of Jonson^s tragedies, he says :
" They seem written with his fist"
Of Chapman he says :
* Often we feel his meaning rather than
apprehend it. The imagery has the inde-
finiteness of distant objects seen by moon-
light."
And of Spenser :
"In truth, the combining, coordinating,
centralizing, fusing imagination of the high-
est order of genius — ^an imagination compe-
tent to seize and hold such a complex de-
sign as our poet contemplated, and to flash
in brief and burning words details over
which his description lovingly lingers —
this was a power denied to Spenser. He
has auroral lights in profusion^ but no light-
ning,^''
Mr. Whipple*s work seems to us more
peculiarly valuable in the discussion of
the minor dramatists and poets of the
time — authors who are comparatively
unknown to the general mass of readers.
But these writers arc neglected only on
account of the great wealth of genius in
which the age abounded. Their real
brilliancy appears only as darkness by
the side of the overpowering light of
Shakespeare and Jonson, Spenser and
Bacon. We hope that many will be in-
duced by this book to cultivate an ac-
quaintance with the works of the men
of whom it treats, and we have the more
expectation that this will be so from the
fact that not its least praiseworthy cha-
racteristic is the care and good taste
with which the extracts from these
authors, by which Mr. Whipple illus-
trates his criticisms, have been made.
We can only regret that they have been
so sparingly introduced.
The author's treatment and discussion
of Bacon's genius, and his claim to be
the founder of the inductive philosophy,
are unsatisfactory to our mind ; but this
subject involves a question into which
it is impossible to enter in this notice.
We regret that we cannot take leave
of this pleasant and on the whole ad-
mirable book without being obliged to
say, that though it is by no means dan-
gerous, it is often annoying to the Catho-
lic reader. Mr. Whipple seems to be im- '
bued with that prejudice and an&imess
which is so common in English and
American literature when alluding to
the church, and in several places by
slight words and phrases expresses that
sneering contempt in which authors of
his " liberal and tolerant '' views are so
apt to indulge toward those who difier
from them in belie£ We think, \QO^
that in his introductory chapter he gives
altogether too much prominence to the
*' Reformation " as a means of intellectual
awakening. The so-called Reformation
may indeed have been partially, and in a
peculiar sense, a result of the intellec-
tual ferment of the time — ^an unhappy
and deplorable result — ^but it was not one
of its causes y as the author seems to
think. Those lie further back, in those
other great events which Mr. Whipple
names — the revival of classical learning,
the invention of printing, and the
discovery of America ; events which he
and his class of writers would do well
often to remind themselves were brought
about by loyal and devout Catholics.
The Writings of Madame Swetch-
INE. Edited by Count de Falioux of
the French Academy. Translated by
H. W. Preston. New York : The
Catholic Publication Society, 126
N assau street 1 869.
The Life and Letters of Madame
Swetchine, published some eighteen
months since, might dispense us from any
more special mention of her Writing
than to say that she is in both works
well and eloquently portrayed as a
character " destined to hold a fttJnt place
New Publications.
285
among the most powerful, original, pure,
imd fascinating revealed in all history/'
Madame Swetchine was of aristocra-
tic birth, very wealthy, accomplished,
and even learned. Better than all these,
she was liberal in ideas, the friend of the
poor and lowly, modest, humble, and
pious. The greatest minds of the age —
De Maistre, De Bonald, Cuvier, Frays-
sinous, De Falloux, De Broglie, Lacor-
daire, and Montalembert— sought her
friendship and hung upon her words.
And yet even such homage as this
never inspired her with the slightest
literary vanity or worldly ambition.
She wrote much, but never for publi-
cation. She never specially preserved
what she wrote, never desired to.
The material of the book before us,
collected after her death by her ex-
ecutor. Count de Falloux, of the French
Academy, was written without any
fixed plan, at various periods, upon
loose leaves in a rapid, illegible hand,
most of it in pencil The manuscript
was distributed among several of her
literary friends, with whom it was a
labor of love to arrange and prepare it
for the press.
Rarely has unpublished writing had
so bright a constellation of posthumous
interpreters. The " Thoughts " are ar-
ranged by the Abb6 de Cazal^s and
Count Jules de Berton ; " Old Age,'' by
Count Paul Resseguier ; " Resignation,"
by Count Albert De Resseguier and
Prince A. Galitzin.
The general title " Writings " is emi-
nently proper here, as Madame Swetch-
ine never entertained the premeditation
implied by the term "works." They
are marked by a knowledge of the world,
a philosophical range of thought, a
purity of soul, and an elevation of piety
rarely united in one person. Here are
a few of her scattered " Thoughts,"
which we take almost at random :
" Loyalty is patriotism simplified."
** 1 like people to be saints ; but I want
them to be first, and superlatively, honest
men."
"The root of sanctity is sanitv. A man
must be healthy before he can be holy. We
bathe first, and then perfume.'*
*• We forgive too little— forget too much."
" Good is slow ; it climbs. Evil is swift ;
it descends. Why should we marvel that
it makes great progress in a short thne ?"
** We must labor unceasingly to render
our piety reasonable, and our reason pious."
*' Years do not make sages ; they only
make old men."
" Antiquity is a species of aristocracy with
which it is not easy to be on visiting terms."
" The choicest of the public are not always
the public choice."
"The inventory of my faith for this lower
world is soon made out. - I believe in Him
who made it"
" I allow the Catholic only one right ;
that, namely, of being a better man than
others."
"Only those faults which we encouncer
in ourselves are insufferable to us in others."
" A vast number of attachments subsist
on the common hatred of a third person."
The treatise on old age is a classic
Christian De SenectutCy with an elevation
and morality impossible to Cicero.
The AirelUs (flowers that ripen under
the snow) are a series of beautiful reflec-
tions, as remarkable for their strength
as for their delicacy. They are utte-
rances which sprang from Madame
Swetchine's own heart, but reached no
other ; impressions which clothed them-
selves in images to people her solitude.
Here are a few which we select with
hesitation, as we must necessarily con-
fine our choice to the shortest :
" To have ideas is to gather flowers. To
think is to weave them into garlands "
" Our vanity is the constant enemy of our
dignity."
" The chains which cramp us most are
those which weigh on us least."
" O widow's mile ! why hast thou not,
in human balances, the immense weight
which celestial pity accords thee ?"
" Travel is the frivolous part of serious
lives, and the serious part of frivolous ones."
" We are always looking into the future,
but we see only the past"
" We are often prophets to others only
because we are our own historians."
" We are early struck by bold conceptions
and brilliant thoughts ; later, we learn to
appreciate natural grace and the charm of
simplicity. In early youth, we are hardly
sensible of any but very lively emotions.
All that is not dazzling appears dull ; all
that is not affecting, cold. Conspicuous
beauties overshadow those which must be
sought ; and the mind, in its haste to enjoy,
demands facile pleasures. Ripe age inspiics
286
New Publications.
us with other thoughts. We retrace oar
steps ; taste critically what, before, we de-
voured ; study, and make discoveries ; and
the ray of light, decomposed imder our
hands, yields a thousand shades for one
color."
** Slavery, for example. Christianity has
no need to ordain its abolition — it inspires
it ; and that is enough for the man who
would be governed by the spirit of Christ
It is the imperfect reception of Christianity
in the soul which allows slavery to continue ;
and truth has made no progress unless hu-
man bondage has been rendered impossible
by its advance. To combat slavery solely
from a philanthropic point of view, is too
often to lose one's labor, for lust and cu-
pidity mount guard over the system ; but to
encourage, develop, and stimulate the moral
element most antagonistic to human bond-
age b to accelerate the chances of emanci-
pation, and to multiply them a hundred-
fold."
There are various other chapters, com-
prising a remarkable range of subjects —
on the soul, the intellect, on nature,
courtesy, music, the fine arts, on resig-
nation, the world, the affections, etc.
The translation is well executed by
Miss Harriet W. Preston, and the ty-
pography and paper are excellent
Catholic Doctrine, as defined by
THE Council of Trent, expound-
ed IN A Series of Conferences,
delivered in Geneva. By- the
Rev. A. Nampon, S.J. Proposed as
a means of reuniting all Christians.
Translated from the French, with the
approbation of the author, by a mem-
ber of the University of Oxford.
Philadelphia : Peter F. Cunningham.
1869.
We know of no work recently issued
by the American Catholic press whose
appearance we more cordially welcome
than this of Father Nampon's, Catholic
Doctrine^ as defined by the Council of
Trent, It is truly a book for the times ;
and we unite .with the most Rev. Arch-
bishop of Baltimore, whose approbation,
together with that of the Archbishops
of New York and Cincinnati, and of the
Bishop of Philadelphia, it bears, in ex-
pressing the conviction that " it is well
calculated to do a great amount of good,"
and the " hope that it may be extensively
circulated." When the illustrious Bos-
suet gave to the world his incomparable
work on Catholic doctrine in contrast
with "Protestant Variations," Protes-
tantism was but in its seed-time ; and
the harvest of errors, which it has
since so abundantly brought forth, had
scarcely begun to show itself. Since
then, to use the words of the author of the
book before us, " How many new varia-
tions and divisions have appeared among
Protestants ! What ruins has the ex-
plosion of rationalism scattered on that
desolated plain ! And what weakness
has been produced in that which yet re-
mains among them of Christian belief!
How many doctrines, at that time re-
spected, are now thrown aside with con-
tempt in the exercise of private judg-
ment ! How much has the authority of
Scripture been shaken ! To what an
extent have the sublime mysteries of the
Trinity, the Incarnation, and, indeed,
all mystery, all notions of the superna-
tural, become, in the eyes of an ever-in-
creasing number of those who heretofore
were Christians, superannuated, absurd,
mythological ideas !"
But the author of the present volume
does not propose to himself to add io the
work of the great Bossuet — to be a con-
tinuator of the history of the variations.
He adopts a different method. Trans-
lating and setting before the reader the
definitions and decrees of the sacred
Council of Trent, whose work was called
forth by, and mainly directed against
the errors of the so-called Reformers, or
to which their revolt against the church's .
authority had given rise, he first ex-
pounds the true Catholic doctrine im-
pugned by them, and then contr.ists
with it the ever-varying opinions and
fading beliefs which they undertook to
substitute for that doctrine. And this
is done so clearly and eloquently, and
yet so kindly withal, that his book may
be specially commended to the Protest-
ant reader, as one wherein he will fin^i
Catholic doctrine set forth in its verily,
and Protestant error in its deformity,
without occasion given to take offence.
May it fell into the hands of many such
readers ; and may its perusal be to
New Publications,
287
them, as was happily the case with the
excellent translator of the book, the
occasion of their recognizing the verity
of Catholic doctrine, and of their con-
TCTsion to the Catholic Church I
The volume is got out in a handsome
dress, as are all of Mr. Cunningham's
later publications.
Man in Genesis and in Geology;
OR, The Biblical Account of
Man*s Creation, Tested by Sci-
entific Theories of his Origin
AND Antiquity. By Joseph P.
Thompson, D.D., LL.D. New-
York : Samuel R. Wells, 389 Broad-
way. 1870.
This is a short treatise of considera-
ble value, showing both research and a
power of clear reasoning on the part of
the author. To a very great extent we
concur with his conclusions and opin-
ions, and altogether in his estimate of
the importance and utility of such in-
vestigations. The student of biblical
science will find his book useful to a
greater extent than its unpretending
size and appearance would indicate ;
and its general effect, so far as it is cir-
culated in the ordinary reading commu-
nity, must be wholesome, as furnishing
an antidote to the pseudo-scientific
trash which is such a common article
of intellectual diet in our day. The lack
of a sufficient authority to define what
is revealed with certainty prevents the
author from affirming with due assu-
rance some revealed verities, such as
the unity of the race, and brings down
his argument too much to a mere bal-
ancing of probabilities, a defect which is
inherent in modern popular theology
and philosophy. He makes also an
over-estimate of the value of material
progress in itself, and its effect on the
sum of human happiness. Like most
Protestant ministers, he is unable to
keep from betraying his uneasiness in
regard to Protestantism by bringing in
the confident but groundless and un-
proved assertion that it is the main-
spring of all modern civilization, science,
and progress. Dr. Ewer has fully
ihqwn the fallacy of all such assump-
tions, which, at all events, are quite
irrelevant to Genesis and geology, and
would be more appropriately put forth
by the author in his sermons than in
a scientific treatise. There are other
things which are out of keeping with
the solid, scholarly character of the best
portion of the book, betraying haste and
a lack of care and finish in the composi-
tion. With these deductions, we gladly
acknowledge our obligations to the
learned author for a really valuable con-
tribution to sacred literature.
A Critique upon Mr. Ffoulkes's
Letter. By H. L D. Ryder, of the
Oratory. London : Longmans.
Mr. Ffoulkes's unfortunate pamphlet
is completely pulverized by this short,
pithy, and complete reply. Dr. Ward
and F. Bottalla have also performed the
same task, each in his own way, and we
cannot but commiserate any one who
falls into the hands of such a trio. We
look upon Mr. Ffoulkes as a man who
has some very good points, and who has
shown a temper of mind and heart in-
clining us to judge his mistakes very
leniently. His pamphlet is tedious,
crude, inconsistent, and utterly without
any logical or historical basis. It is,
nevertheless, a fair reflex of the state of
mind in which many Anglicans are at
present detained, so that it is well calcu-
lated to do a great amount of mischief.
Refutations of it are, therefore, not a
superfluous work, but a very useful one.
We are glad that F. Ryder has answer-
ed Mr. Ffoulkes, for the reason above
given ; but, apart from this, we are glad
to see any thing on theological topics
from his pen. In our opinion he has
shown more of the true genius of theo-
logy than any other of the rising young
authors in the Catholic Church of Eng-
land, except, perhaps, Fr. Bottalla, who
is without his equal in his manner of
handling the controversy respecting the
papal supremacy. F. Ryder is a deep
student in certain departments of theo-
logy which lie below the surface pre-
sented in the common text-books ; he
is uncommonly discriminating and judi-
cious, and possesses a fine tact which
288
New Publications.
enables him to feel the seat and nature
of the errors and misconceptions in the
English mind most in need of skilful
handling. We hope, therefore, that his
pen may be employed as frequently
as possible on theological topics.
The Intelligence of Animals, with
Illustrative Anecdotes. From
the French of Ernest Menault With
Illustrations. New York : Charles
Scribner & Co. 1869. i vol. i6mo.
This is a most interesting work, and
is one of the volumes of the *' Illustrated
Library of Wonders," the previous ones
of which have been noticed in our pages.
The information given in this little book
about insects and animals is highly in-
teresting, and if heeded there would be
less need of" societies for the protection
of animals.'' In the preface, the author
very justly remarks that " The marvels
of animal intelligence claim now more
than ever the attention of observers.
Without admitting, like some people,
that we came from a quadruped ; with-
out approving the beast-worship of the
Egyptians ; we believe that most ani-
mals which crawl or walk on the earth,
or fly in the air, form communities like
ourselves. We believe that the lower
animals possess, in a certain degree, the
faculties of man, and that our inferior
brothers, as St Francis of Assisi calls
them, preceded us on earth." The
illustrations are good, and apropos to
the subjects.
Seen and Heard. Poems, or the
Like. By Morrison, Heady. Balti-
more : Henry C. Turnbull, Jr. 1869.
Criticism is disarmed on taking up
the literary productions of an author
who has suffered under almost total loss
of sij^lit and hearing since the age of
sixteen. That under this double depri-
vation he should have produced poetry
marked by so many vivid passages of
description, is truly remarkable. No
wonder that he feelingly seizes on the
fine invocation passage of Young in
his Nii^ht Thoughts \
" Silence and Darkness, lokmn niters.
From ancient Night, who narMd the
To reason, and on reason boilt resdre —
That column of true majetty in man —
Assist me ; I will thank yoa in the grave. *^
Mr. Heady is known in the West as
the Blind Bard of Kentucky, of which
State he is a native.
The Works of Horace. Edited,
with explanatory notes, by Tliomas
Chase, A.M., Professor in Harvard
College. Philadelphia : Eldredge &
Brother. New York : J. W. Scher-
merhom & Co. 1870.
This edition of Horace is ODe of the
best we have seen. The type is exce/-
lent, the text accurate, the notes neither
insufficient nor superfluous.
Elements of the Greek Language.
Taken from the Greek Grammar of
James Hadley, Professor in Yale Col-
lege. New York : D. Apple ton &
Co. 1869.
This excellent "abridgment of Pro-
fessor Hadley 's Grammar" will prore,
we have no doubt, a very ser\-iceable
book. We agree with those who
have represented to the professor that
his larger grammar is somewhat cum-
bersome to a beginner.
The Elements of Molecular Me-
chanics. By Joseph Ba3mria, SJ^
Professor of Philosophy, Slonyhurst
College. London and Cambridge:
Macmillan & Co.
This work contains a philosophical,
mathematical, and mechanical theory
of the ultimate molecular constitution of
matter, probably the most generally in-
teresting question now being discussed
in the scientific world. It is not one
which can be dismissed hastily ; and we
shall, therefore, postpone a fuller notice
of this certainly very able treatment of
the subject to a future number.
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD
VOL. X., No. 57.— DECEMBER, 1869.
FATHER HECKER'S FAREWELL SERMON.*
"Kinder, therefore, to Caesar the things that are Caesar*s ; and to God the things that
are God*8 " — St. Matt, xxii 21.
The Pharisees endeavored to en-
trap our blessed Lord by a dilemma
which would force him to present his
doctrine under a false and untenable
issue, whichever side of it he might
take. He overcame their cunning
by a superior wisdom which reduced
them to silence and covered them
with shame. In a precisely similar
manner the enemies of the church
are perpetually endeavoring to force
upon her some false issue, with equally
signal ill success. The Pharisees pre-
sented the rights of God and the
rights of Caesar as two contrary, anta-
gonistic sides of a dilemma, one of
which must be chosen to the exclu-
aon of the other, and either one of
which would be fatal to the cause of
Jesus Christ. The modem enemies
of the church place religion in oppo-
sition to reason, faith to science,
grace to nature, liberty to authority,
as if these were contrary and anta-
gonistic to each other. They require
us to choose between them. If we
choose the first set of principles, they
expect to ruin our cause by simply
* Preached at St Paurs church. New York, Sun-
tkf, October 17th, 1869, previous to hia departure fot
Eoopc 10 attend the (Ecumenical Council.
VOL. X. — 19
showing its opposition to the second
set ; if we choose the second set of
principles, they expect an equally easy
victory, because in that case religion
and the church become unnecessary.
The church will not, however, permit
herself to be placed in any such false
position. She will not choose be-
tween religion and reason, faith and
science, grace and nature, authority
and liberty, but she will embrace and
reconcile them all, giving to each one
of them all that is justly du6 To it.
At the present moment, when the
pope has summoned an oecumenical
council, the influence of which upon
the world is dreaded by an ti- Catholics
and some nominally Catholic states-
men, the cry has become unusually
loud and alarming that the church
is assuming an aggressive attitude
against science, civilization, the rights
of the state, religious and political
liberty. What! the church aggres-
sive, her attitude dangerous ? It is
not long since you all said she was
an effete institution, an afiair of past
ages, totally dead! Now it seems
you have suddenly become afiraid of
her aggressions, and are alarmed lest
she should swallow up all modem so*
290
Father Hecket^s Farewell Sermon,
dety. You no longer affect to pity
her feebleness, but you exclaim against
her audacity. Undoubtedly, the con-
vocation of an oecumenical council by
Pius IX. was a very bold act. When
you consider his advanced age of
nearly eighty years, the critical state
of Europe, the vastness and compli-
cation of the questions and interests
upon which a council must deliberate,
and other circumstances well known
to you all, which I need not specially
enumerate, the act of the pope may
very properly be characterized as one
of the boldest steps which has ever
been taken by any sovereign ruler.
Yet, in the light of the Catholic
faith, so far from being such a very
bold act, it appears like the most
natural and the safest thing which
he could possibly do. The Catholic
faith teaches that the church founded
upon the rock of Peter is infallible,
by the promise and perpetual pre-
sence of Christ, the continual, in-
amissible indwelling of the Holy
Spirit In an oecumenical council,
where the universal episcopate is
gathered together under the presiden-
cy of its head, the successor of Peter,
as vicar of Christ, the Catholic
Church is organized for deliberation
and action in the most perfect way
possible. Who compose a council?
The bishops of the world, to whom
the right of membership belongs by
divine law, and other prelates in emi-
nent positions to whom the privilege
is conceded by ecclesiastical law.
Among them are men of distinct
races, of different nations and lan-
guages, and governing dioceses or
missions in all the different quarters
and regions of the globe. The most
learned and able men of the Catholic
Church, the men who are most expe-
rienced in affairs and most intimately
connected with the great political in-
terests of the world, the men who
have made the greatest sacrifices and
performed the most important labors
in the cause of God, are to be found
among them. It is a world-con-
gress of men in every intellectual and
moral respect the most venerable
that could p)ossibly be collected on
the earth ; without comparison supe-
rior to any other deliberative or legis-
lative assembly. An oecumenical
council is, as the church teaches and
every CathoHc is bound to believe,
infallibly directed and assisted by the
Holy Spirit Its decisions are to be
received as proceeding from the
mouth of God, its definitions of faith
are final, unerring, and unchangeable.
It is impossible, therefore, to imagine
a greater absurdity, a more palpable
contradiction, than that of api>ealmg
from an oecumenical council to Jesus
Christ while professing to continue a
member of the Catholic Church. It
is appealing from the Holy Spirit to
the Son ; and, to carry out the absur-
dity to its utmost length, we have
only to suppose one appealing from
the Son to the Father Almighty.
The god who is really appealed to
in such a case is the idol of self in
the bosom of the individual.
The question which is so frequent-
ly and anxiously asked. What, then,
will the council do ? has already been
answered by anticipation in what I
have just said, so far as it can be an-
swered, at the present time, or need
be answered, to reassure every good
Catholic. The council will do what-
soever the Holy Ghost dictates.
Further than this we cannot say any
thing positively. But we can say
very distinctly and certainly, what
the council will not do. If it were
to be an assembly of Protestant di-
vines, guided each one by his private
light, or of Swedenborgians, Spiritists,
or Mormons, something/i^t^/f/ might
be expected in the line of new doc-
trines or new revelations. But since
it is a Catholic council, there will be
Father Hecket^s Farewell Sermon.
291
no new revelations or new doctrines
proclaimed. The church has no
mission or authority to add any thing
to the deposit of faith, committed
by our Lord, orally or by inspiration
of the Holy Spirit, to the apostles.
Her office is to guard, to teach, to
protect, and explain the faith. She
decides what Jesus Christ taught to
the apostles, and they to their succes-
sors, according to evidence contained
in Scripture and apostolic tradition,
assisted by the infallible light of the
Holy Spirit Whatever she defines
as pertaining to Catholic faith has al-
ways been believed in the church.
The council will, therefore, so far as
relates to faith, proclaim no new doc-
trines, but merely explain, so far as
necessary, the ancient faith as it is op-
posed to the errors of the day, and
declare in a more precise and explicit
manner that which is really contained
in the divine revelation, and, there-
fijre, always implicitly believed by
every Catholic.
In respect to discipline, the church
has no power to alter any divine
laws; but she has power over her
own laws, to add to them, to amend,
modify, or abrogate them. In mat-
ters of variable discipline, the council
will, therefore, consider how far any
new legislation is necessary and ex-
pedient, will make such enactments as
it shall deem best, and these will be-
come part of the supreme, universal
law of the church, binding on the
conscience of all its members.
But it is objected, and even some
ill-informed or disaffected Catholics
are found to join in the cry, the
Roman court will prevail in the coun-
cil, the bishops will not be fi'ee to
discuss or decide any thing ; for every
thing has already been determined
b)r the pope, who will impose his will
IS law upon the council. Be it so!
All I have to say, then, is that, if the
Roman court prevail, it is the Holy
Ghost who prevails through the
Roman court. Those who use such
language know but little of the real
state of things at the Roman court,
.or of the character of the prelates
who will compose the council. In
regard to the Roman court, I can
speak from my own personal know-
ledge and experience. There is no
sovereign on earth toward whom so
much freedom of speech is used, by
those whose position and character
qualify them to give him advice, as
the sovereign pontiff. There is no
place where there is so much freedom
of opinion and discussion as Rome.
The former councils, and especially
that of Trent, show how great is the
fi-eedom of debate, and how thorough*
the discussion of topics which prevails
in these august assemblies. I will
speak of but one instance, that of the
Archbishop of Braga, at Trent, who
insisted in the most pointed manner
on the obligation which rested on the
most illustrious cardinals to set the
example to the rest of the faithful, of
"a most illustrious reform." So far
from giving offence at Rome, the
fi-eedom of this holy prelate caused
him to be treated by the pope with
the most distinguished consideration,
and honored by marks of the warmest
friendship. The prelates who will
compose the council of the Vatican
are not men who can be either allured
or terrified by any human or worldly
motives into any action contrary to
their consciences or their convictions.
But the pope has already in his
recent encyclical and syllabus, with
the acquiescence of the great body
of Catholic bishops, condemned
science, progress, civilization, and
liberty.
What is the authority on which this
assertion is made ? The newspapers.
The newspapers! Who would not
be ashamed to cite such an authority
on such a subject Newspaper articles
292
Father Hecket^s Farewell Sermon,
written, as some of them openly con-
fess, chiefly with a view of making a
sensation, by persons destitute of the
proper information for speaking in-
telligently on ecclesiastical matters,
and too frequently not of a disposition
to tell the truth if they knew it. To
place faith in opposition to science is
a patent absurdity, for it is the same
as opposing truth to truth. And there
is no person upon whom the charge
of maintaining such an absurdity can
be fastened with less justice than
Pius IX. There is no pontiff who
has appeared to take such an especial
pride and delight in maintaining by
his decisions and by the magnificent
language of his pontifical letters the
*dignity and the rights of human rea-
son as he has, a fact which I could
easily prove by citations, if the time
permitted. But let us know what
those persons who charge the sylla-
bus with opposing science, signify by
that term. If they mean by it the
theories of sophists like Humboldt,
Huxley, Comte, Mill, Spencer, and
certain philosophers of Boston, who
dethrone God, deify matter, degrade
the rational and spiritual nature of
man, and reduce all knowledge to a
chaos of scepticism, the pope and the
church are opposed to all such science
as that. Whoever upholds it is cer-
tainly fully authorized to apply to
himself the definition which his favo-
rite philosophy gives of man ; to wit,
that he is nothing more than a finely
organised ape.
What do they mean by progress
and civilization ? Is it the suprema-
cy of material interests, the dicta-
torial control of the state over educa-
tion, the doctrine that the chief end
of man is to establish railways and
telegraphic lines ? Then the church
is opposed to them. But to call her
the enemy of civilization in the true,
genuine; sense of the word, is not only
false, but the basest ingratitude on
the part of those to whom she has
given that inheritance of civilization
on which all the nations of Christen-
dom are at this moment living.
What do they mean by liberty?
Freedom from all religion, from all
moral restraints, from the bonds and
obligations of marriage, the subjec-
tion of the church to the power of
civil rulers, and the atheistic constitu-
tion of the political and social state ?
To all these the church is opposed,
and these she will resist to the last
drop of her blood. And so are you
opposed to them, if you have the sen-
timents of a man or make any pre-
tension to the name of a Christian.
So are the wisest and most virtuous
of those who are out of the commu-
nion of the church, by whatever name
they may choose to be designated.
Such false liberalism as this we all
alike detest, and must oppose with
all our strength ; for it is destructive
of that only true liberty which we
prize above all things — the ^^ liberlj
of the children of Godr
I have thought it necessary, my
dear brethren — I may say my beloved
children in Christ, for I am you^; pas-
tor — to present before you these con-
siderations on the eve of my depar-
ture to attend the (Ecumenical Coun-
cil.
It is not that you have need to be
taught these things — for you are be-
lieving and instructed CaUiolics — that
I have presented them before you;
but that you may better understand
what great benefits and blessings we
may expect to flow from the delibe-
rations and acts of that great council
which is about to assemble, the most
numerous and the most important
which has been seen in the churdi
for centuries. I desire you to look
forward, as I do, to a new and gk>-
rious era in the church's history, an
era of the triumph of faith and holi-
ness, in which I trust our own coun*
Angela.
293
try is destined to become the theatre
of a brilliant development of the Ca-
tholic religion. I earnestly recom-
mend to your prayers the success of
the great work which is before the
council, and my own prosperous re-
turn to you after its close. As I
kneel at the sepulclire of the holy
aposdes SS. Peter and Paul, and be-
fore the holy shrines of the saints, I
will remember you ; and in now tak-
ing my leave of you for a short time,
I pray God to give you his blessing,
and to keep us all in peace and safe-
ty until we shall meet again.
TKANSLATSD FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDCN.
ANGELA.
CHAPTER VI.
THE ULTRAMONTANE WAY OF THINKING.
On the following morning no mes-
sage was sent for the doctor. The
child had died, as Klingenberg fore-
told. Frank thought of the great
affliction of the Siegwart family — An-
gela in tears and the father broken
doTiTi H-ith griefs It drove him from
Frankenhohe. In a quarter of an
hour he was at the house of the pro-
prietor.
A servant came weeping to meet
him.
"You cannot speak to my mas-
ter," said she. " We had a bad
night. My master is almost out of
his mind ; he has only just now lain
down. Poor Eliza ! the dear, good
child." And the tears burst forth
again.
" \Vlien did the child die ?"
"At four o'clock this morning ; and
how beautiful she still looks in death !
You would think she is only sleeping.
If you wish to see her, just go up to
the same room in which you were
yesterday."
After some hesitation, Frank as-
cended the stairs and entered the
room. As he paaibd the threshold,
he paused, greatly surprised at the
sight that met his view. The room
was darkened, the shutters closed,
and across the room streamed the
broken rays of the morning sun. On
a white-covered table burned wax
candles, in the midst of which stood
a large crucifix; there was also a
holy-water vase, and in it a green
branch. On the white cushions of
the bed rep>osed Eliza, a crown of
evergreens about her forehead and a
litde crucifix in her folded hands.
Her countenance was not the least
dis^gured ; only about her softly-
closed eyes there was a dark shade,
and the lifelike freshness of the lips
had vanished. Angela sat near the
bed on a low stool ; she had laid her
head near that of her sister, and in
consequence of a wakeful night was
fast asleep. Eliza's litde head lay in
her arms, and in her hand she held
the same rosary that he had found
near the statue. Frank stood im-
movable before the interesting group.
The most beautiful form he had
ever beheld he now saw in close con-
tact with the dead. Earnest thoughts
passed through his mind. The fleet-
ingness of all earthly things vividly
294
Angela.
occurred to him. Eliza's corpse re-
minded him impressively that her sis-
ter, the charmmg Angela, must meet
the same inevitable fate. His eyes
rested on the beautiful features of the
sufferer, which were not in the least
disfigured by bitter or gloomy dreams,
and which expressed in sleep the
sweetest peace. She slept as gently
and confidingly near Eliza as if she
did not know the abyss which death,
had placed between them. The
only disorder, in Angela's external
appearance was the glistenmg curls
of hair that hung loose over her
shoulders on her breast.
At length Frank departed, with the
determination of returning to make
his visit of conddlence. After the
accustomed* walk with Klingenberg,
he went immediately back to Sieg-
wart*s.
When he returned home, he wrote
in his diary :
•* May 2 1 St — Surprising and wonderful !
" When my uncle^s little Agnes died, my
aunt took ill, and my uncle's condition bor-
<}ered on insanity ; tortured by excruciating
anguish, he murmured against providence.
He accused God of cruelty and injustice,
because he took from him a child he loved
so much. He lost all self-control, and had
not strength to bear the misfortune with
resignation. And now the Siegwart family
are in the same circumstances ; the father
is much broken down, much afflicted, but
very resigned ; his trembling lips betray the
affliction that presses on his heart, but they
make no complaints against providence.
•* * I thank you for your sympathy,' said
he to me. * The trial is painful ; but God
knows what he does. The Lord gave me
the dear child; the Lord has taken her
away. His holy will be done.* So spoke
Siegwart While he said this, a perceptible
pain changed his manly countenance, and
he lay like a quivering victim on the altar
of the Lord. Siegwart's wife, a beautiful
woman, with calm, mild eyes, wept inwardly.
Her mother's heart bled from a thousand
wounds ; but she showed the same self-con-
irol and resignation as Siegwart did, to the
will of fhe Most High.
" And Angela ? I do not understand her
It all. She speaks of Eliza as of one sleep-
ing, or of one who has gone to a place
where she is happy. But sometimes a
spasm twitches her features ; then her
eyes rest on the crucifix that stands amid
the lighted candles. The contemplation
of the crucifix seems to afford her strength
and vigor. This is a mystery to me.
cannot conceive the mysterious power of
that carved figure.
** Misery does not depress these people ;
it ennobles them. I have never seen the
like. When I compare their conduct with
that of those I have known, I confess that
the Siegwart family puts my acquaintance
as well as myself to shame.
"What gives these people this strength,
this calm, this resignation ? Religion, per-
haps. Then religion is infinitely more than
a mere conception, a mere external rule of
faith.
*' I am beginning to suspect that between
heaven and earth there exists, for those
who live for heaven, a warm, living union.
It appears to me that Providence docs not,
indeed, exempt the faithful from the com-
mon lot of earthly affliction ; but he ^ve*
them strength which transcends the power
of human nature.
'* I have undertaken the task of putting
Angela to the test, and what do I find?
Admiration for her — shame for myself; and
also the certainty that my views of women
must be restricted."
He had scarcel]^ written down
these thoughts, when he bit impa-
tiendy the pen between his teeth.
" We must not be hasty in our judg-
ments," he wrote further. ** Perhaps it is
my ignorance of the depth of the human
heart that causes me to consider in so fa*
vorable a light the occurrences in the Sieg-
wart family.
*' Pert^aps it is a kind of stupidity of mind,
an unrefined feeling, a frivolous perception
of fatality, that gives these people this
quiet and resignation. My judgment shall
not be made up. Angela may conceal be-
neath the loveliness of her nature charac-
teristics and failings which may justify my
opinion of the sex, notwithstanding."
With a peculiar stubbornness which
stniggles to maintain a favorite con-
vicdon, he closed the diary.
On the second day after Eliza's
death the body was consigned to the
earth. Frank followed the diminu-
tive coffin, which was carried by
Angela.
29s
four little girls dressed in white. The
youthful bearers had wreaths of flow-
ers on their heads and blue silk rib-
bons about their waists, the ends of
which hung down.
After these followed a band of girls,
also dressed in white and blue. They
had flowers fixed in their hair, and
in their hands they carried a large
wreath of evergreens and roses. The
whole community followed the pro-
cession — a proof of the great respect
the proprietor enjoyed among his
neighbors. Siegwart's manner was
quiet, but his eyes were inflamed.
As the coftin was lowered into the
ground, the larks sang in the air, and
the birds in the bushes around joined
their sweet cadences with the not
plaintive but joyful melodies which
were sung by a choir of little girls.
The church ceremonies, like nature,
breatlied joy and triumph, much to
Richard's astonishment. He did not
understand how these songs of glad-
ness and festive costumes could be
reconciled with the open grave. He
believed that the feeHngs of the
mourners must be hurt by all this.
He remained With the family at the
grave till the little mound was
smoothed and finished above it. The
people scattered over the graveyard,
and knelt praying before the different
graves. The cross was planted on
Eliza's resting-place, and the girls
placed the large wreath on the little
mound. Siegwart spoke words of
consolation to his wife as he conduct-
ed her to the carriage. Angela, sunk
in sadness, still remained weeping at
the grave. Richard approached and
offered her his arm. The carriage
proceeded toward Salingen and stop-
ped before the church, whose bells
^ere tolling. The service began.
Again was Richard surprised at the
joyful melody of the church hymns.
The organ pealed forth joyfully as on
* festival Even the priest at the al-
tar did not wear black, but white
vestments. Frank, unfamiliar with
the deep spirit of the Catholic liturgy,
could not understand this singular
funeral service.
After service the family returned.
Frank sat opposite to Angela, who
was very sad, but in no way depress-
ed. He even thought he saw now
and then the light of a peculiar joy
in her countenance. Madame Sieg-
wart could not succeed in overcom-
ing her maternal sorrow. Her tears
burst forth anew, and her husband
consoled her with tender words.
Frank strove to divert Angela firom
her sad thoughts. As he thought it
would not be in good taste to speak
of ordinary matters, he expressed his
surprise at the manner of the burial.
" Your sister," said ke, " was inter-
red with a solemnity which excited
my surprise, and, I confess, my disap-
probation. Not a single hymn of
sorrow was sung, either at the grave
or in the church. One would not
believe that those white-clad girls
with wreaths of flowers on their heads
were carrying the soulless body of a
beloved being to the grave. The
whole character of the funeral was that
of rejoicmg. How is this, Fraulein
Angela; is that the custom here?"
She looked at him somewhat as-
tonished.
" That is the custom in the whole
Catholic Church," she replied. " At
the burial of children she excludes all
sadness; and for that reason masses
of requiem in black vestments are
never said for them; but masses of
the angels in white."
" Do you not think the custom is
in contradiction to the sentiments of
nature — to the sorrowful feelings of
those who remain ?"
"Yes, I believe so," she answered
tranquilly. "Human nature grieves
about many things over which the
spirit should rejoice."
2g6
Angela.
'llicse words sounded enignaatical-
ly to Ki( hard.
" I do not comprehend the mean-
ing of your words, Frjiulein Angela."
•* (Jiiof at the death of a relative is
pnjpor for us, because a beloved person
huN been taken from our midst. Qut
the church, on the contrary, rejoices
because an innocent, pure soul has
reuched the goal after which we all
htrive — eternal happiness. You see,
Herr I'Vank, that the church consid-
en* the departure of a child from this
world from a more exalted point of
view, and comprehends it in a more
Hpirilual sense, than the natural affec-
tion, While the heart grows weak
frtnn sadness, the church teaches us
that Kli/a is happy; that she has
gi)nc before us, and that we will be
nepa ratal from her but for a short
time ; that between us there is a spi-
ritual union which is baseii on the
cimnnunion of saints. Faith teaches
mo that Kli/a, rescued from all af-
flictions and disappointments, is hap-
py in the kingdom of the blessed.
If I could call her back, I would not
do it; for this desire springs from
egotism, which can make no sacrifices
t« love."
Her eves were full of tears as she
said these last wonls. But that pe-
culiar joy which Richard had before
ol^erved, and the meaning of which
he now understood, again lighted up
her countenance. He leaned back in
the carriage, and was forced to admit
thvnt the religious conception of
<!eath w.\s very consoling, even
grand, when compared with that
-concepiion which modem enlighten-
ment has of it
The c.irriac:e moved slowly through
the silent court-^-ard, which lay as
gloomy under the clouds as though
k had put on mourning for the dead.
"The chickens sat huddled together in
a comer, their heatls sadly drooping.
Even the garrulous sparrows were
silent, and through the linden tops
came a low, rustling sound like greet-
ings from another world.
Assisted by Richard's hand, Ange-
la descended from the carriage. Her
father thanked him for his sympathy,
and expressed a wish to see him soon
again in the family circle. As Rich-
ard glanced at Angela, he thought he
read in her look a confirmation of
all her father said. Siegwart's invita-
tion was unnecessary. The young
man was attracted more strongly to
the proprietor's house as Angela's
qualities revealed themselves to his
astonished view more clearly. But
Frank would not believe in the
spoUessness and sublime dignity of
a Christian maiden. He did not
change his former judgment against
the sex. His stubbornness still per-
sisted in the opinion that Angela had
her failings, which, if manifested,
would obscure the external brilliancy
of her appearance, but which remain-
ed hidden from view. Continued
observation alone would, in Frank's
opinion, succeed in disclosing the re-
pubive shadows.
Perhaps a proud determination to
justify his former opinions lay less at
the bottom of this oli:>tLnate tenacity
than an unconscious strau^em. The
young man anticijxated il-.a: his re-
spect for Angela would en i in pas-
sionate aflfection as scx^a as she stood
before him in the fulL 5cr^-:c rower
of her beauty. He fe^-x^i i: 5 zom-
ner
er, and therefore
claims.
The professor hii nrr-r-^-: ir^'n
his excursion into u^e 1=.. * -: i ^-^ i^A
related what he hii scxz ir^ ijortl
*'Such cxc;:I^^.=s ca h^:rx
grounds,*' sali he, ^irj *-~:ir^rr:^
and instructive to :\-^ ^ -: r*-^ ^-
quirer. What L^:cm. ^ ^r::?s :Jit
at darklv l>ccor.:e e:>: *.:. : -■. 3i.i2T
increci; 'v>le thir. cs : ej . ■ . ^ ^_ :r rai
inteiii^ibie. l-Jx I ^co: r-c-c -;: oa
Angela.
297
old chronicle that the monks during
choral service sung with such en-
chanting sweetness that the empress
and her ladies and knights who were
present burst into tears. I smiled at
this passage from the garrulous old
chronicler, and thought that the fabu-
lous spirit of the middle ages had de-
scended into the pen of the good
man. How often have I heard Mo-
zart's divine music, how often have I
been entranced by the stormy, thrill-
ing fantasies of Beethoven! But I
was never moved to tears, and I nev-
er saw even delicate ladies weep.
Two days ago, I wandered alone
among the ruins of the abbey of
Hagenroth. I stood in the ruined
church ; above was the unclouded sky,
and high round about me the naked
walls. Here and there upon the walls
hung patches of plaster, and these
were painted. I examined the paint-
ings and found them of remarkable
purity and depth of sentiment. I ex-
amined the painted columns in the
nave and choir, and found a beautiful
harmony. I admired the excellence
of the colors, on which it has snowed,
rained, and frozen for three hundred
and twenty years. I then examined
the fallen columns, the heavy capitals,
the beauty of the ornaments, and
fix)m these significant remnants my
imagination built up the whole struc-
ture, and the church loomed up be-
fore me in all its simple grandeur and
charming finish. I was forced to re-
cognize and admire those artists who
knew how to produce such wonder-
ful and charming effects by such sim-
ple combinations. I thought on
that passage of the chronicle, and I
believe if, at that moment, the sim-
ple, pure chant of the monks had
echoed through the basilica, I also
would have been moved to tears.
If the monks knew, thought I, how
to captivate and charm by their
architecture, why could they not do
the same with music ?'*
"The stupid monks!" said Rich-
ard.
" If you had spoken those words at
my side in that tone as I stood amid
those ruins, they would have sounded
like malicious envy from the mouth
of the spirit of darkness."
"Your admiration for the monks
is indeed a great curi.osity," said
Frank, smiling. "Sybel's congenial
firiend a eulogist of the monks ! That
indeed is as strange as a square cir-
cle."
" If I admire the splendor of hea-
thenism, must I not also admire the
fascinating, still depth of Christian
childhood? In heathenism as well
as in Christianity human genius ac-
complishes great and sublime things."
" That, in its whole extent, I must
dispute," said Frank. " Where is the
splendor and greatness of 'heathen-
ism ? The heathen built palaces of
great magnificence, but crime stalked
naked about in them. When the
lord of the palace killed his slaves
for his amusement, there was no law
to condemn him. When lords and
ladies at their epicurean feasts would
step aside into small apartments,
there by artificial means to empty
their gorged stomachs, they did not
offend either against heathen decency
or its law of moderation. The marble
columns proudly supported gilded
arches ; but when beneath those arches
a human victim bled under the knife
of the priests, this was in harmony
with the genius of heathenism. The
amphitheatres were immense halls,
full of art and magnificence, in which
a hundred thousand spectators could
sit and behold with delight the lions
and tigers devour slaves, or the gla-
diators slaughtering each other for
their amusement. No. True great
ness and real splendor I do not
298
Angela.
find in heathenism. Where heathen
greatness is, there terrible darkness,
profound error, and horrible customs
abound. Christianity had to contend
for three hundred years to destroy
the abominations of heathenism.'*
" I will not dispute about it now,"
said Lutz. " You shall not destroy by
your criticism the beautiful impressions
of my excursion. I also met the
Swedes on my tour. About thirty miles
from here there is, among the hills, a
valley. The peasants call the place
the * murder- chamber.* I suspected
that the name might be associated
with some historical event, and, on
inquiry, I found such to be the case.
In the Thirty Years' War, when Gus-
tavus Adolphus, the pious hero, pass-
ed through the German provinces
murdering and robbing, the inhabi-
tants of the neighborhood fled with
their wives, children, and property to
this remote valley. They imagined
themselves hid in these woods and
defiles from the wandering Swedes,
but they deceived themselves. Their
hiding-place was discovered, and
every living thing — cows, calves, and
oxen excepted — was put to the
sword. *The blood of the massa-
cred,* said my informer, * flowed
down the valley like a brook; and
for fifty years the neighborhood was
desolate, because the Swedes had de-
stroyed every thing.* Such master-
pieces of Swedish blood-thirstiness
are found in many places in Germa-
ny ; and as the people celebrate them
in song and story, it is certain that
the pious hero has won for himself
imperishable fame in the art of
slaughter."
" Do you not wish to have the
'murder-chamber* appear in Sybel's
periodical ?"
" No ; fable must be carefully sepa-
rated firom history' ; and in this case I
want the inclination for the subject."
"Fabulous! I find in the * mur-
der-chamber* nothing but the true
Swedish nature of that time."
The professor shrugged his shoul-
ders.
" Gustavus Adolphus may wander
for ever about Germany as the * pious
hero,* if for no other purpose than to
annoy the ultramontanes."
Frank thought of the Siegwart
family.
" I believe we are unjust in our
judgments of the ultramontanes," said
he. "I vi^it every day a family
which my father declares not only to
be ultramontane, but even clerical,
and on account of it will not asso-
ciate with them. But I saw there
only the noble, good, and beautiful."
And he reported circumstantially
what he knew of the Siegwart family.
" You have observed carefully ; and
in particular no feature of Angela has
escaped you. This Angela," he con-
tinued jocosely, "must be an incar-
nate ideal of the other world, since
she has excited the interest of my
friend, even though she wears crino-
line."
" But she does not wear crinoline,"
said Frank.
" Not !" returned the professor,
smiling. "Then it is just right
I'he Angel of Salingen belongs to the
nme choirs of angels, and was sent to
the earth in woman's form to win my
proud, woman-hating friend to the
fair sex."
" My conversion to the highest ad-
miration of women is by no means
impossible ; at least in one case," an-
swered Richard, in the same earnest
tone.
" I am astonished !" said the pro-
fessor. " My interest is boundless.
Could I not see this wonderful lady ?"
"Why not? It is eight o'clock.
At this hour I am accustomed to
make my visit."
" Let us go, by all means,** urged
Lutz.
Angela.
299
On the way Frank spoke of Ange-
la's charitable practices, of her love
for the poor, her pious customs, and
of her deep religious sentiment, which
manifested itself in every thing; of
her activity in household matters, of
her modesty and humility. All this
he said in a tone of enthusiasm.
The professor listened with attention
and smiled.
As they went through the gate into
the large court-yard, they saw Ange-
la standing under the lindens. She
held a large dish in her hand.
About her pressed and crowded the
representatives of all races and na-
tions of that multitude which mate-
rial progress has raised from slavish
degradation. From Angela's hand
rained golden com among the chat-
tering brood, who, pressed by a ra-
venous appetite, hungrily shoved,
pushed, and upset each other. Even
the chivalrous cocks had forgotten
their propriety, and greedily snatched
up the yellow fruit without gallantly
cooing and offering the treasure to
the females. Nimble ducks glided
between the legs of the turkeys and
snatched up, quick as lightning, the
grains from their open bills. This
did not please the turkeys, who gob-
bled and struck their sharp bills into
the bobbing heads of the ducks. A
solitary turkey cock alone scorned to
participate in the hungry pleasures
of the common herd. He spread his
wings stiffly like a crinoline around
his body, strutted about the yard, ut-
tered a gallant guttural gobble, and
played the fine lady in style.
Near the gate stood the stalls.
They all had double doors, so that
the uppkjr part could be opened while
the lower half remained closed. As
the two friends passed, they saw a
massive head protruding through the
open half of one of those doors.
The head was red, and was set upon
the powerful shoulders of a steer who
had broken loose from his fastening
to take a walk about the yard.
When he saw the strangers, he began
to snort, cock his ears, and shake his
head, while his fiery eyes rolled wild-
ly in his head.
" A handsome beast," said Frank,
as he stopped. " How wide his
forehead, how strong his horns, how
powerful his chest !"
" His head," said Lutz, " would
be an expressive symbol for the
evangelist Luke."
The steer was not pleased with
these compliments. Bellowing an-
grily he rushed against the door,
which gave way. Slowly and pow-
erfully came forth from the darkness
of the stall the colossal limbs of the
dangerous beast. The friends, unex-
pectedly placed in the power of this
terrible enemy, stood paralyzed.
They beheld the colossus lashing his
sides with his tail, lowering his head
threateningly, and maliciously steal-
ing toward them like a cat stealing
to a mouse till she gets within a sure
spring of it. The steer had evident- .
ly the same design on the strangers.
He thought to crush them with his
iron forehead and amuse himself
with tossing up their lifeless bodies.
They saw this, clearly enough, but
there was no time for flight. The
red steer in his mad onset would cer-
tainly overtake and run them down.
Luckily, the professor remembered
from the Spanish bull-fights how they
must meet these beasts, and he
quickly warned his friend.
" If he charges, slip quickly to one
side."
Scarcely had the words escaped
his trembling lips, when the steer
gave a short bellow, lowered his head,
and, quick as an arrow, rushed upon
Frank. He jumped to one side, but
slipped and fell to the ground. The
steer dashed against a wagon that
was standing near, and broke several
300
Angela,
of the spokes. Maddened at the
failure of his charge, he turned quick-
ly about and saw Frank lying on the
ground, and rejoiced over his helpless
victim. Richard commended his soul
to God, but had enough presence of
mind not to move a limb; he even
kept his eyes closed. The steer
snuffed about, and Frank felt his
warm breath. The steer evidently
did not know how to begin with the
lifeless thing, until he took it into his
head to stick his horns into the yield-
ing mass. The young man was lost
— now the steer lowered his horns —
now came tlie rescue.
Angela had only observed the visi-
tor as the bellowing steer rushed at
him. All this took but a minute.
The servants were not then in the
yard ; and before they could be called,
Richard would be gored a dozen
times by the sharp weapons of the
steer. The professor trembled in
every limb ; he neither dared to cry
for help, lest he might remind the
steer of his presence, nor to move from
the place. He seemed destined to be
compelled to see his friend breathe
out his life under the torturing stabs.
Before this happened, however,
Angela's voice rang imperatively
through the yard. The astonished
steer raised his head, and when he saw
the frail form coming toward him
with the dish in her hand, he gave
forth a friendly low, and had even the
good grace to go a few steps to meet
her.
" Falk, what are you about ?" said
she reproachfully. " You are a terri-
ble beast to treat visitors so."
Falk lowed his apology, and, as
he perceived the contents of the dish,
he awkwardly sank his mouth into it.
Angela scratched his jaws, at which
he was so delighted that he even for-
got the dish and held still like a child.
The professor looked on this scene
with amazement — the airy form be-
fore the murderous head of the steer.
As Master Falk began even to lick
Angela's hand, the professor was
very near believing in miracles.
"So now, be right gocwi, Falk!"
said she coaxingly ; " now go back
where you belong. Keep perfectly
quiet, Herr Frank ; do not move, and
it will be soon over."
She patted the steer on the broad
neck, and holding the dish before
him, led him to the stall, into which
he quickly disappeared.
Frank arose.
"You are not hurt?" asked Lutz
with concern.
" Not in the least," answered Frank,
taking out his pocket handkerchief
and brushing the dust from his clothes.
The professor brought him his ha^
which had bounced away when he
fell, and placed it on the head of his
trembling friend.
Angela returned after housing the
steer. Frank went some steps to-
ward her, as if to thank her on his
knees for his life; but he concluded
to stand, and a sad smile passed over
his countenance.
" Fraulein Angela," said he, " I
have the honor of introducing to you
my friend, Herr Lutz, professor at
our university."
"It gives me pleasure to know the
gentleman," said she. " But I regret
that, through the negligence of Louis,
you have been in great danger.
Great God ! if I had not been in the
yard." And her beautiful face became
as pale as marble.
Richard observed this expression
of fright, and it shot through his
melancholy smile like rays of the
highest delight ; but for his preserver
he had not a single word of thanks.
Lutz, not understanding this conduct)
was displeased at his friend, and un-
dertook himself to return her thanks.
" You have placed yourself in the
greatest danger, Fraulein Angela," said
Angela^
301
lie. "Had I been able when you
"went to meet the steer, I would have
held you back with both hands ; but
I must acknowledge that I was palsi-
ed by fear."
" I placed myself in no danger,"
she replied. " Falk knows me well,
and has to thank me for many dain-
ties. When father is away, I have to
go into the stalls to see if the servants
have done their work. So all the
animals know me, and I can call them
all by name."
They went into the house.
"It is well that my parents are
absent to-day, and that the accident
was observed by no one ; for my fa-
ther would discharge the Swiss who
has charge of the animals, for his
negligence. I would be sorry for
the poor man. I beg of you, there-
fore, to say nothing of it to my fa-
ther. I will correct him for it, and I
am sure he will be more careful in
future."
While she spoke, the eyes of the
professor rested upon her, and it is
scarcely doubtful that in his present
judgment the splendor of the ros-
trum was eclipsed. Frank sat si-
lent, observing. He scarcely joined
in the conversation, which his friend
conducted with great warmth.
"This occurrence," said Lutz, on
his way home, " appears to me like
an episode from the land of fables
and wonders. First, the steer fight;
then the overcoming of the beast by
a maiden; lastly, a maid of such
beauty that all the fair ones of ro-
mance are thrown in the shade. By
heaven, I must call all my learning to
my aid in order to be able to forget
her and not fall in love up to the
ears !"
Frank said nothing.
" And you did not even thank her !"
said Lutz vehemently. " Your con-
duct was more than ungallant. I do
not understand you."
" Nothing without reason," said
Frank.
" No matter ! Your conduct cannot
be justified," growled the professor.
" I would like to know the reason
that prevented you from thanking
your preserver for your life ?"
Richard stopped, looked quietly
into the glowing countenance of his
friend, and proceeded doubtingly,
"You shall know all, and then
judge if my offensive conduct is not
pardonable."
He began to relate how he met
Angela for the first time on the lone-
ly road in the forest, how she then
made a deep impression on him,
what he learned of her firom the poor
man and from Klingenberg, and
how his opinion of womankind had
been shaken by Angela; then he
spoke of his object in visiting the
Siegwart family, of his observations
and experience.
" I had about come to the conclu-
sion, and the occurrence of to-day
realizes that conclusion, that Angela
possesses that admirable virtue which,
until now, I believed only to exist in
the ideal world. If there is a spark
of vanity in her, I must have offend-
ed her. She must have looked' re-
sentfully at me, the ungrateful man,
and treated me sulkily. But such
was not the case ; her eyes rested on
me with the same clearness and kind-
ness as ever. My coarse unthank-
fulness did not offend her, because
she does not think much of her-
self, because she makes no preten-
sions, because she does not know her
great excellence, but considers her
little human weaknesses in the light
of religious perfection — in short, be-
cause she is truly humble. She will
bury this dauntless deed in forgetful-
ness. She does not wish the little
and great journals to bring her cour-
age into publicity. Tell me a woman,
or even a man, who could be capable
302
Angela.
of such modesty ? Who would risk
life to rescue a stranger from the
horns of a ferocious steer without
hesitation, and not desire an acknow-
ledgment of the heroic deed ? How
great is Angela, how admirable in
every act ! I was unthankful ; yes, in
the highest degree unthankful. But
I placed myself willingly in this odi-
ous light, in order to see Angela in
full splendor. As I said," he con-
cluded quietly, " I must soon con-
fess myself besieged — vanquished on
the whole line of observation."
" And what then ?" said the pro-
fessor.
"Then I am convinced," said
Richard, " that female worth exists,
shining and brilliant, and that in the
camp of the ultramontanes."
" A shaming experience for us," re-
plied the professor. " You make
your studies practical, you destroy
all the results of learned investiga-
tion by living facts. To be just, it
must be admitted that a woman
like what you have described An-
gela to be only grows and ripens
on the ground of religious influences
and convictions."
" And did you observe," said Rich-
ard, "how modesdy she veiled the
splendor of her brave action ? She
denied that there was any danger in
the presence of the steer, although
it is well known that those beasts in
moments of rage forget all friendship.
Angela must certainly have felt this
as she went to meet the horns of
the infuriated animal to rescue me."
Frank visited daily, and sometimes
twice a day, the Siegwart family ; he
was alwavs received with welcome,
and might be considered an intimate
friend. The family spirit imfolded
itself clearer and clearer to his view.
He found that every thing in that
house was pervaded by a religious
influence, and this without any de-
sign or haughty piety. The assessor
was destined to receive a striking proof
of this.
One afternoon a coach rolled into
the court-yard. The family were at
tea. The Assessor von Hamm en-
tered, dressed entirely in black ; even
the red ribbon was wanting in the
button-hole.
" I have learned with grief of the
misfortune that has overtaken you,"
said he after a very formal reception,
" I obey the impulse of my heart
when I express my sincere sympathy
in the great affliction you have suffer-
ed in the death of the dear little
Eliza."
The tears came into the eyes of
Madame Siegwart. Angela looked
straight before her, as if to avoid the
glance of the assessor.
" We thank you, Herr von Hamm,"
returned the proprietor. " We were
severely tried, but we are reasonable
enough to know that our family can-
not be exempted from the afflictions
of human life."
Hamm sat down, a cup was set
before him, and Angela poured him
out a cup of fragrant tea. The a(^-
sessor acknowledged this service with
his sweetest smile, and the most
obliged expression of thanks.
" You are right," he then said.
" No one is exempt from the stroke
of fate. Man must submit to the
unavoidable. To the ancients, blind
fate was terrific and frightful. The pre-
sent enlightenment submits with re-
signation."
If a bomb had plunged into the
room and exploded upon the table,
it could not have produced greater
confusion than these words of the
assessor. Madame Siegwart looked
at him with astonishment and
shook her head. The proprietor,
embarrassed, sipped his tea. Ajigela's
blooming cheeks lost their color.
Hamm did not even perceive the ef-
fect of his fiital words, and Frank
. Angela.
303
iras scarcely able to hide his secret
pleasure at Hamm's sad mishap.
" We know no fate, no blind, una-
yoidable destiny," said Siegwart, who
could not forgive the assessor his un-
christian sentiment. *' But we know a
divine providence, an all-powerful will,
without whose consent the sparrow
does not fall from the house-top. We
believe in a Father in heaven who,
counts the hairs of our heads, and
whose counsels rule our destiny."
Hamm smiled.
" You believe then, Herr Siegwart,
that divine providence, or rather
God, has aimed that blow at you ?"
" Yes ; so I believe."
" Pardon me. I think you judge
too hard of God. It is inconsistent
with his paternal goodness to afflict
your beloved child with such misfor-
tune."
" Misfortune ? It is to be doubted
whether Eliza's death is a misfortune.
Perhaps her early departure from this
world is precisely her happiness ; and
then we must reflect that God is
master of life and death. It is not
for us to call the Almighty to account,
even if his divine ordinances should
be counter to our wishes."
" I respect your religious convic-
tions, Herr Siegwart. Permit me,
however, to observe that God is
much too exalted to have an eye
to all human trifles. He simply creat-
ed the natural law ; this he leaves
to its course. All the elements must
obey these laws. Every creature is
subject 'to them; and when Eliza
died, she died in consequence of the
course of these laws, but not through
God's express will. Do you not
think that this view of our misfortunes
reconciles us with the conceptions
we have of God's goodness ?"
" No ; I do not believe it, because
such a view contradicts the Christian
faith," replied Siegwart eamesdy.
" What kind of a God, what kind of
a Father would he be who would let
every thing go as it might ? He
would be less a father than the poor-
est laborer who supports his family
in the sweat of his brow."
" And the whole anny of misfor-
tunes that daily overtake the human
family ? Does this army await the
command of God ?"
" Do not forget, Herr Assessor,
that the most of these misfortunes
are deserved ; brought on by our sins
and passions. If excesses would
cease, how many sources of nameless
calamities would disappear! For
the rest, it is my firm conviction that
nothing happens or can happen in the
whole universe l^^thout the express
will of God, or at least by his per-
mission."
The official shook his head.
"This question is evidently of
great importance to every man,"
said Frank. " Man is often not mas-
ter of the course of his life ; for it is
developed by a chain of circumstan-
ces, accidents, and providential inter-
ferences that are not in man's power.
I understand very well that to be
subject to blind chance, to an irre-
vocable fate, is something disquieting
and discouraging to man. Equally
consoling, on the other hand, is the
Christian faith in the loving care of
an all-powerful Father, without whose
permission a hair of our head can-
not be touched. But things of such
great injustice, of such irresistible
power, and of such painful conse-
quences happen on earth, that I can-
not reconcile them with divine love."
While Frank spoke, Angela's eyes
rested on him with the greatest at-
tention ; and when he concluded, she
lowered her glance, and an earnest,
thoughtful expression passed over her
countenance.
" There are accidents that apparently
are not the result of man's fault," said
Siegwart. " Torrents sweep over the
304
Angela, .
land and destroy all the fruit of man's
industry. Perhaps these torrents are
only the scourges which the justice
of God waves over a lawless land.
But I admit that among the vic-
tims there are many good men.
Storms wreck ships at sea, and many
human lives arti lost. Avalanches
plunge from the Alps and bury whole
towns in their resistless fall. It is
such accidents as these you have in
view."
" Precisely — exactly so. How will
you reconcile all these with the fa-
therly goodness of God?" cried
Hamm triumphantly.
The proprietor smiled.
" Permit me to ask a question,
Herr Assessor. Why does the state
make laws ?"
" To preserve order."
" I anticipated this natural reply,"
continued the proprietor. " If male-
factors were not punished, thieves
and desperadoes, their bad practices
being pennitted, would have full
play. Then all order would vanish ;
human society would dissolve into a
chaos of disorder. God also created
laws which are necessary for the
preservation of the natural order.
Storms destroy ships. If there were
no storms, all growth in the vegetable
kingdom would cease. Poisonous
vapors would fill the air, and every liv-
ing thing must miserably die. Ava-
lanches destroy villages. But if it 4id
not snow, the torrents would no long-
er run, the streams would dry up and
the wells would disappear, and man
and beast would die of thirst You
see, gentlemen, God cannot abolish
that law of nature without endanger-
ing the whole creation."
" That explains some, but not all,"
replied Hamm. " God is all-power-
ful ; it would be but a trifle for him
to protect us by his almighty power
from the destructive forces of the ele-
ments. Why does he not do so ?"
"The reason is clear," answered
Angela's father. "God would have
constantly to work miracles. Mira-
cles are exceptions to the workings
of the laws of nature. Now, if God
would constantly suppress the power,
and unceasingly interrupt the laws
of nature, then there would be no
longer a law of nature. The super-
natural would have devoured the
•
natural. The Almighty would have
destroyed the present creation."
" No matter," said the official.
" God might destroy the natural
forces that are inimical to man ; for all
that exists is only of value because
of its use to man."
"Then nothing whatever would
remain. All would be lost," said
Siegwart "We speak and write
much about earthly happiness that
soon passes away. We glorify the
beauty of creation; but we forget
that God's curse rests on this earth,
and it does not require great penetra-
tion to see this curse in all things."
"You believe, then, in the future
destruction of the earth ?" asked
Hamm.
" Divine revelation teaches it," said
Siegwart. " The Holy Scriptures ex-
pressly say there will be a new earth
and a new heaven; and the Ix>rd
himself assutes us that the foundations
of the earth will be overturned and
the stars shall fall from the heavens."
" The stars fall from the heavens I"
cried Hamm, laughing. " If you
could only hear wliat the astrono-
mers say about that."
" What the astronomers say is of
no consequence. They did not cre-
ate the heavenly bodies, and cannot
give them boundaries; besides, we
need not take the falling of the stars
literally. This expression may signi-
fy their disappearance from the earth,
perhaps the abolition of the laws by
which they have heretofore been
moved, and the reconstruction of
Angela.
30s
those relations which existed between
heaven and earth prior to the fall.
God will then do what you now de-
mand of him, Herr von Hamm,"
concluded Siegwart, smiling. " He
will destroy the inimical power of na-
ture, so that the new earth will be
firee from thorns, tears, and lamenta-
tions."
Thus they continued to dispute,
and the debate became so animated
that even Angela entered the list in
favor of providence.
" I believe," said she with charm-
ing blushes, " that the miseries of this
earthly Ufe can only be explained
and understood in view of man's eter-
nal destiny. God spares the sinner
through forbearance and mercy; he
sends trials and misfortunes to the
good for their purification. God de-
manded of Abraham the sacrifice of
his only son; but when Abraham
showed obedience to the command,
and consented to make that bound-
less sacrifice, he was provided with
another victim to offer sacrifice to
God."
" Friiulein Angela," exclaimed
Hamm enthusiastically, "you have
solved the problem. Your compre-
hensive remark reconciles even the
innocent sufferers with repulsive de-
crees. O Fraulein !" — and the assessor
fell into a tone of reverie — " were it
permitted me to go through life
by the side of a partner who possess-
es your spirit and your conciliatory
mildness !"
Angela looked down blushing.
She was embarrassed, and dared not
raise her eyes. Her first glance,
after a few moments, was at Richard.
Frank wrote in his diary :
** Even the preaching tone becomes her
admirably. Morality and religion flow from
her lips as from a pure fountain that vivi-
fies her soul.''
As yet he had not surrendered to
Angela.
Frank sprang from an obstinate
Westphalian stock; and that the West-
phalians have not exchanged their
stiff necks for those of shepherds,
is sufficiendy proved by their stub-
bom fight with the powers who
menaced their liberties. Had Frank
been a good-natured South-German
or even Municher, he would long
since have bowed head and knees to
the "Angel of Salingen.'* But he
now maintained the last position of
his antipathy to women against An-
gela's superior powers.
He visited the Siegwart family not
twice, but thrice, even four times a
day. He appeared suddenly and
unexpectedly before Angela like a
spy who wished to detect faults.
Just as he was going over the
court, on one occasion, a tall lad
came up to him. The boy came
from the same fatal door through
which Master Falk bad rushed out
upon Richard with such bad inten-
tions. Tlie servant held his hat in
his right hand, and with his left fum-
bled the bright buttons on his red
vest.
" Herr Frank, excuse me ; I have
something to say to you. I have
wanted to speak to you for the last
three days, but could not because
my master was always in the way.
But now, as my master is in the
fields, I can state my trouble, if you
will allow me."
" What trouble have you ?"
"I am the Swiss through whose
fault the steer came near doing you
a great injury. It is inexplicable to
me, even now, how the animal got
loose. But Falk is very cunning. I
cannot be too watchful of him. His
head is full of schemes; and before
you can turn around, he has played
one of his tricks. The chain has a-
VOL. X, — 30
3o6
Angela.
clasp with a latch, and how he broke
it, he only knows."
"It is all right," replied Frank.
" I believe you are not to blame."
"I am not to blame about the
chain. But I am for the door being
open, Miss Angela said; and she is
perfectly right. Therefore, I beg
your pardon and promise you that
nothing of the kind shall happen in
future."
" The pardon is granted, on condi-
tion that you guard the steer better."
" Miss Angela said that too ; and
she required me to ask your pardon,
which I have done."
Angela stood in the garden, hidden
behind the rose-bushes, and heard,
smiling, the conversation.
As Frank passed over the yard, she
came from the garden carrying a
basketful of vegetables. At the same
time a harvest-wagon, loaded with
rapes and drawn by four horses, came
into the yard.
" Your industry extends to the gar-
den also. Miss Angela," said Frank,
" Now I know no branch of house-
keeping that you cannot take a part
m.
n
"My work is, however, insignifi-
cant," she returned. " In a large
house there is always a great deal to
do, and every one must try to be use-
ful."
" Your garden deserves all praise,"
continued Richard, eyeing the contents
of the baskets. "What magnificent
peas and beans !"
For the first time Frank observed
in her face something like flattered
vanity, and he almost rejoiced at this
small shadow on the celestial form be-
fore him. But the supposed shadow
was quickly changed into light before
his eyes. " Father brought these
early beans into the neighborhood;
they are very tender and palatable.
Father likes them, and I am glad to
.be able to make him a salad this even-
ing. He will be astonished to see his
•young favorites of this year, eight
days earlier than formerly. There he
comes; he must not see them now."
She covered them with some lettuce.
And this was the shadow of flatter-
ed vanity ! Childish joy, to be able
to astonish her father with an agreea-
ble dish.
The loaded wagon stopped in the
yard ; the horses snorted and pawed
the ground impatiently. The ser-
vants opened the bam-doors, and
Frank saw on all sides activity and
haste to house the valuable crop.
Siegwart shook hands with the visi-
tor.
" The first blessing of the year,"
said the proprietor. " The rapes have
turned out well. We had a fine
blooming season, and the flies could
not do much damage."
" I have often observed those little
flies in the rape-fields," said Frank.
" You can count millions of them ; but
I did not know that they injured tht
crop."
They both went into the house,
where a bottle of Munich beer await-
ed them. Soon after, the servants
went through the hall, and Frank
heard Angela's voice from the kitchen,
where she was busily occupied. The
servants brought bread, plates, cheese,
and jugs of Hght wine to the servants'
room.
" Neighbor," said Siegwart, " I in-
vite you to-morrow afternoon at four
o'clock to a family entertainment —
providing it will be agreeable to you."
The invitation was accepted.
" You must not expect much ft'oro
the entertainment It will, at least,
be new to you."
Frank was much interested in the
character of this ultramontane enter-
tainment. He thought of a May
party, a coronation party J but rejected
this idea, for Siegwart promised a
family entertainment, and this could
Angela,
307
not be a May party. He thought of
all kinds of plays, and what part An-
gela would take in them. But the
play also seemed improbable, and at
last the subject of the invitation
remained an interesting mystery to
him, the solution of which he awaited
with impatience.
An hour before the appointed time
Richard left Frankenhohe, after Klin-
genberg had excused him from the
daily walk. He took a roundabout
way along the edge of the forest ; for
he knew that the Siegwart family
would be at divine service, and he did
not wish to arrive at the house a mo-
ment before the time. Sunday still-
ness rested on all. The mountains
rose up a deep blue ; the vari-colored
fields were partly yellow; the vine-
yards alone were of a deep green, and
when the wind blew through them it
wafted with it the pleasant odors of
the vine-blossoms.
Madame Siegwart was just returning
home from Salingen between her two
children. Henry, a youth of seven-
teen and the future proprietor of the
property, had the same manners as
his father. He walked leisurely on
the road-side, examining the blooming
wheat and ripening com. When he
discovered nests of vine weevils, he
plucked them off and crushed the
eggs of the hated enemies of all
wine-growers. Angela remained con-
stantly at her mother's side, and as she
accidentally raised her eyes to where
Richard stood, he made a movement
as though he was caught disadvanta-
geously.
A short distance behind them came
Siegwart, surrounded by some men.
They often stopped and talked in a
lively manner. Frank thought that
these men were also invited, and
hoped to become acquainted with the
Uite of Salingen. He was, however,
disappointed; for a short distance
from Sicgwart's house the men turned
back to Salingen. They had only ac-
companied the proprietor part of the
way. The servants of Siegwart also
came hastening along the road, first
the men-servants, and some distance
behind them the maid-servants.
Frank had observed this separation
before, and thought it must be in con-
sequence of the strict orders of the
master. Frank considered this nar-
row-minded, and thought of finding
fault with it, in true modem spirit
But then he considered the resultsr of
his observations, which had extended
to the servants. He often admired
the industry and regular conduct of
these people. He never heard any
oath or rough expressions of passion ;
every one knew his work, and perform-
ed it with care and attention. He ob-
served this regular order with admira-
tion, particularly when he thought of
the disobedience, dissatisfaction, and
untrustworthiness of the generality of
servants. Siegwart must possess a
great secret to keep these people in
agreement and order ; therefore he re-
jected his former opinion of narrow-
mindedness, and believed the proprie-
tor must have good reason for this
separation of the sexes.
Frank remained for a time under
the shadow of an oak, looked at his
watch, and finally descended the
shortest way. He was expected by
Siegwart, and immediately conducted
to the large room. The arrangement
of the room showed at a glance its
use. There was a small altar at one
side, and religious pictures hung on
the walls. There was also a harmo-
nium, and on the windows hung cur-
tains on which were painted scenes
from sacred history. In the middle
of the room there was a desk, on
which lay a book. To th^ right of
the desk sat the men-servants, to the
lefl the maids, the Siegwart family in
the centre. A smile passed over
Frank's countenance at the present
Angela.
309
- ilts that I will not have it abol-
-• id. The servants are not obliged
^ be present. They are free after
ipers, each one to employ himself
best suits him. But it seldom hap-
_ Bs that a servant or a maid is ab-
jit. They like to hear the legends,
id you may have remarked that
icy listen with great attention to the
jading."
" I have observed it," said Frank.
'Miss Angela is also such an excel-
ent reader that only deaf people
would not attend."
She smiled and blushed a little at
this praise.
" I consider it a strict obligation of
employers to have a supervision over
the conduct of the servants," said
Madame Siegwart. " Many, perhaps
most, servants are treated like the
slaves in old heathen times. They
work for their masters, are paid for
it, and there the relation between
master and servant ends. This is why
they neglect divine service on Sundays
and feast-days ; their moral wants are
not satisfied, their natural inclinations
are not purified by restraints of a
higher order. The servants sit in the
taverns, where they squander their
^ages, ^d the maids rove about and
gossip. This is a great injustice to
the servants, and full of bad conse-
quences. It cannot be questioned
that masters should shield their ser-
vants from error and keep them under
nioral discipline."
"Precisely my opinion," returned
Frank. " If servants are frequently
^jled and general complaint is made
^^ it, the masters are greatly in fault.
1 have long since admired the con-
duct of your servants. I looked upon
"err Siegwart as a kind of sorcerer,
^'ho conjured every thing under his
charge according to his will. Now a
part of the sorcery is clear to me."
"V\ell, you ^.gre favorable in your
3'^^^gment^' said the proprietor, laugh-
ing. " So you considered me a ma-
gician ; others consider me an ultra-
montanist, and that is something
still worse."
Richard smiled and blushed slight-
"You no doubt have heard this
honorable tide applied to me, Herr
Frank ?"
" Yes, I have heard of it."
" And I scarcely deceive myself in
supposing," continued Siegwart good-
humoredly, "that your father has
spoken to you of his neighbor, the
ultramontane."
" You do not deceive yourself at
all," answered Frank. " I consider
it a great honor to have become bet-
ter acquainted with the ultramon-
tane."
" I have often wished to speak to
you," continued the proprietor, "of
the reason which called forth your
father's displeasure with me. I sup-
pose, however, that you have heard
it."
" My father never spoke of it, and
I am eager to know the unfortunate
cause."
"It is as follows. About ten
years ago your father, with some
other gentlemen, wished to establish
a great factory in this neighborhood.
The land on which it was to stand is
a marsh lying near a pond, the water
of which was to be made of use to
the factory. I tried with all my
power to prevent this design, and
even for social and religious reasons.
Our neighborhood needed no factory.
There are but few very poor people,
and these support themselves sufficient-
ly well among the farmers. Experience
proves that factories have a bad effect
on the people in their neighborhood.
Our people are firm believers. The
peasants keep conscientiously the
Sundays and festivals. In all their
cares for the earthly they do not for-
get the eternal life. This religious
3io
Angela.
sentiment spreads happiness and
peace over our quiet neighborhood.
The factory, which knows no Sunday,
and the operatives, who are some-
times very bad men, would have
brought a harsh discordance into the
quiet harmony of the neighborhood.
I considered these and other inju-
rious influences, and offered a higher
price for the swamp than your father
and his friends. As there was no
other convenient place about, the en-
terprise had to be given up. Since
that time your father is offended with
me because I made his favorite pro-
ject impossible. This is the way it
stands. That it is painful to me, I
need not assure you. But according
to my principles and views I could
not do otherwise. Now judge how
far I am to be condemned."
"I speak freely," said Frank.
"You have acted from principles
that one must respect, and which my
father would have respected if he
had known them."
The proprietor could have observ-
ed that he had, in a long letter, justi-
fied himself to Herr Frank. But he
suppressed the observation, as he felt
it would be painful to his son.
"Father," said Henry, "hunger
and thirst are appeased. Can I ride
out for an hour ?"
"Yes, my son; but not longer.
Be back by supper-time."
The young man promised, and, af-
ter a friendly bow to Frank, hastened
from the garden. The litde circle
continued some time in friendly chat.
The servants under the lindens be-
came noisy and sang merry songs.
The maids sat around the tea-table
in the kitchen and praised St. Zitta.
The cook appeared in the arbor
and announced that Herr von
Haram was in the house, and wished
to speak on important business to
Herr and Madame Siegwart.
"What can he want?" said the
proprietor in surprise. " !Excuse me,
Herr Frank; the business will soon
be over. I beg you to remain till
we return. Angela, prevent him
from going."
Angela, smiling, looked after her
retiring parents and then at Richard.
" I must keep you, Herr Frank.
How shall I begin ?"
"That is very easy, Fraulein.
Your presence is sufficient to realize
your father's wish. A weak child of
human nature cannot resist one who
can conquer steers."
"Now you make a steer-catcher
of me. Such a thing never happened
in Spain ; for there the steers are not
so cultivated and docile as they are
with us."
She took out her knitting.
" This is Sunday, Miss Angela !"
" Do you consider knitting unlaw-
ful after one has fulfilled one*s reli-
gious duties ?"
"The case is not clear to me,"
said Frank, smiling secretly at the
earnestness of the questioner. " My
casuistic knowledge is not sufllicient
to solve such a question reasonably."
"The church only forbids servile
work," said she. " I consider knit-
ting and sewing as something better
than doing nothing."
"I am rejoiced that you are not
narrow-minded, Fraulein. But this
litde stocking does not fit your feet ?"
" It is for little bare feet in Sahn-
gen," she replied, laying the finished
stocking on the table and stroking \i
with both hands as a work of love.
" I have heard of your benefi-
cence," said Frank. " You knit, sew,
and cook for the poor people. You
are a refuge for all the needy and
distressed. How good in you !"
" You exaggerate, Herr Frank. I
do a little sometimes, but not more
than I can do with the house-work,
which is scarcely worth mentioning.
I make no sacrifice in doing it; on
Angela,
311
the contrary, the poor give me more
than I give them; for giving is to
every one more pleasant than receiv-
ing."
** To every one, Fraulein ?"
** To every one who can give
without denying herself."
" But you are accustomed also to
visit the sick, and the hovels of pov-
erty are certainly not attractive."
" Indeed, Herr Frank, very attrac-
tive," she answered quickly. "The
thanks of the poor sick are so affect-
ing and elevating that one is paid a
thousand times for a little trouble."
Frank let the subject drop. An-
gela did not give charities from
pride or the gratification of vanity, as
he had'been prepared to assume, but
fix)m natural goodness and inclina-
tion of the heart He looked at the
beautiful girl who sat before him in-
dxistriously sewing, and was almost
angry at his failure to detect a fault
in her pure nature.
" Do you always adorn the statue
of the Virgin on the mountain?"
said he after a pause.
"No; not now. The month of
our dear Lady is over. I always
think with pleasure of the happy
hours when in the convent we adorned
her altar with beautiful flowers."
" You must have a great reverence
for Mary, or you would not ascend
the mountain daily."
" I admire the exalted virtues of
Mary, and think with sorrow of her
painful life on earth; and then, a
weak creature needs much her pow-
erful protection."
" Do you expect. Miss Angela,
by such attention as you show the
statue to obtain protection of the
saint?"
*' No, I do not believe that. The
adorning of the pictures of saints
would be idle trifling if the heart
wandered far from the spirit of the
saints. Our church teaches, as you
know, that the real, true veneration
of the saints consists in imitatihg
their virtues."
Frank sat reflecting. The exami-
nation and probation were thorough-
ly disgusting to him. Siegwart ap-
peared in the garden, and came with
quick steps to the arbor. His coun-
tenance was agitated and his eyes
glowed with indignation. Without
speaking a word, he drank off a glass
of wine. Frank saw how he endea-
vored not to exhibit his anger.
" Has Herr von Hamm depart-
ed ?" asked Richard.
"Yes, he is oflf again," said the
proprietor. "Angela, your mother
has something to say to you."
"Now guess what the assessor
wanted?" said Siegwart, after his
daughter had left the arbor.
"Perhaps he wanted the Peter-
pence collection," said Frank, smil-
ing.
"No. Herr von Hamm wanted
nothing more or less than to marry
my daughter !"
Frank was astonished. Although
he long since saw through Hamm's
designs, he did not expect so sudden
and hasty a step.
" And in what manner did he de-
mand her ?"
" It is revolting," said the proprie-
tor, much offended. "Herr von
Hamm graciously condescends to us
peasants. He showed that it would
be a great good fortune for us to give
our daughter to the noble, the offi-
cial with brilliant prospects."
" Herr von Hamm does not think
litde of himself," said Richard drily.
" How did the man ever come to
ask my daughter ? He and Angela !
What opposites 1"
" Which, of course, you made clear
to him."
"I reminded the gentleman that
identity of moral and religious princi-
ples alone could render matrimonial
312
Dr. Harwood^s Price Lecture.
happiness possible. I reminded him
that Angela was an ultramontane,
whose opinions would daily annoy
him, while his modem opinions must
deeply offend Angela. This I set
before him briefly. Then I told him
frankly and freely that I did not wish
to make either him or Angela unhap-
py, and at this he went away angri-
ly."
" You have done your duty," said
Frank. " I am also of opinion that
similar convictions in the great prin-
ciples of life alone insure the happi-
ness of married life."
When Richard came home, he
wrote in his diary :
" June 4. — Unconditional surrender.
What I supposed only to exist in the ideal
world is realized in the daughter of an ul-
tramontane. Angela, compared to our cri*
nolines, our flirts, our insipid coquettes —
how brilliant the light, how deep the sha-
dow!
" My visits to that family have no longer
a purpose. I feel they must be discontin-
ued for the sake of my peace. I dare not
dream of a happiness of which I am unwor-
thy. But my future life will feel painfully
the want of a happiness the possibilKy of
which I did not dream. This is a punish-
ment for presuming to penetrate the pure,
glorious character of the Angel of Salingen."
He buried his face in his hands and
leaned on the table. He remained
thus a long time ; when he raised his
head, his face was pale, and his eyes
were moist with tears.
TO BB CONTINUED.
DR. HARWOOD'S PRICE LECTURE.
A CERTAIN Mr. Price, of Boston,
- left a sum of money for a course of
annual lectures, one of which is to
be against " Romanism," and Dr.
Harwood, the rector of Trinity
church, New-Haven, having been
selected as the lecturer for the current
year, has favored us with the publi-
cation of his lecture on "Roman-
ism," in the pages of the New-Eng-
lander^ as well as in the form of a
separate pamphlet The dignified
place which is held by the author of
this lecture, as well as his personal
character and influence, give a con-
siderable weight to whatever he may
publicly say on such a topic, in addi-
tion to the intrinsic claim it may have
on the attention of both his partbans
and opponents. On this account,
and moreover on account of the
tangible, well-exposed issue which
distinguishes the production of the
reverend doctor from most of the
brochures of his polemical associates,
we have thought it worth while to de-
vote a little time to the discussion of
its contents.
Dr. Harwood does not attempt a
formal argument against the claims of
the Roman Church to supremacy over
all Christendom. He is addressing
an audience with whom, as with him-
self, it is a foregone conclusion that
these claims are baseless, and Roman-
ism a fearful, dangerous superstition.
There is a tone of dislike and fear
running through the lecture with
which the audience is expected to
sympathize fully, as when something
is spoken of whose very mention is
sufficient to awaken the aversion of
all the moral sensibilities without any
need of showing reasons. Just as the
Dr. Haywood's Price Lecture,
313
mere mention of the words polythe-
km, Mohammedanism, Mormonism,
call up those sentiments of the false-
hood and evil of the things they re-
present, which are interwoven with
the intellectual and moral constitu-
tion inherited from our ancestors, nur-
tured by education, and governing
our judgments ^Jke a second nature,
so the mere pronunciation of the
terms Rome, pope, sacrifice of the
mass, with their derivatives and the
other phrases associated with them,
are quite sufficient to carry away an
average New- England audience in a
tide of sympathy with any anti-
Roman orator. It was not necessary,
therefore, for Dr. Harwood to argue
with an audience already convinced,
in proof of the position that the
Roman Church must be resisted and
opposed. The question to be con-
sidered was how best to do it ? What
are the points to be attacked ? is one
division of the question; by what
road, with what weapons are these
points to be attacked ? is* the other.
With a singular and very honorable
manliness and directness, the lecturer
puts aside all secondary issues and
places himself openly in front of the
fundamental dogmatic basis of the
Roman Church, with the avowal that
it is necessary to the victory of his
cause to attack and subvert this cen-
tral stronghold. He seeks to ascer-
tain, like a topographical engineer
who is laying out positions for a bom-
bardment, the precise situation and
extent of this central work, and the
exact spot on which the heavy guns
which are to play upon it must be
planted. It remains yet to be seen
whether his report will be accepted
by the leaders of his side, and an at-
tempt made to carry out the bold,
perhaps somewhat hazardous, strategy
which he recommends.
Aside from all preliminaries and ac-
companiments which serve to give rhe-
torical finish and effect to the lecture as
a popular oration, its gist and pith con-
sist in the statement that the two dog-
mas of the sacrifice of the massand the
papal supremacy form the constitutive
principle of the Roman Church, which
the masters of heavy polemics are re-
commended to step up and overthrow.
We have no objection to this issue, and
are perfectly willing to fight the whole
campaign through on that line. If the
doctor intends, however, to define pre-
cisely and scientifically that these two
dogmas together constitute the differen-
tia of the doctrine of the Roman
Church, his definition is open to criti-
cism. The dogma of the sacrifice of the
mass is no part of the differentia which
disiaguishes the Roman Church from
the Eastern Christians, or from a re-
spectable party in the author's own
communion. The true differentia
marking the Catholic Church in the
communion and under the headship
of the Bishop of Rome, as a sole and
singular organization without its like
among all the corporate religious so-
cieties of the world, is what is called
in theological language the/i/^^f ma-
gisterium' ecciesice, the living, perpet-
ual, infallible, supreme authority in
spirituals exercised in constant and
uninterrupted continuity, and keeping
the body of the church in indefectible
unity. This magistracy is focussed
and capitalized in the headship of
the primatial see of the world, the
Roman Church, and the supremacy
of its bishop. A Greek or an Anglo-
Catholic may hold theoretically that
this magisterium belongs rightfully to
the church, and could be exercised in
case the church were assembled in
what each of them respectively would
acknowledge to be an oecumenical
council. Neither of them, however,
can acknowledge the continuous and
present exercise of this plenary autho-
rity, because both are obliged to main-
tain that the church is in a disunited,
3 14
Dr. Harwood's Price Lecture,
disorganized state. It is precisely be-
cause both refuse to acknowledge the
papal supremacy, that they deny the
church in communion with Rome to be
the complete church in organized unity
and its general councils to be oecumeni-
cal. It is precisely this supremacy
which makes this church an organized
unit, and places it in the condition to
act with full and complete power. The
supremacy of the pope may, therefore,
stand for the differentia^ and we are
willing to accept it as such, with the
explanation above given, that it in-
cludes also the unbroken unity, toge-
ther with the plenary judicial and legis-
lative power of the Catholic episcopate
as a whole, including both the pope
as supreme head, and the bishops as
conjudices cum papa, or fellow-judges
and rulers, with and under the pope,
of the universal church.
This simplifies the issue, and re-
duces the controversy, as between the
Roman Church on one side, and all
professed Christians refusing to ac-
knowledge her supremacy as " mother
and mistress of churches" on the
other, to one question only. A vic-
tory on this one question is for us
complete and decisive, for it enables
us to sweep the whole battle-field.
If the supremacy we claim for the
pope is established, the obligatory
force of all the doctrines and laws
proclaimed by him as head of the
universal church is established also,
without need of further argument, or
possibility of appeal to any other tri-
bunal on the earth or in heaven. If
our antagonists could vanquish us, our
cause would be a lost one ; we should
be brought down to a common level
with the Greeks as a mere branch of
the church, and the way would be
open for those negotiations in view of
the " reunion of Christendom " which
to certain persons seem so desirable.
There would still remain, however, a
vast field of controversy before one
holding what we understand to be
Dr. Harwood's views could make his
position good. The entire hierarchi-
cal system of the Eastern churches,
maintained also in theory by such a
powerful party in the doctor's own
church, would remain to be refuted
and overthrown. Suppose this to be
done, and we will readily concede
that the system of what is called the
broad-church school, represented by
Stanley, Robertson, the author of
the book called Lilfer Librorum ; to
whom we think might be added the
New- Haven divines, and the higher
school of Unitarians, such as Dr.
Bellows, Dr. Osgood, Mr. Ellis, Mr.
Alger, and others ; is the most rational
and sensible of all the soi-disani
Christian systems which would be left
on the ground. Perhaps Dr. Har-
wood, looking on Greek Christianity
and the amateur catholicity of his
own brethren as without real signifi-
cance, intended to find some doctrine
which might stand for the entire
hierarchical, sacramental system, and
which, joined with the doctrine of
papal supremacy, might with that
make up the differentia of the Roman
Church in respect to Protestantism.
In this point of view, he has well
chosen the doctrine of the sacrifice
of the mass. Our preceding stric-
tures are merely critical, and we are
willing to meet Dr. Harwood on the
precise ground he has chosen for
himself, the wager of battle being
this: that our Lord Jesus Christ
established the papal supremacy and
the sacrifice of the mass, as essential
parts of his religion. Since the doctor
has only appeared, however, in the
character of a scout, to clear the way
for more heavily-armed combatants,
and merely skirmishes a little in ad-
vance, we will skirmish in the same
manner, without engagmg more deep-
ly in the controversy than simply
to repel his attacks. If the cham-
Df. Harwood's Price Lecture.
31S
pions he has called on come up,
which we very much doubt, we hope
they will go to work in earnest, and
undertake to meet and answer in de-
tail all the proofs and arguments ad-
duced by our able writers, at least
in English, in support of the papal
»ipremacy and the eucharistic sacri-
fice. Unless they do this, they will
not be entided to any notice at our
hands.
So far as Dr. Harwood merely de-
scribes the doctrine we hold respecting
the papal supremacy, he is almost en-
tirely correct, and so eloquent that
the effect produced in his mind by its
grandeur, in spite of his inward re-
luctance, is visible. Of argument
against it there is hardly the sem-
blance, a point we note not to the
author's disadvantage, but merely as
a reason for not arguing in its favor.
One passing objection ne does throw,
as he goes by, at the tide supreme
pontiff or pontifex maximus. This
word appears to alarm him, and no
doubt aJarmed all the excellent ladies
and other worthy persons in his
audience, who are easily alarmed by
words. ** He is regarded as the
poniifex maximus of the whole church
of Christ Pontifex maximus / The
very word brings up memories of the
imperial city before it became Chris-
tian. Julius Caesar was pontifex
maximus — ^the office was held by all
the Caesars — it was held while the dis-
ciples of Jesus Christ, worshipping their
Lord in the catacombs, or dying in
the amphitheatre * to make a Roman
holiday,* associated the office with all
cruelty and impiety." If this passage
b any thing more than a rhetorical
flourish, it means that the name and
office of supreme pontiff are bad, un-
christian things, because the heathen
had them. We ought, then, to carry
this principle out to its fullest extent.
The heathen had an order of men
specially devoted to religion, public
prayers, holy days, temples, religious
hymns, etc., therefore we should have
none of these. The surpUce which
Dr. Harwood wears is derived
through the Jews, from the ancient
Egyptian priests; his prayer-book is
full of observances derived from the
Roman Church. He preaches ser-
mons and observes a fast of forty
days, like the Mohammedans, all of
which is very wrong, and reminds
us painfully of Pharaoh, and the
fires of Smithfield, and the cruel per
secutions of the Turks against the
Christians. The Jews had a high
priest appointed by Almighty God.
Our Lord is a high-priest, pontifex
maximus. Heathen perversions or
travesties of divine things make no
argument against the things them-
selves. Neither is there any reason
why names, forms, observances, used
by heathen, if they are good and
suitable, should not be adopted by
Christians, just as we appropriate
heathen architecture, take possession
of heathen temples, and employ
heathen philosophy in the service of
religion. We have no doubt that
Moses imitated the civil and religious
customs of the Egyptians to a very
great extent in the prescriptions of
his law. Parallelisms between the
Catholic religion and various false
religions may easily enough be point-
ed out. We laugh at such an argu-
ment as not worthy of being seriously
refuted. The greater the number of
analogies that can be pointed out, the
stronger is the proof that the prin-
ciples of our religion are derived
fi-om the origin of the race, universal,
and in accordance with human na-
ture. Rome was not all bad before
it was converted. Whatever in it was
good did not need to be abolished,
but only sanctified. Our Lord drove
out Jupiter, the angels and saints
supplanted the imaginary divinities
of Olympus, the successor of Peter
3i6
Dr. HarwoocCs Price Lecture.
took the place of the successor of
Csesar. The glorious temples of the
gods became Christian churches, and
Roman polity became an organiz-
ing power over all Christendom. In
this was only fulfilled the prophecy
of St. Paul, " The God of peace shall
bruise Satan under your feet shortly ^^ •
This kind of play upon words with
pontifex maximus will, therefore, help
Dr. Harwood very little unless he
can disprove the existence of the
thing they represent — a human priest-
hood with a supreme head over it,
possessing power delegated by Jesus
Christ.
The lecturer is not precisely accu-
rate in what he says of the definition
of the immaculate conception. The
judgment of the Catholic bishops
and doctors had been for ages mani-
fested, and was taken anew in the
most formal manner, before Pius IX.
proclaimed his definition. Those few
persons among the prelates and theo-
logians who were opposed to the
definition, did not merely submit
outwardly by keeping silence, but in-
wardly by an interior submission of
the mind, precisely as a good Chris-
tian would have submitted to St. Pe-
ter himself in a similar case. If Dr.
Harwood admits the doctrinal infalli-
bility of the New Testament, he can
easily understand that, if the meaning
of any passage in it about which he
had previously doubted should be
made clear to him, he would have to
give his interior assent to it, even
though he must change an opinion
he had held all his life long. Pre-
cisely so with us. An infallible judg-
ment makes known to us with the
certainty of faith the true sense of
the divine revelation, which we re-
ceive accordingly as equally certain
and obligatory on the conscience
with every other revealed truth.
* RcaumsxrL ao.
Whoever does not give this inward
assent becomes a heretic, and there-
fore Pius IX., in his Bull Ineffabi/is^
pronounces that every one who does
not believe the immaculate concep-
tion as a revealed truth has suffered
shipwreck of the faith.
In his account of the Catholic doc-
trine of the sacrifice of the mass the
author of the lecture is less successful,
and misrepresents it seriously ; not in-
tentionally, or through wilful careless-
ness, but through a misunderstanding
of Catholic phraseology. Because
the church calls it the same sacrifice
with the sacrifice of the cross, he ap-
pears to thmk that our Lord is be-
lieved to have redeemed the world
by the oblation of himself at the in-
stitution of the eucharist, and to be
continually repeating this act of re-
demption in the sacrifice offered daily
on our altars. Dr. Seabury, the first
Protestant bishop of Connecticut, did
actually teach that our Lord offered
himself in the eucharist as a sacrifice,
and not on the cross. This strange
notion of the founder of his own
diocese. Dr. Harwood incorrectly as-
cribes to the Catholic Church.
" The sacrifice was made or instituted in
the night in which he was betrayed ; and,
in the system of Romanism, this sacrifice
is every thing. I do not see that the cross
is necessary ; for the stress falls upon the
sacrifice of the altar, and the worshipper is
directed to that sacrifice as vested with ob-
jective propitiatory virtue."
The church teaches that our Lord
redeemed the world by his death
and the shedding of his blood upon
the cross. He did not redeem it by
the oblation of himself in the Last
Supper, nor does he do so by the
sacrifice of the altar ; the sacrifice of
redemption having been offered once
for all upon the cross, and not need-
ing to be repeated. The church
does not mean by " same sacrifice **
that the oblation in the eucharist is
Dr, HarwoocTs Price Lecture,
317
a similar act of redemption, propitia-
tory in the divided sense, or merely
as containing the body and blood of
Christ, and presenting them before
God. The sacrifice is the same, be-
cause the victim is the same, the
priest is the same, and all the value
or merit contained and applied in
the sacrifice of the altar is derived
from the bloody sacrifice of the cross.
There is thus a moral imity binding
together the innumerable acts of conse-
cration and oblation which take place
on the Christian altars with each oth-
er and with the sacrifice of the cross,
in one whole, just as the innumerable
acts of obedience performed by our
Lord during his earthly life make
one integral act of obedience with
the final and consummating act of
his oblation on Mount Calvary. No
doubt the intrinsic excellence of the
acrifica of the eucharist is infinite, and
therefore sufficient for the redemption
of this worid or a thousand others, if
there were others needing redemp-
tion. The merit of the circumcision,
the fasting, the prayer, the preaching,
the poverty and humiliation, the la-
bors and tears of our Blessed Lord
was infinite, and fully adequate to the
redemption of mankind, without the
sacrifice of the cross. Every act of
love to God the Father proceeding
from the sacred heart of Jesus Christ
in heaven is simply infinite in its in-
trinsic value. Yet no Catholic theo-
logian maintains that the meritorious
acts of our Lord performed while he
was a wayfarer on the earth redeem-
ed mankind apart from his death, or
that he has merited any additional
grace for men since his sacrifice was
completed. The sacrifice which our
Lord offered in the Last Supper did
not, therefore, constitute that act of
expiation to which, in the divine de-
cree, the remission of original and
^tual sin was annexed ; and much
le» is there any such distinct, expia-
tory merit in the sacrifice which he
perpetually makes of himself in the
eucharist, since his meritorious work
has been consummated. He offered
himself once for all as a bloody sacri-
fice upon the cross, meriting thereby
an etemal redemption. At the Last
Supper he offered up himself to the
Father as the Lamb who was to be
slain the next day, presenting by an-
ticipation the merit which he would
gain by his cruel and ignominious
death, as an act of adoration, thanks-
giving, expiation, and impetration in
behalf of all those who were includ-
ed either generally or specially in his
intention. Doubtless, he frequently
in prayer had presented these same
merits to his Father; and from the
time of Adam's sin tliese same merits
had constituted the only ground on
which pardon or grace had been con-
ferred, thus verifying the appellation
applied to our Lord in the Scripture
of " the Lamb slain from the founda-
tion of the world." In the sacrifice
now offered by the priests of the new
law, Christ is presented before the
Etemal Father as the Lamb who has
been slain. And although, as a ^ori-
fice, the eucharist is equally an obla-
tion of the body and blood of the
Lamb of God with the sacrifice of
the cross, differing only in the man-
ner of offering, yet as this manner
of offering upon the cross by pain,
blood-shedding, and death constituted
tlie precise act which expiated sin
and redeemed the world, the sacrifi-
cial nature of the eucharistic action
which it has in common with the
cmcifixion does not derogate from
the exclusive attribute belonging to
the latter as the redemptive expiation
or the sacrifice of ransom, blotting
out the curse of the fall, and reopen-
ing the gates of heaven to our lost race
A sacrifice of expiation including all
ages, all men, and all sins having
been once offered, there is no need
3i8
Dr, HarwooiVs Price Lecture.
and no place for another, which is
precisely what St Paul proves in the
Epistle to the Hebrews. Dr. Har-
wood fancies that we have a dread
of that epistle. It is not long since
we went through that epistle careful-
ly with a theological class without
being aware of any sentiments of re-
pugnance to its doctrine arising in
our minds. It is very true that the
unlearned and unstable may wrest
this, as they do the other epistles
of St. Paul and the Scriptures gen-
erally, to a sense in contradiction
to the Catholic faith. To one, how-
ever, who is sufficiently learned to
understand the real scope and intent
of the apostle, or sufficiently docile to
receive the instruction of competent
interpreters, it presents no difficulty.
St. Paul is not speaking of the eu-
charist or of the Christian priesthood
at all, but is confronting the priesthood
and sacrifices of Jesus Christ in the
work of redemption with the priest-
hood and sacrifices of the old law,
as these were understood by un-
believing or heterodox Jews. The
point to be established was, that Je-
sus Christ would never give up his
priesthood to a successor, or offer up
another sacrifice similar to the one
offered on the cross. It needs no
reasoning to show that Catholic
priests do not pretend to be in the
place of Jesus Christ, but simply his
instruments. The |>erpetuity of his
priesthood is therefore not in the
slightest degree incompatible with
ours, which is in a different line, but
rather requires it. Neither is it ne-
cessary to prove that we do not pre-
tend to offer a sacrifice which expi-
ates sins or atones for persons not in-
cluded in the sacrifice of the cross.
The doctor misunderstands the phrase
" propitiatory sacrifice." The church
does not mean that a new sacrifice is
offered for persons whose sins were
unatoned for on the cross, or who
have fallen a second time under the
curse and need a new ransom. The
word "propitiatory" merely denotes
that in the sacrifice of the altar an
application is made of the merits of
Christ's death to individuals for the
remission of temporal penalties due
to the justice of God. The redemp-
tion was made on the cross ; the ap-
plication of the grace of remission \s
made in the sacrament of penance;
the remission of temporal penalties,
both for the living and the dead, is
obtained through the sacrifice of the
altar. All the efficacy of the divine
eucharist, whether as a sacrifice or a
sacrament, is derived from the merits
of Jesus Christ, which were consum-
mated in his death. It is, therefore,
by the applicarion of the merit of the
sacrifice of the cross that the sacri-
fice of the mass becomes efficacious
to salvation. The Lamb of God is
presented before the Father with the
merit acquired by his death upon
Mount Calvary, and this presentation
is an act of supreme adoration, of
thanksgiving, of impetration, and of
satisfaction for the debt due to the
divine justice, made in a sensible, visi-
ble manner, with mystic rites and
ceremonies ; which is enough to con-
stitute a sacrifice in the strict and
proper sense, whatever difference of
opinion there may be concerning the
essence of the sacrificial act in the
eucharist. Although, therefore, there
are many priests and many sacrifices
numerically, it is one act performed
by one person which is exhibited and
applied in all, so that there is truly
but one sacrifice and one priest.
The reverend doctor might have
seen this for himself if he had reflect-
ed more carefully on the words of
the Council of Trent which he has
himself quoted, Cujus quidem obla-
tionis cruenUe, inquam^ frucius per h(au
uberrime percipiuntur—''T\it fiiiits of
which bloody oblation, indeed, 9Xt
Dr, HarwoocTs Price Lecture.
319
by this most abundantly partaken
The words of the lecturer foUow-
mg his exposition of the doctrine are
not at first sight intelligible. "We
may be pardoned, then, if we ask
what then is our I^ord to us personal-
ly ?** It is very difficult to see how
the hidden presence of our Lord un-
do: the sacramental veils is any ob-
struction to our personal relation to
him as our Saviour. How does this
presence derogate from the fact that
he died for each of us on the cross,
and is ever living in heaven to make
intercession for us? Our adoration
of his sacred body and precious
blood under the forms of bread and
wine does not hinder our meditating
upon his passion and death upon the
cros, or raising our mental eye to
his glorious form at the right hand
of God. The author appears to im-
agine that his sacramental presence
must destroy his natural mode of ex-
Btence and reduce him to a passive,
helpless state of being in the host.
But this is only because he fails to
conceive the Catholic doctrine that
our Lord is present both in heaven
and also in the host at the same
time, though in two different modes.
He says, " He is present with us, we
adore that presence, but he is passive
and lifeless in the hands of a priest-
"<^ No sign or word comes from
the pix. When the church is in
travail over a new doctrine, recluse
and learned men busy themselves in
vast libraries in order to catch the
^niensus of Catholic tradition. A
reliever may be excused, if, like
°^ary, he cries out, 'They have
taken away the Lord, and I know
t^oi where they have laid him!*"
Strange language this from a member
^ the communion of Andrewes,
Hooker, Taylor, Pusey, and Hobart !
Has the author ever read their glow-
^g words respecting this same
theme ? Is he familiar with the doc-
trinal books of his own church?
Taken away the Lord, when he re-
mains perpetually in our tabernacles
awaiting the visits of those true be-
lievers who pass hours in sweet com-
munion at the foot of the altar, con-
versing with him as with the friend
and spouse of their souls ? When he
is given to them in communion and
his sacred body rests in their bosoms,
kindling there the flames of a sacred
love often equal to that which glows
in the seraphim ? Let the reverend
doctor read the lives of the saints,
and ask them if the Lord is silent
when they converse with him in the
blessed sacrament, or let him even
ask the ordinary pious Catholic that
question. He does not indeed break
the silence of his hidden state by
words audible to the bodily ear, but
he speaks far more efficaciously to
the heart in a way which is imintelli-
gible to cold rationalism, but perfect-
ly well known to faith inflamed by
love. The divine eucharist was not
instituted as a medium for communi-
cating light to the church concern-
ing revealed truths. Christ teaches
and rules the church by the Holy
Spirit, and not by his human voice.
It is his will that study, meditation,
and counsel should be the means by
which the prelates and doctors of the
church obtain the light and assistance
of this divine Spirit. Dr. Harwood
is not pleased with this arrangement ;
but as the Lord appears to have de-
termined definitely that it must be so,
we are afraid that his suggestions will
not be attended to. At all events, he
may console himself with the reflection
that he has discovered an entirely new
objection to the Catholic doctrine.
We have unwittingly passed over
one other objection, namely, that
the doctrine of the eucharistic sacri-
fice destroys the idea of communion.
The eucharist does not cease to be
320
Dr. Harwood's Price Lecture.
a sacrament by being a sacrifice. If
there is communion among Episco-
palians through a reception of bread
and wine, it would seem that there
might be also communion among
Catholics in receiving the true body
and blood of Christ. If the Protes-
tant Episcopal liturgy is a common
prayer, certainly the Catholic liturgy
is equally one, though it is also a sac-
rifice. Moreover, there is, in the
strictest sense, communion in the
very act of offering the sacrifice.
The priest, though consecrated by a
heavenly grace and commissioned by
the divine authority of our Lord, is
consecrated to minister for the peo-
ple, in their name and as their repre-
sentative. He oflfers up the sacrifice
for the people, and they offer sacrifice
to God through him, which is signi-
fied in the mass by the action of the
deacon, who, as the representative
of the laity, holds the pixb in his
hand at the offertory, and placing his
right hand on the foot of the chalice,
recites with the priest the prayer. Of-
ferimus tibi^ DominCy calicemy etc.
We will not attempt to prove the
truth of the Catholic doctrine of the
mass, since the author does not di-
recdy attempt to disprove it, but will
drop the subject here, and proceed
to notice what method he proposes
to follow in refuting the two grand
Catholic doctrines of the papacy and
the mass.
The reverend doctor takes a re-
view of the condition of Protestantism
as in contrast with that of the Catho-
lic Church, in which we are happy
to be able to concur with him as well
as to commend the graphic power of
his description. He then briefly in-
dicates three ways of proceeding:
one by tradition, one by tradition
and Scripture together, and one by
Scripture alone, which he selects, re-
serving the right to appeal to tradition
when it is convenient. We will let
his language speak for itself:
" As searchers after truth, we most ac-
knowledge some standard and appeal to
some recognized authority. Without this we
must follow either our own mental bias, or
else become the prey of every man who
shall be bold enough to declare that he has
and holds the truth of God. I fear very
much we have lost sight of this need of ap-
peal to a recognized standard of truth and
duty. We are, in this new age, buildii^
apparently on the sand ; or it would seem
that what we had supposed to be rock, on
which many were building, has become pul-
verized, and as the sands shift under the
power of the stream, multitudes believe to-
day what they did not believe yesterday,
and to morrow they may believe nothing 9X,
all.
" I touch here a serious evil which is do-
ing more harm to our Protestantism than
any direct assaults of Romanism. We seem
to be under some spelL Our spiritual
ideas are resolving themselves into a series
of dissolving views; and all because the
mind has not the proper nutriment to im-
part health and vigor to our religious feel-
ings and convictions. Upon every account
it becomes us to recognize the fact that in
religion we must have an actual, definite
standard of appeal This we must find
either in sacred Scripture or in tradition,
or in both combined If we accept the tra-
dition of the church as law, we might as
well abandon the contest with Rome, be-
cause the traditions gradually, as they ga-
ther force and headway in time, revolve
around the papacy. The traditions in the
long run have made the papacy ; they are
its chief support to-day. To accept them
bodily, in mass, is to appeal to actual Chris-
tendom — to the historic church — as to a
standard and law, and not as to a witness o(
truth. It is to acknowledge the identity of
Christian truth and the Christian Church
visible. This brings us again to Romanism,
or this is the postulate of the Roman
Catholic apologist
" If to-day I ask w/uzt is truth f and if I al*
low every church or sect to answer, I am
stunned by a confused and unintelligible
noise. If I allow one church to answer,
and only one, in the midst of the crowd of
churches, by my procedure I submit myself
in advance, to that one church. But if I al-
low none to answer for me, and I recognize,
nevertheless, a divine historic revelation, I
am compelled to go to sacred Scripture in
Dr. Harwood's Price Lecture,
321
order to leirn what God requires me to be-
lieve. Shall we take the sacred Scripture
fashioned by Italian workmen? or by
Greek, or by Anglican, or by German,
or by American workmen ? No ; but the
text in its parity and simplicity. Here
we must take our stand whensoever we
come to the question of what it is neces-
sary to believe in order to be a Christian ;
whensoever, in a word, loyalty and the
obedience of faith are required or even con-
sidered.
•* I do not mean, however,'"to deny and re-
pudiate utterly the traditional principle.
Christianity is historic As a social inter-
est, as an organized spiritual fact, it comes
to us from the past. We cannot dismiss
this past of Christian life and history, any
more than we can dismiss the past of our
ci\nl life and institutions. The new gene-
ration, as it succeeds the old, does not build '
again from the foundations. A. U. C. rep-
resented a fact to the Roman citizen which
he never could forget We measure time
in the world*s hbtory by the letters A. D.
We date our public documents in the Unit-
ed States from the declaration of our inde-
pendence. We do not create the state
anew ; we administer it as an existing fact.
So in religion. Many things, many words,
institutions, and the like have come to us
from the past, which we accept and use as
I matter of course. We baptize in£ints,
we observe the first day of the week, we
use the imposition of hands in ordination
and confirmation, we employ the words
sacrament, trinity, incarnation, etc, in theo-
logy. This is an illustration of the recog-
lution of a traditional principle which is in-
evitable. We do not, therefore, maintain
that we must have a sure and certain war-
rant of Scripture for all that we may ob-
serve and do as Christians, because it is im-
possible to be confined to the written word
under all circumstances, and during all
ages. Much is left the conscience and
judgment of individuals and of particular
churches; but when we come to faith, to
what it is nece^ry to believe as Chris-
tians, we must adhere firmly to the Bible,
^ never for a moment allow any one to
impose upon the conscience any thing, as
tcquisite to a true reception of the Gospel,
whidi is not contained therein, nor may be
proved thereby.
*'This, then, is our standard of appeal,
logically and morally it is the right and
only standard of appeal in the discussion,
especially of the claims and teachings of
wy and of every church whatsoever. If
^ be not the tribunal to which we must
VOL. X. — 21
go, then we must have recourse to the dic-
tum of a church, and then, as we have seen,
we allow a church to be its own standard
of appeal. Consequently, when Rome pro-
claims her infallibility, we must allow her
claioL When the Church of England dis-
owns infallibility, we may or may not accept
her disclaimer. If we do not accept it,
then we prove her to be failibU^ to be mis-
taken articulately in^espect of her own
quality and prerogative. We are reduced
to absurdity.
" We are forced back to sacred Scripture,
and in the interests of Christian truth we are
compelled to take our stand here. And I
declare in all completeness of conviction,
that with the Bible in our hands we are tri-
umphant against the doctrine of the supre-
macy of the pope, and of the sacrifice of the
mass. This is to be triumphant against
Romanism."
Dr. Harwood is sagacious enough
not to follow the example of the
generality of his Episcopalian asso-
ciates, which the Presbyterians have
been lately seduced by their evil gen-
ius into following, that is, to appeal
to the first six councils. He probably
agrees with the author of Liber Li-
brarum and Dr. Stanley, that in a.d.
200 we find the thing he is oppos-
ing and anxious to escape from, exist-
ing. " How, then, came such an in-
stitution into existence? For no-
thuig can be plainer than that about
a hundred years after the death of
John it appears^ although in any thing
but apostolic garb. All is altered."
" No other change," says Dean Stan-
ley, "equally momentous has ever
since affected its fortunes; yet none
has ever been so silent and secret.
The church has now become history,
the history not of an isolated commu-
nity or of isolated individuals, but of
an organized society, incorporated
with the political systems of the
worid." ..." Hard is it to see in
such a church any thing but a pro-
found mystery of God, a mystery of
spiritual evil, a mystery of iniquity." •'
* LUiT Librtmrnt, Note D, p. aaS.
322
Df. HarwoocTs Price Lecture.
Dr. Harwood feels it to be necessary
to take refuge in the obscure period
between the year loo and the year
200 as in a chasm separating histori-
cal from scriptural Christianity. It is
very easy to make a theory concern- >
ing the silent, sudden change which
took place during this century, and
then, clearing history by a bound, to
land in the New Testament. Once
there, with full liberty of private in-
terpretation, which means freedom to
interpret it by the light of any philo-
sophical theory or preconceived opin-
ions one may choose to adopt, Dr.
Harwood thinks he is safe, and able
to defend himself to the end against
Romanism. He imagines that we
are imwilling and unable to follow
him there, and meet him — or rather
the champions of his cause— on their
own chosen ground. "In conclu-
sion, we will ask you to remember
that the Roman Catholics have never
liked our appeal to Scripture. They
do not like it to-day any better than
they liked it three hundred years
ago." If the doctor thinks we are
afraid of the Scriptures, or in any way
distrustful of our ability to prove our
doctrines from it, he is extremely mis-
taken. We have always been ready
to enter into that part of the argu-
ment, and we maintain specifically
respecting the two grand doctrines
of the papacy and the mass that
they can be fully and satisfactorily
proved from Scripture, as in point of
fact they have been proved, to men-
tion no others, by Mr. Allies and
Cardinal Wiseman. We object to
the demand that Scripture should be
the only source of appeal, not be-
cause we are afraid that we shall be
defeated by scriptural arguments ; but
because the demand is unjust, and
the assumption on which it is found-
ed is baseless. We demand that the
subject shall be discussed in all its
ibeauings, on all its grounds, by the
light of all the knowledge that is at-
tained from every source. We deny
the ability of our adversaries to estab-
lish the authority of Scripture with-
out first assuming Catholic principles,
and we deny their logical and moral
right after using these principles in
establishing Scripture, to throw away
or bum their ladder by denying or
ignoring these same principles when
it is a question of establishing the
sense of the Scripture, explaining or
integrating its statements. If we are
to shut out of our minds all the ideas
of Christianity which are extraneom
to the literal statements of the N<
Testament, to take the attitude
learners searching after truth, and
get from the naked text withoi
other interpreter than itself the
that is in it, we have a difficult
of doubtful issue before us. Jol
Locke, who was probably as capal
of doing this impartially as any £n{
lishman can be, tried it, and pr<t
claimed as the result of his studi^f^
that only one idea is demonstrably
revealed in the New Testameni|k
namely, that Jesus Cluist is the pr(li|
phet of God to whose teaching an<J* ,
precepts obedience is due. As to his
actual teaching and precepts, he
could only find probability, conclud-
ing> therefore, very justly, that there
is no system of doctrine or code of
precepts cleariy binding upon all
alike, each one being left to the guid-
ance of a probable conscience only.
It is very difficult, if not impossible,
to read the New Testament without
spectacles. For our own part, we arc
quite sure that the New Testament
contains more or less explicitly all the
principal and many of the minor
Catholic doctrines, and that the sense
given by the church is the one given
by true exegesis and criticism. Yet
we will not venture to say how fer wc
should be able to see this without
Catholic spectacles. We are quite
V
Dr. HarwooiVs Price Lecture.
323
sore that Dr. Harwood also has a
pair of spectacles, and cannot lay
them aside if he would. We find in
point of fact, that ordinarily persons
who believe in the Bible and read it
all their lives, whether Episcopalians,
Presbyterians, or even Unitarians, are
seldom startled out of the belief they
have been taught, and convinced of
some different interpretation, merely
by reading it It is evident, therefore,
that any one exposition made of
Christianity from Uie simple text will
never be a demonstration in the view
of all candid, sincere persons. There
will always be various interpretations
having more or less probability, and
unity will never be reached. Besides
this, the degree and extent of inspira-
tion will never be settled, or the limits
between the human, transitory ele-
ment and the divine, unchangeable
dement become fixed. The result
will be that we must fall back
OQ philosophy and a system of
ntbnalism. Let it be conceded
tiiat the ideas in the mind of each
wcred writer when he wrote are
deariy apprehended, it will be impos-
sible to secure perfect submission
even to the teachings of inspired
men, when the principle of church
authority has beoi cast to the winds.
This is the reason why, even at the
outset of an argument, and before we
^e entitled to cite the authority of
tradition as divine to one who denies
•
'^ we refuse to permit the case to
be argued on the scriptural ground
alone, even though both parties ad-
Juit the divine authority of Scripting,
^e desire to do something more
than to make a good case, and to
^^^ablish our interpretation as even
the mote probable or the most prob-
able. We desire to prove it to a
demonstration which does not leave
^en a slight probability on the other
^e, through which an adversary may
^^^^ We wish to have the question
adjudicated and decided, so that it
may be clear and indisputable that
God has revealed and commands all
men to believe and obey the Gospel
of his Son as a distinct and positive
law of faith and practice, and not as
a mere theory. We are not afiraid,
however, that we cannot get the best
of it, in a discussion of the text of die
New Testament, conducted on the
same principles ^at we should apply
to an ancient manuscript about whose
contents we have no extrinsic light
whatever. Those who come nearest
to this cold, critical impartiality are
men who possess the intellectual
keenness necessary to see into ideas
as they are, without having any
motive to misrepresent them. One
who is indifferent as to the question
what the sacred writers thought and
intended to say, because he considers
their teaching as equivalent only to
that of Socrates or Confucius, and
who is qualified to examine critically
the New Testament, will at least
attempt to state impartiaUy what im-
pression it has made on his mind.
And that statement will throw some
light on the question. What does the
text clearly and unmistakably signify
by itself, apart from ideas on the same
subject-matter which are derived from
Christian tradition ? One person of
this kind, Mr. Samuel Johnson, of
Lynn, Massachusetts, who is a leader
among the Bostonian free-thinken,
in an article which appeared in TTu
Radical gave his opinion that the
doctrine of the papacy is deariy con-
tained in St Matthew's Gospel. The
infidel Jew Salvador, in a work whose
name we do not now remember, but
which we have attentively read, de-
clares that the Roman Catholic reli-
gion is the genuine religion of the
New Testament, and that Protestant-
ism is a total misconception of Chris-
tianity ; an opinion we have ourselves
personally heard expressed by a well-
3^4
Dr. Harwood's Price Lecture,
informed ajid zealous Israelite of our
acquaintance. We do not care to
press these testimonies too iax) but
at all events they indicate, in connec-
tion with the feet that so many
learned students of the Bible, both
Protestant and Catholic, interpret it
in a manner quite different from that
of Dr. Harwood's school, that it does
not on the face of it dearly and im-
mistakaUy pronounce in his fevor or
against us.
We insist then, further, that even
conceding Dr. Harwood for a mo-
ment in possession of the ground on
which his belief of the divine au-
thority of the Scripture stands, he is
bound to admit all the light that ec-
clesiastical history throws back on its
text, as he himself partially but in-
consistently admits, and as all Pro-
testants have ever done so far as it
suited their purposes to do so. We
may illustrate this by a parallel case.
A Christian discusses the text of the
Old Testament with a Jew. If the
Jew should insist on sticking to the
text, and interpreting the prophecies
exclusively by biblical criticism, the
Christian could justly insist that the
facts of the life of Jesus Christ and
the history of Christianity must be
considered. The Jew himself would
not feil to cite all kinds of historical
facts not prejudicial to himself against
an infidel, as manifesting the sense
and fiilfrlment of the prophecies.
Let the Jew shut his eyes to the
miracles proving the divine mission
and miraculous conception of Jesus,
and he can very plausibly explain the
femous prediction, •♦ Behold the Vir-
gin (ha almah) shall conceive," etc., as
signifying. " Behold this young wo-
man " — that is, one standing by and
pointed out by Isaia»— shall conceive
and bear a son. So, with all the Mes-
sianic passages of the Old Testament,
as one may see by consulting Rabbi
Leeser's English translation, with
notes, published at Philadelphia.
Now, it is a perfectly fair and con-
clusive argument against a Jew to
show that the history of Jesus, es-
tablished on merely human faith, pre-
sents such a correspondence to the
prophecies of the Old Testament that
it must be regarded as their &MI-
paent Although the Old Testament
alone might not reveal Jesus to \m
individual reason, yet in the light of
his Ufe it is shown that these andest
Scriptures testify of him. It is not
competent for him to allege his Scrip-
ture as a complete and finished reve-
lation, rejecting every thing which k
not clearly visible, on its face; for
we can show him that his Scriptures
point out the ^orious son of Ihivitfs
royal daughter as the one who will
carry out the dispensation of Moses
to its consummation.
It is precisely the same case b^
tween us and Protestants. We
point to the church as presenting
historical ^ts and verities co^^
sponding to the somewhat obscure
predictions or other dedarati<Mis d
the Scripture, and manifesting to
significance. We show how all that
can be learned from the New Testa-
ment by itself is in harmony with
what the church proclaims hersdf to
be, and declares true Christianity to
consist in ; and we show the Scriptmc
presupposes, provides fi>r, and pofflts
toward the church. If we take aH
those passages which relate to tk
divine cucharist, and place bcskJc
them the traditional teaching and prac-
tice of the church, we see them ^
once lit up with meaning and irra-
diating our minds with the tme in<i
Catholic doctrine. One is the expla-
nation of the other, and die Wstoncal
existence of the sacrifice of the mas
confronted with the language of the
Scripture demonstrates that it nwst
be the thing which the sacred writffs
meant We take the prediction of
ZV. Harweod's Price Lecture.
32s
Lord to St. Peter, " Thou art
, and on this rock I will build
y church." One who knows noth-
ing about the Catholic Church might
oajsdly be persuaded that our Lord
meant no more than this : " Thou
SLTt finn like a rock in thy faith, and
upon such a firm faith I will establish
all the elect who are an invisible so-
ciety known to me, and these Satan
shall never be able to overcome."
Sut when that stupendous, world-
subduing might of Peter's see which
overawes even Dr. Harwood is con-
templated in history as it emerges
from the obscure dawn of the Chris-
tian era, and goes forward through
all time conquering g.nd to conquer,
its plain correspondence to and fulfil-
ment of the literal significance of
our Lord's words proves conclusively
that he meant this, and nothing else.
We do not intend, however, to go
into this argument any further, as
Dr. Harwood does not profess to
argue the point himself. All we aim
at is, to show that the argument must
be conducted on the ground of his-
tory as well as that of Scripture.
And here we desire to call attention
to an admirable article by President
Woolsey in the same number of the
Ncw-Englander^ in which Dr. Har-
wood's lecture was first published, on
the Church of the Future, which exhi-
bits with rare ability the very idea
we are insisting upon, that the true
Christianity is the genuine historical
Christianity.
The only true issue which can be
made is respecting the genuine, his-
torical development of the Christian
idea. Dr. Harwood and his school
cannot escape firom this. If, there-
fbre, the champions whom he sum-
mons to the controversy respond to
his call, they will be bound to de-
monstrate historically that the papal
supremacy was a purely human in-
vention substituted for the authentic
constitution which the apostles gave
to the Christian church. This Dr.
Harwood thinks can be done. "If
the pope be that rock, we can find
by the lights of history the strata
and the law of its structure. We ob-
serve it acquired shape and size — and
there is a hammer which can break it
in pieces." If there is such a ham-
mer, we wonder that it has not yet
been found and wielded. In our
opinion, the enemies of the papacy
have already said every thing which
can be said on their side of the ques-
tion. We are at a loss to know how
history can be made to give up any
thing new on the subject, any thing
which has not been already thoroughly
sifted and discussed. We are perfecdy
willing that our adversaries should
try again to look up or manufacture
a hammer with which to try the effect
of their blows upon the Rock of
Peter. We think they will find that
they are undertaking a herculean,
task. One thmg only we must be
permitted to observe, that any one
who undertakes this controversy
ought not to ignore and pass by what
has already been written by CathoHc
controversialists. It is not fair that
the discussion should be always be-
ginning de novOy and Catholic writers
be required to repeat all the labor of
their predecessors. If Dr. Harwood,
or any one else, is disposed to at-
tempt our demolition, let him first
master all the arguments and evi-
dences which have been already ad-
duced on our side, give a distinct
answer to them, and rebut the an-
swers which we have already made
to anti-papal arguments. Whoever
does this with competent learning
and ability, will no doubt receive due
attention ; but until this is done, it
will be quite sufiident for us to chal-
lenge a refutation of the works of
our champions which hitherto have
remained unanswered, and which we
confidently affirm to be unanswerable.
226
Haydn s Struggle atid Ttiumph.
HAYDN'S STRUGGLE AND TRIUMPH.
I.
" Seventeen kreutzers for a morn-
ing's workl" exclaimed a pretty but
slovenly-dressed young woman, itoid-
ing at the door of an apartment in a
mean-looking house in one of the
narrow streets of Vienna, addressing
a man of low stature and sallow
complexion, who had just come in.
" And tiie printers running after you
ever since you went out! Profitless
doings for you to spend your time !
At eight, the singing-desk of the
brothers De la Merci; at ten. Count
de Haugwitz's chapel; grand mass
at eleven ; and all this toil for a few
kreutzers I"
" What can I do?" said the weary,
desponding man.
'*Do! Give up this foolisn busi-
ness of music, and take to something
that will enable you to live. Did
not my father, a hair-dresser, give you
shelter when you had only your gar-
ret and skylight, and had to lie in
bed and write for want of coals?
Had he not a right to expect you
would dress his daughter as well as
she had been used at home, and
that she should have servants to wait
on her, as in her fatiier's house ?"
"You should not reproach me,
Nanny. Have I not worked till my
health has given way ? If fortune is
inexorable — "
" Fortime ! As if fortime did not
always wait upon industry in a pro-
per calling. Your patrons admire
and applaud, but they will not pay ;
yet you will drudge away your life
in this ungrateful occupation. I tell
you, Joseph Haydn, music is not the
thmgl"
Here a knock was heard at the
door; and the wife, with exclama-
tions of impatience, flounced away.
The imfortunate artist threw himself
on a seat, and leaned his head on a
table covered with notes of music
So entirely had he yielded himself to
despondency that he did not move,
even when the door opened, till the
sound of a well-known voice close at
his side starded him from his melan-
choly reverie.
" How now, Haydn ! what is tht
matter, my boy ?"
The speaker was an old man, shab-
bily dressed, but' with something strik-
ing and even commanding in his no-
ble features. His large, dark, flashing
eyes, his olive complexion, and the
contoiu: of his face bespoke him a
native ot a sunnier clime than that
of Germany. Haydn sprang up and
welcomed him with a cordial em-
brace.
" And when, my dear Porpora,
did you return to Vienna ?" he asked.
" This morning only ; and my first
care was to find you out But how
is this? I find you thin, and pale,
and gloomy. Where are your spi-
rits?"
" Gone," murmured the composer,
and dropped his eyes on the floor.
His visitor regarded him with a look
of affectionate interest.
In answer to Porpora's inquiries,
Haydn told him of the struggles and
failures by which he had been led to
doubt his own genius, till he had
succumbed under the crushing hand
of poverty. " I am chained," he
concluded bitterly; and, giving way
to the anguish of his heart, he burst
into tears.
Haydn* s Struggle and Triumph.
327
Poipora shook his head, and was
s3ent for a few moments. At length
he said:
"I musty I see, give you a little
of my experience. I was, you know,
a puiHl of Scarlatti more fortunate
than you; for my works procured me
almost at once a wide-spread &me.
I was called for not only in Venice,
but in Vienna and London."
"Ah! yours was a brilliant lot,"
cried the young composer, looking
up with kindling eyes.
" The Saxon court," continued Por-
pora, " offered me the direction of the
chapel and of the theatre at Dresden.
Even the princesses received my les-
sons; in ^ort, my success was so
great that I awakened the jealousy
of Hasse himselfl Ail this you know,
and how I returned to London upon
the invitation of amateurs in Italian
music"
" Where you rivalled Handel !" said
Haydn enthusiastically. " Handel,
with aU his greatness, had no versatili-
ty. Your sacred music, Porpora, will
live when your theatrical composi-
tions have ceased to enjoy unrivalled
popularity."
" My sacred compositions may siu:-
▼ive and carry my name to posterity;
for taste in such things is less muta-
ble than in the opera. You see now,
dear Haydn, for what I have lived
and labored. I was once renowned
and wealthy. What did prosperity
bring me ? Envy, discontent, rival-
ship, disappointment! Would you
know to what period I can look back
with self-approbation, with diankful-
ncss? To the toil of early years;
to the struggle after an ideal of great-
ness, goodness, and beauty ; to the
telf-forgetfulness that saw only the
glorious goal far, far before me; to
the undismayed resolve that sought
only its attainment Or to a time
^ later, when the visions of man-
hood's impure and selfish ambition
had faded away, when the soul had
shaken off some of her fetters, and
roused herself to a perception of the
eternal, the perfect, the divine; when
I became conscious of the delusive »
vanity of earthly hopes and earthly
excellence, but at the same time
awakened to the revelation of that
which cannot die !
"You see me now, seventy-three
years old, and too poor to command
even a shelter for tiie few days that
yet remain to me in this world. I
have lost the splendid fame I once
possessed ; I have lost the riches that
were mine; I have lost the power
to win even a competence by my
own labors ; but I have not lost my
passion for our glorious music, nor
enjoyment of the reward she bestows
on her votaries; nor my confidence
in Heaven. And you, at twenty-se-
ven, you — ^more greatly endowed, to
whom the world is open— ^^w de-
spair! Are you worthy to succeed,
O man of litUe faith ?"
" My friend, my benefactor !" cried
the young artist, clasping his hand
with deep emotion.
" Cast away your bonds ; cut and
rend, if your very flesh is torn in the
effort ; and the ground once spumed,
you are free. What have you been
doing ?" And he turned over rapid-
ly the musical notes that lay on the
table. " Here, what is this — a sym-
phony ? Play it for me, if you please."
So saying, with a gentle force he
led his young friend to the piano,
and Haydn played from the piece he
had nearly completed.
"This is excellent, admirable!*
cried Porpora, when he rose from the
instrument. " When can you finish
this ? for I must have it at once."
" To-morrow, if you like," answer-
ed the composer more cheerfully.
"To-morrow then ;. and you must
work to-night. I will go and order
you a physician; he will come to-
328
Hay^bis Struggle a^td Triumph,
morrow moming-^how madly your
pulse throbs ! — and when your work
is done, you may rest. Adieu for
the present" And pressing his
young friend's hands, the eccentric
but benevolent old man departed,
leaving Haydn full of new thoughts,
his bosom fired with zeal to struggle
against adverse fortune. In such
moods does the spiritual champion
wrestle with the powers of the abyss,
and mightily prevail.
When Haydn, late that night,
threw himself on his bed, weary, ill,
and exhausted, his frame racked with
the pains of fever, he had accomplish-
ed the first of an order of works des-
tined to endear his name to all suc-
ceeding time.
While the artist lay on a sick-bed,
a brilliant /^^ was given by Count
Mortzin, an Austrian nobleman of im-
mense wealth and influence, at which
the most distinguished individuals in
Vienna were present. The musical
entertainments given oy these luxuri-
ous patrons of the arts were at that
time, and for some years after, the
most splendid in Europe.
When the concert was over, Prince
Antoine Esterhazy expressed the plea-
sure he had received, and his obli-
gations to the noble host. "Chief
among your magnificent novelties,"
said he, " is the new symphony, St
Maria, One does not hear every
day such music. Who is the com-
poser ?"
The count referred to one of his
friends. The answer was, "Joseph
Haydn."
" I have heard his quartettos ; he
is no common artist. Is he in your
-service, count?"
" He has been employed by me."
"With your good leave, he shall
be transferred to ours; and I shall
:take care he has no reascm to regret
the change. Let him be presented
to us."
There was a murmur among the
audience and a movement, bat the
composer did not appear; and pre-
sently word was brought to his high-
ness diat the young man on whono
he intended to confer so great an
honor was detained at home by ill-
ness.
" So ! Let him be brought to me as
soon as he recovers; he shall enter
my service. I like his symphony
vastly. Your pardon, count ; for we
will rob you of your best man." And
the great prince, having decided the
destiny of a greater than himself,
turned to those who surrounded him
to speak of other matters.
News of the change in his fortune
was brought to Haydn by his friend
Porpora ; and so renovating was the
effect of hope that he was strong
enough on the following day to pay
his respects to his illustrious patron.
His highness was just preparing to
ride, but would see the composer;
and he was conducted through a
splendid suite of rooms to the apart-
ment where the proud head of the
Esterhazys deigned to receive an
almost nameless artist. The prince,
in the splendid array suited to his
rank, glanced somewhat carelessly at
the low, slight figure that stood before
him, and said, as he was presented,
" Is this, then, the composer of the
music I heard last night ?"
" This is he — ^Joseph Haydn," re-
plied the friend who introduced him.
" So— a Moor, I should judge firom
his dark complexion. And you write
such music? Haydn — I recollect
the name ; and I remember hearing,
too, that you were not well paid for
your labors, eh ?"
"I have been very unfortunate,
your highness — "
" Well, you shall have no reason
to complain in my service. My
secretary shall fix your appoint-
ments j and name whatever else you
Hayd$is Struggle and Triumph.
329
desire. All of your profession find
me liberal. Now then, sir Moor,
]rou may go ; and let it be your first
care to provide yourself with a new
coat, a wig, and buckles and heels to
your shoes. I will have you respect-
able in appearance as well as in ta-
lents; so let me have no more of
shabby professors. And do your best,
my little dusky, to recruit in flesh —
it will add to the stature ; and to re-
lieve your olive with a shade of the
ruddy. Such spindle masters would
be a walking discredit to our larder,
which is truly a spendthrift one."
So saying, with a laugh, the haugh-
ty nobleman dismissed his new de-
pendent The artist chafed not at
the imperious tone of patronage ; for
he did not yet feel the superiority of
his own vocation. It was the bond-
age-time of genius; the wings were
not yet grown which were to bear his
spirit up, when it brooded over a
new world.
The life which Haydn led in the
service of Prince Esterhazy, to which
service he w^as permanently attached
by Nicolas, the successor of Antoine,
in the quality of chapel-master, was
one so easy that it might have
proved fatal to an artist more inclin-
ed to luxury and pleasure, or less de-
voted to his art. Now for the first
time relieved from the care of the fu-
ture, he was enabled to yield to the
impulse of his genius, and create
works which gradually extended his
fame over all the countries of Eu-
rope.
II.
On the evenmg of a day in the be-
ginning of April, 1809, all the lovers
of art in Vienna were assembled in
the theatre to witness the perform-
ance of the oratorio of The Crea-
^. The entertainment had been
given in honor of the composer of
tU: noble work — the illustrious
Haydn — ^by his numerous fiiends and
admirers. He had been enticed
firom Gumpendorf, his retreat in the
suburbs, the cottage surrounded by a
little garden which he had purchas-
ed after his retirement firom the Ester-
hazy service, and where he was
spending the last years of his Hfe.
Three hundred musicians assisted at
the performance. The audience rose
en masse and greeted with rapturous
applause the white-haired man, who,
led forward by the most distinguished
nobles in the city, was conducted to
the place of honor. There, seated
with princesses at his right hand,
beauty smiling upon him, the centre
of a circle of nobility, the observ-
ed and admired of all, the object of
the acclamations of thousands — ^who
would not have said that Haydn had
reached the summit of human great-
ness, had more than realized the
proudest visions of his youth ? His
serene countenance, his clear eye, his
air of dignified self-possession, show-
ed that prosperity had not overcome
him, but that amid the smiles of for-
tune he had not forgotten the true
excellence of man.
" I can see plainly," remarked one
of Haydn's friends, whom we will call
Manuel, " that he will write no more."
"He has done enough; and now
we are ready for the farewell of
Haydn," said another.
" The farewell ?"
" Did you never hear the story ?
I have heard him tell it often mysel£
It concerns one of his most celebrat-
ed symphonies. The occasion was
this : Among the musicians attached
to the service of Prince Esterhazy,
were several who, during his sojourn
upon his estates, were obliged to
leave their wives at Vienna. At one
time his highness prolonged his stay
at Esterhazy castle considerably be-
yond the usual period. The discon-
solate husbands entreated Haydn to
330
Haydn* s Struggle and Triumph.
become the interpreter of their wishes.
Thus the idea came to him of com-
posing a symphony in which each
instrument ceased, one after another.
He added at the close of every part
the direction, * Here the light is ex-
tinguished' Each musician, in his
turn, rose, put out his candle, rolled
up his notes, and went away. This
pantomime had the desired effect ; the
next morning the prince gave orders
for their return to the capital.
"He used to tell us a somewhat
similar story of the origin of his
Turkic or military Symphony. You
know the high appreciation he met
with in his visits to England; but
notwithstanding the praise and hom-
age he received, he could not prevent
the enthusiastic audience from falling
asleep during the performance of his
compositions. It occurred to him to
devise a kind of ingenious revenge.
In this piece, while the current is
gliding softly, and slumber beginning
to steal over the senses of his audi-
ence, a sudden and unexpected burst
of martial music, tremendous as a
thunder-peal, startles the surprised
sleepers into active attention. I
would have liked to see the le-
thargic islanders, with their eyes
and mouths thrown open by such
an unlooked-for shock !"
A stop was suddenly put to the
conversation by the commencement
of the perfoflnance. The Creation^
the first of Haydn's oratorios, was re-
garded as his greatest work, and had
often elicited the most heartfelt ap-
plause. Now that the aged and
honored composer was present, pro-
bably for the last time, to hear it, an
emotion too deep for utterance seem-
ed to pervade the vast audience.
The feeling was too reverential to be
expressed by the ordinary tokens of
pleasure. It seemed as if every eye
in the assembly were fixed on the
calm, noble face of the venerated ar-
tist; as if every heart beat with love
for him. Then came, like a succes-
sion of heavenly melodies, the music
of The Creation^ and the listeners Mx
as if transported back to the infancjr
of the world. At the words, ♦* Let
there be light, and there was light,**
when all the instruments were united
in one fiill burst of gorgeous harmo-
ny, emotion seemed to shake the
whole fiame of the aged artist H»
pale face crimsoned; his bosom
heaved convulsively; he raised his
eyes, streaming with tears, toward
heaven, and, lifting upward his trem-
bling hands, exclaimed, his voice au-
dible in the pause of the music, " Not
unto me — not imto me — but unto
thy name be all the glory, O Lord !*•
From this moment Haydn lost the
calmness and serenity that had mark-
ed the expression of his countenance.
The very depths of his heart had
been stirred, and ill could his wasted
strength sustain the tide of feeling.
When the superb chorus at the dose
of the second part announced the
completion of the work of creation,
he could bear the excitement no
longer. Assisted by the prince's
physician and several of his friends,
he was carried fix)m the theatre,
pausing to give one last look of grati-
tude, expressed in his tearfril eyes, to
the orchestra who had so nobly exe-
cuted his conception, and followed
by the lengthened plaudits of the
spectators, who fdt that they were
never to look upon his face again.
Some weeks after this occurrence,
his fiiend Manud, who had sent to
inquire after his health, received from
him a card on which he had written,
to notes of music, the words, " Meine
kraft ist dakin^ "My strength is
gone." Haydn was in the habit of
sending about these cards, but his
increased feebleness was evident in
the handwriting of this ; and Manud
lost no time in hastoiing to him
Prayer.
331
Tbere, in his quiet cottage, around
which rolled the thunders of war, ter-
rifying others but not him, sat the
venerable composer. His desk stood
on one side, on the other his piano ;
he smiled, and held out his hand to
greet his friend.
<*Many a time," he murmured
** you have cheered my solitude, and
now you have come to see the old
man die."
" Speak not thus, my dear friend,"
cried Manuel, grieved to the heart;
•* you will recover."
" Not here," answered Haydn, and
pointed upward.
He then made a sign to one of his
attendants to open the desk, and
reach him a roll of papers. From
these he took one and gave it to his,
friend. It was inscribed in his own
hand, '' Catalogue of all my musical
compositions, which I can remember,
since my eighteenth year. Vienna,
4th December, 1805." Manuel, as
he read it, imderstood the mute pres-
sure of his friend's hand, and sighed
deeply. That hand would never
trace another note.
" Better thus," said Haydn softly,
^than a lingering old age of care,
disease, perhaps of poverty ! No ; I
am happy. I have lived not in vain.
I have accomplished my destiny; I
have done good. I am ready for
thy call, O Master !"
His spiritual adviser and guide was
with him the next hour, and adminis-
tered the last consolations of religion.
The aged man was wrapped in devo-
tion. At length he a^ked to be sup-
ported to his piano; it was opened,
and as his trembling fingers touched
the keys, an expression, of rapture
was kindled in his eyes. The music
that answered his touch seemed the
music of inspiration. But it gradual-
ly faded away ; the flush gave place
to a deadly pallor; and while his fin-
gers still rested on the keys, he sank
back into the arms of his friend, and
gendy breathed out his parting spirit.
It passed as in a happy strain of
melody I
Prince Esterhazy did honor to the
memory of his departed friend by the
pageant of funeral ceremonies. His
remains were transported to Eisen-
stadt, in Hungary, and placed in
the Franciscan vault. The prince
also purchased, at a high price, all
his books and manuscripts, and the
numerous medals he had obtained.
But his fame belongs to the world ;
and in all hearts sensible to the mu-
sic of truth and nature is consecrat-
ed the memory of Haydn.
PRAYER.
If men but knew — a wise priest gravely said,
His Roman doctor's cap upon his head —
If men but knew what they had won by prayer
Aside from all their worldly thrift and care.
They might be tempted, in a literal sense,
Always to pray," and with just toil dispense.
332
The Immutability of the Species.
THE IMMUTABILITY OF THE SPECIES.
II.
Of the several circumstances which
led to the conception of the theory
here advanced, the first and most im-
portant was the recognition of the fact
that variation was left unaccounted
for upon the hypothesis of evolution.
Here, if anywhere, we conceived,
was to be found the vulnerable part
of Darwinism. It occurred to us
that the probabilities were that a
theory was false when it had for its
data phenomena which conform to
no law. Our subsequent inquiries
furnished us with nothing by which
to rebut this presumption ; but with
much to confirm it. Our suspicion
at last strengthened into conviction,
and we became confident that con-
templation of the subject of the
cause of variation alone could furnish
us with a solution of the whole ques-
tion.
It is of laws alone of which we
speak in these articles. All the facts
adduced by Darwin we accept, and
use them merely as illustrations. We
have nothing in common with those
who contend that the refutation of
Darwinism lies solely with mere com-
pilers of facts — fanciers, florists, and
breeders. Darwin has heretofore an-
ticipated nothing but a joinder of
issue upon facts. He has apparently
never contemplated being met by a
demurrer. He has endeavored to
confound his opponents by a vast
multitude of facts ; and, owing to his
reverence for whatever has the sanc-
tion of antiquity, it has never entered
his mind that any one would be so
presumptuous as to demur to the
time-honored conception of neiv
growth^ upon which these facts are
based. Of this presumption we are
guilty when we deny the very exist-
ence of organic evolution.
In the preceding article we directly
intimated, on several occasions, that
no theory other than that of reversion
can afford a solution of the mystery
of the appearance of favorable modi-
fications. As some litde diversity of
opinion exbts respecting Darwin's
views on the subject of the cause of
variation, it may be well for us to
dwell awhile on this question, and to
furnish some evidence substantiating
our statement.
Darwin, in his Origin of Species,
candidly and firankly admits that he
can assign no satisfactory reason for
the appearance of favorable modifica-
tions. He ascribes them to "spon-
taneous variability," and assures us
that " our ignorance of the laws of
variation is profound." We might
adduce a number of other expres-
sions equally declaratory of his inabi-
lity to assign the cause of variation;
but as the Duke of Argyll has taken
such pains to direct attention to this
hiatus in Darwin's evidence, we can-
not refrain from quoting from his The
Reigfi of Law :
" It has not, I think, been sufficiently ob-
served that the theory of Mr. Darwin docs
not address itself to the same question, (the
introduction of new forms of life.) and docs
not even profess to trace the origin of new
forms to any definite law. His theory
gives an explanation, not of the processes by
which new forms first appear, but only of the
processes by which, when they have appear-
ed, they acquire a preference over others,
and thus become established in the world. A
new species is, indeed, according to his theo-
ry, as well as with the older theories of dere*
lopment, simply an unusual birth. The bood
The Immutability of the Species.
333
of connection between allied specific and
generic forms is, in his view, simply the
bond of inheritance. But Mr. Darwin does
not pretend to have discovered any law or
rule according to which new forms have
been bom from old forms. He does not
hold that outward conditions, however
changed, are sufficient to account for them.
Still less does he connect them with the ef-
fort or aspirations of any organisms after
new faculties and powers. He frankly con-
fesses that 'our ignorance of the laws of
variation is profound;* and says that in
speaking of them as due to chance, he
means only ' to acknowledge plainly our ig-
norance of the cause of each particular
variation.' Again he says, * I believe in no
law of necessary development.* " (P. 228.)
On page 254, the Duke of Argyll
continues :
" It will be seen, then, that the principle
of Natural Selection has no bearing what-
ever on the origin of species, but only on the
preservation and distribution of species
when they have arisen. I have already point-
ed out that Mr. Darwin does not always
keep this distinction clearly in view ; because
he speaks of natural selection ' producing '
organs or ' adapting * them. It cannot be
too often repeated that natural selection
can produce nothing whatever except the
conservation or preservation of some varia-
tion otherwise originated. The tnu origin
of species does not consist in the acljust-
ments which help varieties to live and pre-
vail ; but in those previous adjustments
Vhich cause those varieties to be born at
alL - Now, what are these ? Can they be
traced or even guessed at? Mr. Darwin
has a whole chapter on the laws of varia-
tion, and it is here, if anjrwhere, that we
look for any suggestion as to the physical
causes which account for the origin as dis-
tinguished from the preservation of the
species. He candidly admits that his doc-
trine of natural selection takes cognizance
of variations only after they have arisen,
and that it regards variations as purely acci-
dental iu their origin, or, in other words, as
due to chance. This, of course, he adds,
is a supposition wholly incorrect, and only
serves * to indicate plainly our ignorance of
tiie cause of each particular variation.*
Accordingly, the laws of variation which
|>e proceeds to indicate are merely certain
observed facts in respect to variation, and
do not at all come under the category of
laws, in that higher sense in which the word
law indicates a discovered method under
«l)ich aatural forces are made to work."
It will be seen that we have not
gone too far in proclaiming Darwin's
inability to account for variation. In
the absence, then, of any other ra-
tional explanation, are we not neces-
sitated to accept the theory of rever-
sion ? What possible objection can
be urged against it? Reversion is
not a heretofore unknown factor.
Nor is it an occult factor. It is con-
stantly recognized by Darwin. Two
chapters of the Animals and Plants
under Domestication are filled with
phenomena illustrating its action;
and it forms the basis of his lately
propounded hypothesis of pangenesis.
In the interval between the publi-
cation of his Origin of Species and the
writing of his Animals and Flants
undef Domestication, Darwin has re-
ceived no enlightenment as to the
cause of variation. A writer in The
North American Review for October,
1 868, holds the contrary, and dis-
tinctly asserts that Darwin is inclined
to adopt the mechanist theory, to at-
tribute the phenomena of variation
solely to the influence of the physical
conditions, and to repudiate the idea
of a conciurent cause. After speak-
ing of Mr. Herbert Spencer's ascrip-
tion of variations to the physical con-
ditions, he says :
" In his latest work, Mr. Darwin inclines
to adopt the mechanist theory, so far as the
cause of variations is concerned. * We will
now consider,' he says, ' the general argu-
ments, which appear to me to have great
weight, in favor of the view that variations
are directly or indirectly caused by the con-
ditions of life to which each being, and more
especially its ancestors, have been exposed.
• . . These several considerations alone
render it probable that variation of every
kind is directly or indirectly caused by
changed conditions of life. Or, to put the
case under another point of view ; if it were
possible to expose all the individuals of a
species to absolutely uniform conditions,
there would be no variability.' When va-
riations of all kinds and degrees, that is, all
the gradual differentiations by which the
vast multitude of existing species has beea
334
The Immutability of the Species.
evolved oat of the primordia] form or forms,
are thus attributed solely to the accumula-
tive action of the conditions of life, without
any recognition of a concurrent cause in
that constant self-adaptation by organisms
for which the conditions cannot account, It
would seem fiurly inferrible that the me-
chanist theory is supposed to explain the
evolution of the species, if not of individual
organisms.''
Now, there is nothing in the ex-
pressions quoted from Darwin's work,
which justifies such a construction as
The North American Review has here
placed upon them. Although we, as
a vitalist, implicitly believe in the co-
operation of other than mechanical
causes, yet we fully and most unquali-
fiedly concur in Darwin's assertion
that there would be no variability
were all the individuals of a species
exposed to absolutely uniform condi-
tions. This fact is by no means in-
compatible with a belief in " forces
which manifest themselves in 'the or-
ganism." We have shown that va-
rieties or races under nature are at-
tributable solely to the action of the
conditions of life. Under domestica-
tion, the changed conditions are the
secondary cause of favorable modifi-
cations, reversion being the primary
cause. But without the concurrence
of this secondary cause, it is wholly
impossible for ^vorable variations to
occur. The expressions of Darwin,
then, carry with them no implication
that variations are solely caused by
the changed condition; for the re-
cognition of the power of the condi-
tions to the extent claimed by Dar-
win by no means precludes the be-
lief in a concurrent cause. The
conclusion that a change in the con-
ditions is a cause of variation, and
that were there no such change there
would be no variability, is necessitat-
ed by the theory here advanced.
For, an acquaintance with phenome-
na displaying the action of the physi-
cal conditions forces upon us the
teleological inference that certain
conditions are essential to the full
development of characters. Does it
not thence necessarily follow that,
when the conditions arc dissimilar,
modifications will result fit>m the in-
dividuals of a species being exposed
to conditions favorable or un&von*
ble in different degrees to the growth
of some of the parts or features?
Darwin's assertion is then quite con-
sistent with a belief in the concur-
rence of causes not mechanicaL
But the discovery of Darwin^
opinion on this point is not left sole-
ly to conjecttu^ and ^)eculation.
Had the North American Reviewer
carefiiUy perused Darwin's late woik,
he would have found many most un-
equivocal declarations of the author^
belief in the concurrence of odicr
causes. They recur most firequently.
On page 248, Vol II., he says
''Throughout this chapter and ^
where, I have spoken of selection ti
the paramount power; yet its action
absolutely depends on what we in
our ignorance call spontaneous ofi ao*
cidental variability."
Page 250: "Variation depends ffl
a far higher degree on the nature or
constitution of the being, than on the
nature of the changed conditions."
On page 291, after giving cases of
bud-variation, he says, " When we ^^
fleet on these facts, we become deep*
ly impressed with the conviction that
in such cases the nature of the varia*
tion depends but littie on the condi*
tions to which the plant has been a*
posed, and not in any especial man-
ner on its individual charact^, bot
much more on the general nature of
constitution, inherited from some r^
mote progenitor of the whole group
of allied beings to which the plant
belongs. We are thus driven to con-
clude that in most cases the condi-
tions of life play a subordinate part
in causmg any particular modifies^
The Immutability of the Species.
335
don; like that which a spark plays
when a mass of combustible matter
bursts into flame — ^the nature of the
flame depending on the combustible
matter and not on the spark." And
again, on page 288, '^ Now is it possi-
ble to conceive extemal conditions
more closely alike than those to
iiMch the buds on the same tree are
exposed? Yet one bud out of the
many thousands borne by the same
tree has suddenly, without any ap-
parent cause, produced nectarines.
But the case is even stronger than
this; for the same flower-bud has
yielded a fruit one half or a quarter
a nectarine, and the other half or
three quarters a peach. Again, seven
or eight varieties of the peach have
yielded, by bud variation, nectarines ;
the nectarines thus produced no
doubt difiered a little from each oth-
er ; but still they are nectarines. Of
course there must be some cause in-
ternal or extemal to excite the peach-
bud to change its nature ; but I can-
not imag'me a class of facts better
adapted to force on our mind the
conviction that what we call the ex-
temal conditions of life are quite in-
iignificant in relation to any particu-
lar variation, in comparison with the
organization or constitution of the
being which varies."
These assertions that there is some-
thing beyond the actions of the
conditions of life are met with con-
tinually in his work, and they fully
end conclusively show that he is no-
wise inclined to adopt the mechanist
theory. What alternative have we,
then, but to conclude that this occult
potent factor is reversion ?
We have, we think, sufficiently
diown that Darwin does not attribute
variadons solely to the conditions.
But it has been asserted by the
North American Reviewer, of whom
we have often spoken, that Mr. Her-
bert Spencer declares them to be thus
solely due. A dozen careful perusals
of The Principles of Biology have fail-
ed to corroborate such a statement.
On the contrary, Mr. Spencer on
many occasions makes use of the
phrase "spontaneous variations,"
though, apparently, under protest
It is true that throughout his work
there is a constant insistance on the
great part played by the physical
conditions in causing variations.
The greatest prominence is given to
this factor. There is also a manifest
desire that the mechanical forces be
taken as adequate to the production
of the phenomena. But nowhere is
there clearly expressed a repudiation
of the idea of concurrent cause.
In some places there is a recognition
of it.
Thus, on page 281, Mr. Darwin,
after speaking of the action of the
conditions of life, sa)rs, " Mr. Her-
bert Spencer has recently discussed
with great ability this whole subject
on broad and general grounds. He
argues, for instance, that the internal
and extemal tissues are differendy
acted on by the surrounding condi-
tions, and they invariably differ in in-
timate stracture; so, again, the upper
and lower surfaces of tme leaves are
differendy circumstanced with re-
spect to light, etc, and apparently in
consequence differ in stmcture. But,
as Mr. Herbert Spencer admits, it is
most difficult in all such cases to dis-
tinguish between the effects of the
definite action of physical conditions
and the accumulation through natu-
ral selection of inherited variations
which are serviceable to the organ-
ism, and which have arisen indepen-
denUy-of the definite action of these
conditions."
It may be well to remark that the
physical conditions are the sole
cause of variation when viewed in
their statical aspect; but when view-
ed in their dynamical aspect, the con-
336
The ImmutabiUty of the Species.
ditions are, except when the move-
ment is in the direction of degene-
ration, only the secondary cause.
For, upon the theory here enunciat-
ed, were all the individuals of a spe-
cies fully developed, there would be
but one race or variety, that is, the
perfect Xy^t. The existence of a plu-
rality of races or varieties necessarily
implies the unfavorable modification
of some of the parts or characters of
some of the members of the species.
It is hardly possible for any one's
common sense to be so impaired,
even by speculation or the bias of a
foregone conclusion, as to induce a
belief that the characters given below
have arisen solely by the action of
the physical conditions. When the
cases are isolated, such a belief is, in
a small measure, excusable; but
when they are given consecutively,
the ascription of the characters solely
to mechanical causes would imply
not a little aberration of mind.
Numerous instances of bud-varia-
tion are given by Darwin. Several
of these we have incidentally advert-
ed to. By tiiis process of bud-varia-
tion have arisen in one generation
alone, and even in one season, necta-
rines from the peach, the red mag-
num bonum plum fh)m the yellow
magnum bonum, and the moss-rose
from the Provence rose. Many oth-
er instances might be adduced of the
appearance of characters equally
strongly pronounced.
That the following characters have
not arisen in one generation is con-
fessedly owing to the lack of scientific
knowledge as to the conditions requi-
site for their growth. The English
lop-eared rabbit, which is under do-
mestication, weighs not less than
eighteen pounds. The pouter-pi-
geon is distinguished by the great
size of its oesophagus; the English
ourier-pigeon, by its surprisingly long
beak; and the fantail, as its name
connotes, by its immense upwardly-
expanded tail In the progenitor
of these birds, the rock pigeon, {co-
lumba Uvia^ there is not a trace of
these characters discernible. It is a
matter of great surprise to look at the
stringy roots of the wild carrot and
parsnip, and then to note the aston-
ishingly great improvement which
has resulted from their subjection to
more favorable conditions. Goose-
berries have attained a great size and
weight. The London gooseberry b
now between seven and eight times
the weight of the wild fruit The
finit of one variety of the curcuiinia
pepo exceeds in volume that of an-
other by more than two thousand fold,!
Now, these strongly pronounced
favorable modifications are explicable
only upon the theory of reversion.
Had they arisen by the slow accu-
mulation, through centuries, of suo
cessive, scarcely appreciable incre-
ments of modification, their being
due to evolution, or solely to the
physical conditions, would be less in-
conceivable. Darwin's professedly
favorite rule is, Natura non facU sal-
turn — " Nature makes no leaps."
But we fail to see nature's conformity
to it We must confess that upon
the hypothesis of evolution nature in-
dulges herself with the most gigantic
leaps.
It might be urged that, upon assum-
ing, for the purposes of the argument,
that Mr. Herbert Spencer does attri-
bute variations solely to the physiod
conditions, he is thereby discharged
from the imputation of advocating a
theory which is wholly gratuitous.
But he assuredly is not He is plac-
ed by this ascription of variations in
no better position, so far as respects
this point He has adduced no cii-
dence in favor of their being thus
solely ascribable. His attr^Mition of
them solely to the physical
is equally gratuitous with his
The Immutability of the Species.
337
tion of them to evolution. The fact
that variations are due to a change
in the conditions, and that variations
would be absent were all the individ-
uals of a species subjected to abso-
lutely uniform conditions, is, as we
have- seen, quite compatible with a
belief in a concurrent cause. The
necessity of a change in the condi-
tions is admitted, and even called
for, upon our theory. Mr. Herbert
Spencer's assumed assertion of varia-
tion being due solely to mechani-
cal causes would necessarily imply
a denial of a concurrent cause. But
this denial is wholly gratuitous; he
has furnished no warrant for it. And
again, assuming him to concede a
concurrent cause, the question then
recurs, Are variations attributable to
reversion or to evolution? As we
have seen, there is no foundation for
ascribing them to evolution — evolu-
tion being merely a name for a cause
unknown.
In TTie Westminster Review for
July, 1865, and in The North Ameri-
can Review for October, i868, Mr.
Herbert Spencer is taxed with in-
consistency. In his Principles of
Biology y Mr. Spencer writes, "In
whatever way it is formulated, or by
whatever language it is obscured,
this ascription of organic evolution to
some aptitude naturally possessed, or
miraculously imposed on them, is un-
philosophical. It is one of those ex-
planations which explains nothing —
a shaping of ignorance into the sem-
blance of knowledge. The cause as-
signed is not a true cause — not a
,cause assimilable to known causes —
not a cause that can anywhere be
shown to produce analogous effects.
It is a cause unrepresentable in
thought; one of those illegitimate
symbolic conceptions which cannot
py any mental process be elaborated
into a real conception. In brief, this
Gumption of a persistent formative
VOL. X. — 22
power, inherent in organisms, and
making them unfold into higher
forms, is an assumption no more ten-
able than the assumption of special
creations; of which, indeed, it is but
a modification, differing only by the
fusion of separate unknown processes
into a continuous unknown process/'
When he proceeds to treat of the
waste and repair of the tissues, he
finds that they refuse to acknowledge
his mechanical principles, and he is
forced to assume for the living parti-
cles " an inncUe tendency to arrange
themselves into the shape of the or-
ganism to which they belong." The
inconsistency was noted, commented
upon, and became the subject of
much animadversion.
This inconsistency, however, is
comparatively excusable, as the his-
tological phenomena which he ha4
to explain are complicated and in-
volved, and have to respond to the
influences of divers parts of the
body. But were we to show that
his denunciation of the "ascription
of organic evolution to some apti-
tude," is equally applicable to the at-
tribution to "evolution," he would
be considered, we are sure, guilty of
the grossest possible inconsistency.
This we can show; for there is no
definition of a " metaphysical entity,"
to which the term evolution does not
answer. Can any one conversant
with the works of the first of evolution-
ists, particularly with his First Primi-
pies, Principles of Psychology, and
Principles of Biologv, gainsay the
fact that organic evolution implies
a tendency in organisms to advance,
when under the influence of physical
conditions, from the simpler to the
more complex ?
Mr. Spencer tacidy assumes the
inevitable "becoming of all living
things;" and that organic progress is
a result of some indwelling tendency
to develop, naturally impressed oni
338
The Immutability of the Species.
living matter — some ever-acting con-
structive force, which, concurrently
with other forces, moulds organisms
into higher and higher forms. Many
instances of this we might adduce,
but we will quote but two. On page
403, of his First PrincipUsy he speaks
of " a tendency toward the differen-
tiation of each race into several ra-
ces." And on page 430, Vol. I. of
his Principles of Biology^ he says,
" While we are not called on to sup-
pose that there exists in organisms
any primordial impulse which makes
them continually unfold Into more
heterogeneous forms, we see that
a liability to be unfolded arises from
the action and reaction between or-
ganisms and their fluctuating environ-
ments."
Surely, it cannot, with any show
of reason, be contended that the
word " liability " is not here used as
the perfect synonjm of that " meta-
physical entity," the word " tenden-
cy." If the concurrence of a " Iktbi-
lity to be unfolded " and the physical
conditions be the definition of evolu-
tion, were we not warranted in. as-
serting all that we did, with respect
t« the implication of organic evolu-
tion? Evolution a "metaphysical
entity"! The words seem strange.
They sound like a contradiction in
terms ; and we know that it is hard
to realize the fact that Mr. Spencer
has based his whole theory upon " some
aptitude." But can the fact be gain-
said? Do not the thoughts of
-every one who reads of a "liability
to be unfolded," recur to the page
where Mr. Spencer stigmatizes such
phrases as unphilosophical ? Hear
again how he characterizes them. "In
whatever manner it is formulated, or
ify whatever language it is obscured,
this ascription of organic evolution to
some aptitude naturally possessed, or
miraculously imposed on them, is un-
philosophical. It is one of those ex-
planations which explains nothing — a
shaping of ignorance into the sem-
blance of knowledge." Every rea-
der will, we are sure, concur with us
in the opinion that the evolution hy-
pothesis is here clearly condemned.
The special creation theory, as here
advocated, involves no occult factor.
The physical conditions concur with
reversion to cause the favorable mo-
difications.
While we do not join in such a
strong protest against the use of what
are termed "metaphysical entities,"
as that in which positivists are wont
to indulge, we cannot but concede
that they have often retarded the
progress of science, and directed the
course of inquiry into >\Tong chan-
nels. But the true scientist does not
altogether eschew their use ; nor docs
science preclude his following a mid-
dle course. But that, however,
against which we do most earnestly
and most indignantly protest is their
use for the purpose of showing incon-
gruity between science and religion;
and their use when there is a j>erfect-
ly legitimate alternative. The advo-
cates of evolution endeavor to laugh
to scorn such phrases; but, double
which way they will, they are forced
to use them, if not in one instance,
at least in another.
We hope, then, never again to hear
" metaphysical entities " urged as an
objection against the special creation
theory. But we incline to retract
that For the positivists have be-
come, through practice, so well con-
versant with the phraseology peculiar
to this theme, that they are now ca-
pable of master-pieces of wit and
eloquence. Were they, through fear
of the imputation of inconsistenct',
to refi^in from furnishing the wocM
with these, we would be deturrtd
the pleasure of their perusal ^Vith
The Immutability of the Species.
339
reluctance would we forego such op-
portunities of cultivating a delicacy
of taste.
In AppletorCs ydumal for July 31st,
1869, Mr. Spencer has declared
that "the very conception of spon-
taneity is wholly incongruous with
^e conception of evolution." Now,
to our mind, the theory of " sponta-
neous generation " is the perfect ana-
logue of the theory of evolution.
We conceive that the latter theory is
open to the same objections which
are urged by Mr. Spencer against the
hypothesis of heterogenesis. " No
form of evolution," he declares, "or-
ganic or inorganic, can be spontane-
ous, but in every instance the antece-
dent forces must be adequate in their
quantities, kinds, and distributions to
work the observed effects." Now,
do not the alleged cases of evolution,
equally with those of spontaneous
generation, fail to fulfil this require-
ment ? Does not Mr. Spencer's as-
sumption of a tendency as a concur-
rent cause with the conditions, imply
such a failure ? What precludes the
advocates of " spontaneous genera-
tion " from assuming " a liability " in
inorganic matter " to unfold " into
microscopic organisms? Could not
agenesis have resulted from the con-
currence of this tendency with me-
chanical causes ? Such an explana-
tion is equally open to the believers
in "spontaneous generation." The
trae status of the evolution hypothe-
sis is really no higher than that of
Ae hypothesis of heterogenesis.
They are both founded upon similar
bases.
Together with the absurdity of ad-
ducing alleged cases of necrogene-
sis as the assumed missing link in the
Solution process, might also have
been mentioned, by Mr. Spencer, an
objection to which the experiments
of Professor Wyman are open. It is
assumed in those experiments that, if
fully matured organisms are not able
to stand a temperature above two
hundred and eight degrees, their ova
would be destroyed when subjected
to a temperature of two hundred and
twelve degrees. These ova are al-
lowed to stand only a little over three
degrees more than a developed or-
ganism. Is this a fair supposition ?
Is it not to be expected that, if a fully
matured organism can stand a tem-
perature of two hundred and eight
degrees, its ova, which are almost
diatomic in character, will sustain a
temperature approaching that of in-
candescence ? We trust that this di-
gression will be pardoned.
Before treating of variation under
domestication, we may take occasion
to disclaim any attempt to account
for variations of color. These are
not so manifestly due to degeneration
and subsequent favorable reversion.
They accord with our theory ; but as
this accordance is not susceptible of
the short and complete demonstra-
tion of that of all other variations,
the limits of our series preclude our
entering into a long dis§jertation on
the subject. Nor would the impor-
tance of modifications of color justify
such a course; for Darwin charac-
terizes them as phenomena of no
consequence, and assures us that lit-
tle attention is paid to them by na-
turalists.
Under domestication, animals and
plants are subjected to comparatively
favorable conditions, to conditions of
which they have been deprived in
the state of nature. Thus stimulat-
ed, they display marked improve-
ment, and revert to the perfect con-
dition from which they have degene-
rated. The favorable changes which
they present are noted by man, and
carefully preserved by crossing and
judicious pairing with those possess-
ing equal advantages. In this way,
the best are selected and made to
340-
The ImntHtability of the Spccui,
transmit to their offspring their im-
proved condition. Each breeder's
success is determined by the more or
less favorable conditions of the situa-
tion, district, or country, and by his
sagacity and discrimination in select-
ing those in which occurs the greatest
increase of size. As the conditions
vary in different localities, and as
breeders possess different degrees of
scientific knowledge, animals and
plants would be differently improved,
and thus there is established a series
of gradations all answering to the
characters of as many varieties. As
we have seen, in a somewhat similar
manner races have been formed un-
der nature. They were in part es-
tablished by the retention of the ani-
mal or plant in several of the phases
of degeneration; while varieties un-
der domestication are in part due to
the retention of the organism at each
stage of reversion. The greater
number of varieties under domestica-
tion, as compared with the paucity
of races under nature, results in a
measure from man's selection retain-
ing the oiganism at almost every
gradation. Under nature, the ani-
mals of a district or country freely
intercross, and from this intercrossing
results uniformity of character and
the consequent existence of only one
race in a country. Besides, the con-
ditions of life are comparatively uni-
form in each district ] but under do-
mestication man is, by means of his
scientific knowledge, continually vary-
ing the conditions.
We are conscious that this explana-
tion accounts only for difference of
size. It does not show how wholly
different characters have been ac-
quired by the various varieties; nor
tke cause of the possession of the great-
est structural differences by individuals
of' the same species. Were this the
sole , process by which varieties were
formed, one variety would be merely
the miniature of the other. Other ex*
planations are required to illustrate
the manner in which the great diver-
gence of character observable un-
der domestication, has been effected*
These we shall furnish.
Darwin, both in his Origin of Spe-
cies and in his Animals and Hants
under Domestication ^ draws particular
attention to this divergence of cha-
racter. It forms a most conspicuous
portion of his theory. It displays
the gradual acquisition by individuals
originally alike of differences as great
as those characterizing species.
As Darwin has assured us, there is
scarcely a single species under nature
which does not possess organs in a
rudimentary state. Now, these arise
under domestication, and are appor-
tioned among the several varieties.
Each organ is developed, and is al-
lotted to a certain variety, of which it
forms the peculiarity. In one variety,
special attention is paid to the de-
velopment of a single organ, while
the remaining organs are lefr to be
developed in and to form the cha-
racteristics of other varieties. Thus
the upwardly-expanded tail in the
pigeon constitutes the peculiarity cha-
racteristic of the fantaU , the enlarge-
ment of the oesophagus, that of the
pouter; and the divergent feathers
along the front of the neck and
breast, that of the turbit
By this process — the development
of rudimentary organs and their ap-
portionment among the several va-
rieties — a portion of the divergence
of character is effected.
These rudimentary organs have been
the occasion of many a warm contro-
versy. They are asserted to be to-
tally incongruous with the doctrine
of teleology. Their uselessness and
occasionally detrimental nature, it is
contended, preclude jthe possibility
of design. Several objections have
been urged against the doctrine of
Tlie Immutability of the Species,
341
final causes; but those who profess
to disbelieve in design concur in ac-
cording to these organs the greatest
prominence.
The doctrine of final causes is a
conception thrust upon us by a vast
multitude of facts from organic na-
ture. But, now and then, exception-
al phenomena will present themselves
apparendy at variance with it. These,
as a writer in The London Quarterly
Rniav for July, 1869, ably maintains,
are merely objections, not disproofs.
Owing to a misconception current
among the advocates of special crea-
tion, they have been unable to recon-
cile rudimentary organs with the doc-
trine of teleology. All the attempts
heretofore made to harmonize these
anomalous features with the doctrine
of final causes have been feeble. We
may instance one. A Mr. Paget, in
his Hunterian Lectures at the College
of Surgeons, argues that the function
of these organs is " to withdraw from
the blood some elements of nutrition,
which, if retained in it, would be posi-
tively injurious." We can readily ap-
preciate the feelings which induce an
evolutionist to smile at this assump-
tion of excretion as the sole function
and purpose of a rudimentary organ.
Upon the theory of degenera-
tion and subsequent favorable re-
version here propounded, these ru-
dimentary organs are quite congruous
with the doctrine of final cause. To
obviate the difficulty presented by
these parts, we have accepted the
interpretation of the evolutionist-
This interpretation we adopted at the
start It forms the basis of our
theory — ^its foundation-stone. That
for which the evolutionist contends
is, that these organs have at one
period been fully developed. In this
we concurred; for it furnished us
wiA an explanation of the favorable
nwdifications under domestication;
while, as we shall show, it is by
no means at variance with the
doctrine of the immutability of the
species. Rudimentary organs imply
degeneration, past complexity of
structure, and present comparative
simplicity of structure ; facts at va-
riance with evolution, but strictly
in accordance with our theory. We
have seen that the idea of the normal
nature of the existing natural condi-
tion has rendered the advocates
of special creation unable to account
for the appearance of profitable mod-
ifications. The seeming incongruity
between rudimentary organs and
the doctrine of teleology is a result of
the same misconception. A curious
confusion of ideas, generated by
the assumption of this false position,
has lu-ged the opponents of evolution
tacitly to contend that animals and
plants were originally created with
these organs in a rudimentary state,
and that the present condition of
these parts is a normal one. We,
concurrently with the evolutionists,
recognize in these organs " traces of
old laws*' — "records of the past."
They are the traces of laws which
obtained when the conditions were
favorable to the full development
of the organs. Under domestication,
the conditions are being supplied,
and the organs are, in consequence,
being developed. On page 386 of
his Principles of Biology, Mr. Her-
bert Spencer says, "And then to
complete the proof that these im-
developed parts are marks of descent
firom races in which they were devel-
oped, there are not a few direct
experiences of this relation. *We
have plenty of cases of rudimentary
organs in our domestic productions —
as the stump of a tail in tailless
breeds — the vestige of an ear in ear-
less breeds — the reappearance of
minute dangling horns in hornless
breeds of cattle.' "
But together with their being
342
The Immutability of the Species,
traces of old laws, they are traces
of laws which so far adhere to the
present that the laws of the whole or-
ganism fail fully to obtain without
their concurrence ; and their concur-
rence is consequent solely upon the
full development of these rudimental
features. In other words, full per-
fection consists in the perfect coor-
dination of all the parts, and absence
of this coordination suffices to throw
the organism within the domain of
pathology. The reduction, there-
fore, of any organ to a rudimentary
condition is deleterious to the organ-
ism as a whole. We are perfectly
aware that this needs something
more than gratuitous affirmation;
but as the adduction of evidence
in this place would be inconsistent
with the symmetry and continuity of
our argument, we are forced to be-
speak our readers* indulgence until
the publication of the next article
of this series. But it is sufficiently
clear that, upon assuming the truth
of our theory, the difficulty offered to
the doctrine of final causes by rudi-
mentary organs is obviated.
It is manifest that the develop-
ment of rudimentary organs, with
their distribution among the several
varieties, is but a partial explanation
of the great divergence of character.
There remain to be shown, then,
other processes by which thb has
been effected.
Divergence of character has been
also caused by the development in
different varieties of those parts which
have been only partially suppressed
under nature. This necessarily
causes disproportionate development
of the characters in the individuals.
Proportionate development would
occur if all the features of the animal
or plant were subjected to equally
favorable conditions, and if they were
all impartially cared for by man.
Convergence of character would
thence result. And this convergence
of character is at first sight to be ex-
pected. For if an animal or plant
has, as we have seen, diverged in
character under nature, and then re-
verts under domestication to the ori-
ginal perfect type, that which is to be
anticipated is convergence of charac-
ter. But some part presents a modi-
fication in advance of its felloi^'s.
This man seizes and makes it the pe-
culiarity of a certain variety. By the
careful conservation and judicious
mating of those individuals which
display a tendency to diverge in the
same direction, and of those which
tend least to develop new characters,
he preserves the type of the variety.
Modifications arising in other points
of structure are similarly preserved
by other breeders, and characterize
other varieties. When a variety is
marked by a certain peculiarity, the
fancier or breeder looks with a jeal-
ous eye upon the acquisition by any
individual of any new character, even
though it be for the better. When,
therefore, any individual of a well-es-
ablish ed variety displays a tendency
toward the production of a new cha-
racter, it is systematically suppressed
"Sports" are regarded with disfavor
by the fancier or breeder, and reject-
ed as blemishes, because they tend
to destroy uniformity of character
among the members of the variety.
Owing to these and similar causes,
in each variety a different point of
structure is admired, selected, and at-
tended to, and exclusive attention
given to its development, to the neg-
lect of the others. All the features
are not developed in the same varie-
ty, but are distributed among diflief-
ent varieties. Thus, in the carrier-
pigeon the length of the beak is the
character particularly attended to;
in the barb, quantity of eye-wattk;
and in the runt, the weight and size
of the body.
The Immutability of the Species,
343
In this way is effected the dispro-
portionate development upon which
divergence of character is consequent.
Darwin shows this, with this differ-
ence : he beUeves that the modifica-
tions arise by evolution, while we
contend that they arise by reversion.
Nor does he concur ^Ih us in the
use of the term "disproportionate
development;" for that implies that
the presence of all the parts in an
individual is necessary to perfection.
But he shows the process to be the
same, be the law to which the varia-
tions conform what it may. On page
245, Vol. II., he says, " Man propa-
gates and selects modifications for his
own use and fancy, and not for the
creature's own good." And on page
220 he asserts, "that whatever part
or character is most valued — whether
the leaves, stems, bulbs, tubers, flow-
ers, fruit, or seed of plants, or the
size, strength, fleetness, hairy cov-
ering, or intellect of animals — that
character will most invariably be
found to present the greatest amount
of difference both in kind and de-
gree."
Strong confirmation of this view
that divergence of character is attri-
butable to disproportionate develop-
ment may be drawn from the fact
that those species in which is observ-
able the greatest divergence of cha-
racter are those whose breeding is
directed by fancy or fashion. Where
utiKty guides selection, there an ap-
proximation to convergence of cha-
racter is seen ; but where selection is
guided by fancy, there is a very
strongly-marked tendency toward di-
vergence. In the formation of varie-
ties, fancy nowhere enters as such a
predominating element as it does in
the breeding of pigeons ; and conse-
quendy, nowhere else is seen such
great divergence. Darwin is ever
directing attention to this. On page
220, VoL I., he dwells upon it with
peculiar emphasis. The converse
fact is also seen. With cattle, the ob-
ject of breeders is not the formation
of numerous varieties, but merely the
improvement of the animals. An
objective mode of treatment is here
identical with a subjective mode.
And here we have comparatively pro-
portionate development, and a con-
sequent approach to convergence of
character. After citing convergence
of character in the case of pigs, Dar-
win says, (Vol. II., page 241,) "We
see some degree of convergence in
the similar outline of the body in
well-bred cattie belonging to distinct
races."
In the foregoing description of the
processes of formation of domesticat-
ed varieties, we have assumed rever-
sion as the cause of modifications.
We have occasion now to speak of a
process which implies a cause that is
not reversion. Varieties are formed,
and disproportionate development
and divergence of character effected,
by man's continuing the process of
degeneration commenced under na«-
ture. Several illustrations of this we.
will adduce.
In the tumbler-pigeon, the beak i^.
greatiy reduced, and, by correlation,,
the feet have become of a size so>
small as to be barely compatible with
the bird's existence. Its skull is-
scarce one half the size of the wild
rock-pigeon, its progenitor; and the
number of the vertebrae has lessened..
The ribs are only seven in number^
whereas the rock-pigeon has eight.
The pecuharity characteristic of this
variety is confessedly due to degene-
ration. We refer to the habit of
tumbling which Darwin attributes io
disease — to "an affection of the
brain." (P. 153.) Other varieties
of the pigeon also owe some of their
characters to degeneration. In the
barb, the beak is .02 of an inch short-
er than in tlie wild rock-pigeon^.
344
The Immutability of the Species.
Important characters have corre-
spondingly deteriorated. Darwin,
spiking of domesticated pigeons,
says, " We may confidently admit
that the length of the sternum, and
frequentiy the prominence of its crest,
the length of die scapula and furcula
have all been reduced in size in com-
parison with the same parts in the
rock-pigeon." ,
Pigs present several cases of dete-
rioration of parts under domestication.
Through protection from the climate,
the coat of bristles has been greatly
diminished. By disuse and man's se-
lection, the legs have become of a
size scarcely compatible with the ani-
mal's power of locomotion. Dan^in
requests us to "hear what an excel-
lent judge of pigs says, * The legs
should be no longer than just to pre-
vent the animal's belly from trailing on
the ground. The leg is the least pro-
fitable portion of the hog, and we
therefore require no more of it than is
absolutely necessary for the support of
the rest.' " Fully to realize the ex-
treme shortness of the legs, it is neces-
sary to see them in the possession of
a highly improved breed. Correlation
with the legs has led to the complete
reduction of the tusks, and has induc-
ed the shortness and concavity of the
ft'ont of the head which are so cha-
racteristic of domestic breeds.
With pigs, there is disproportion-
ate development and also conver-
gence of character. This is owing
to all the breeders having aimed at
the same object, the reduction of the
• characters given above, and the full
• development of the trunk or body.
On page 73, Vol. I., Darwin says,
" Nathusius has remarked, and the
observation is an interesting one, that
the peculiar form of the skull and
body in the most highly cultivated
races is not characteristic of any one
race, but is common to all when im-
proved up to the same stxmdard.
Thus the large-bodied, long-cared,
English breeds with a convex back,
and the small-bodied, short-eared Chi-
nese breeds, with a concave back,
when bred to the same state of per-
fection, nearly resemble each other
in the form of the head and body.
This result, it appears, is partly due
to similar causes of change acting
on the several races, and partly to
man breeding the pig for one sole
purpose, namely, for the greatest
amount of flesh and fat ; so that se-
lection has always tended toward one
and the same end. With most do-
mestic animals, the result of selection
has been divergence of character,
here it has been convergence." Di-
vergence of character is solely caus-
ed by disproportionate development,
and proportionate development in all
the members of the species necessa-
rily causes convergence of character;
but disproportionate development
may also induce convergence, as it
has done in this case.
Degeneration has also been the
means of the formation of breeds of
cattle, as the niata catde, and those
distinguished by the complete sup-
pression of the horns.
Tailless breeds of animals have
been formed ; among which may be
mentioned the rumpless fowl, and
tailless cats and dogs.
Ears in other animals have been re-
duced to mere vestiges.
Degeneration is also seen in the
great deterioration in size of dogs.
The turn-spit dog is manifestly a case
of degeneration. Blumenbach re-
marks " that many dogs, such as the
badger-dog, liave a build so marked
and appropriate for particular purpos-
es, that I should find it difficult to
persuade myself that this astonishing
figure was an accidental consequence
of degeneration." "But," saj's Dar-
win, " had Blumenbach reflected on
the great principle of selection, he
The Immutability of the Species,
345
would not have used the term de-
generation, and he would not have
been astonished that dogs and other
animals should have become excel-
lently adapted for the service of man."
(Vol. II., page 220.) It is difficult to
conceive why Darwin here ignores
the fact of degeneration. The pecu-
liar build of the badger-dog is not
an accidental consequence of dege-
neration. But it is equally far re-
moved from being the product solely
of selection. Degeneration is not
the less present because of the opera-
tion, of selection. Could the two
not act concurrently? It is clearly
manifest that it is the joint action of
degeneration and selection which ac-
complishes the appropriateness for
particular purposes, and not either
alone. Selection, in such a case as
this, merely guides the course of de-
generation. Unfavorable modifica-
tions occur, and such of them as best
subserve the uses and purposes of
man, he selects and preserves; the
rest he rejects. Thus results the
adaptation of these animals to the
service of man.
With some fowls, the comb has
been lost. The Sebright bantam,
which is one of the greatest triumphs
of selection, weighs hardly more than
one pound, and has lost its hackles,
sickle-tail feathers, and other secon-
dary sexual characters.
The Porto Santo rabbit differs in
size from the wild English rabbit, its
progenitor, in the proportion of rather
less than fi\Q to nine.
The crooked and shortened legs
of the Ancon sheep of New Eng-
land, frequently referred to by Dar-
win, also displayed the action of de-
generation. This is a case which
shows that disproportionate develop-
ment in a single variety will produce
^vergence in the species, even when
there is great proportionate develop-
ment in the other varieties.
"With cultivated plants,*' says Dar-
win, " it is far from rare to find the
petals, stamens, and pistils represent-
ed by mere rudiments, like those ob-
served in natiural species." (P. 316.)
The Red Bush Alpine strawberry is
destitute of stolons or runners. In
the St. Valery apple, the stamens and
corolla are reduced to a rudimentary
state. It has, consequently, to be
fertilized by artificial means. This
is effected by the maidens of St. Va-
lery, each of whom marks her fruit
with a ribbon of a certain color, and
fertilizes it with the pollen of adja-
cent trees.
Thus we have four processes of
formation of varieties. 1st. The re-
tention of the organism at each stage
of reversion, accounting only for dif-
ferences of size. 2d. The develop-
ment of rudimentary organs and
their apportionment among the seve-
ral varieties. 3d. The development
in different varieties of those parts
which have been only partially sup-
pressed under nature. 4th. The
continuation under domestication of
the process of degeneration com-
menced under nature.
Now, we conceive that, by show-
ing the phenomena of variation to be
conformable to the theory of degene-
ration and reversion, and by proving
the unscientific nature of the assump-
tion of evolution, we have fulfilled
the promise made by us at the start.
Even as the case now stands, the
theory of special creations must com-
mend itself to every truly scientific
mind. But it is not our design to
leave the subject a mere question of
probabilities. It lies within our pow-
er to prove the doctrine of special
creations to demonstration ; to place
our theory upon evidence beyond the
reach of cavil.
To the mind of every reader ac-
customed to scientific habjts of
thought, it is clear that our next step
346
A Hero, or a Heroine f
is to adduce proofs of our belief that
the development of all the parts in
every individual is necessary to per-
fection. In this direction we shall
push the subject, and we now affirm
that there is a typical structure — the
sum of all the positive features of the
species.
With a full appreciation of the
magnitude and importance of the act,
we advance the following definition
of a species.
A species is a class of organisms ^ ca-
pable of indefinitely continued^ fertiU
reproduction among each other ^ and en-
dowed with the possession — either ac-
tual or potential — of character; the
suppression^ reduction ^ or disproportion-
ate development of which is incompatible
with a state of physiological integrity.
A HERO, OR A HEROINE?
CHAPTER VIII.
THE lion's DKN.
Dr. James invited Margaret to
visit " the shop," and one day, after
returning a few calls in Scaling, she
stopped, with her aunt, on their way
home, at a plain brown house in the
one street of Shellbeach. There were
two square pieces of green, one on
each side of the front door, shut in
with a brown fence ; the small door
seemed quite covered up, for, besides
a large shining knocker in the mid-
dle, there was above it a brass plate,
on which was inscribed " Dr. James,"
in large letters. There also appeared
a small bell on one side, and an-
other opposite labelled "night-bell."
Which of these advantages to im-
prove, was at first rather a puzzle to
Margaret ; but her aunt settled the
question by giving a smart pull to
the right-hand bell, whence she con-
cluded that the knocker, on which
she had meditated an attack, was
intended solely for unprofitable orna-
ment.
A tall and thin young man, who
had the appearance of having out-
grown all his clothes, opened the
door with a promptness which seem-
ed to imply that he had been lying
in wait for the favorable moment to
pounce upon them, and which was a
little startling to the ladies. He sur-
veyed them both with interest, ex-
plained that the doctor was not at
home, but was expected in, and pro-
posed that they should walk into the
parlor and wait. Having ushered
them into that apartment, the youth
discreetly withdrew.
" My dear aunt, what a forlorn
room 1 And do you see the dust ?"
Miss Spelman shook her head in a
mournful manner, and proceeded to
establish herself on a black horse-hair
couch, (having first gentiy Happed it
with her handkerchief,) while Mar-
garet walked about from one thing
to another, commenting and criticis-
ing.
" This is where he sits to write, I
suppose. And if here isn't a family of
three little kittens curled up in his
arm-chair ! I hope he won't mistake
them for a cushion, that's all ! What
piles of books ! Medicine, medicine,
medicine 1 Oh ! here is something
of a different kind; poetry I who
A HerCf or a Heroine?
347
would have imagined it? Shelley,
Longfellow, Tennyson. How many
nice things 1 This book-case is filled
with treasures. The dust can't get
in there, that's a comfort I And this
is a family portrait, I suppose ; a lady
with one, two, three, sLx children.
How funny and old-fashioned it is !
Here are his pipe and smoking-cap ;
oh ! do see these funny skin slippers ;"
and she balanced one on each hand.
"How I would like to rummage
here ! Oh 1 there are sleigh-bells."
And Margaret established herself,
prim and proper, in one of the hard,
straight-backed chairs just as Dr.
James entered. He gave them a
pleasant welcome, and conducted
them at once into " the shop."
" It's a good time to look about
here," he observed, "while John is
gone with the mare. The shop is his
especial sanctum, and I think he re-
gards visitors as interlopers."
There was no dust to be seen in
that room ; every thing was scrubbed
and brushed till it shone, and abso-
lute neatness reigned.
" This does not look to me like a
shop," said Margaret.
" I can't say I deal in * slippery-
ellum,' * stick-licorish,' and *gum-
arrabac-drops,' " replied the doctor;
** if you want the real name, this is a
dispensary on a small scale. You
see, I have no faith in Mr. Creamer,
in Sealing, further than for simple
doses. You might buy essence of
peppermint or tincture of rhubarb of
him, to great advantage ; but as for
compounding pills and powders, I
prefer to attend to those myself
Then jt is a convenience to some
of my patients, who can make a
visit to the doctor and obtain their
remedies at one and the same time."
At these words. Miss Spelman gave
her niece a litde nudge, as they stood
«dc by side, and looked, as the say-
ing is, volumes; but Margaret did
not imderstand, and wondered what
her aunt could mean.
" And who is John ?" she asked.
" Oh ! John is my factotum ; as
much a part of myself as the shop
is. You see he stays here when I
am away, and goes on errands; he
keeps every thing nice, and can be
trusted with simple prescriptions ; in
retum for which, I impart to him a
little medical knowledge ; so we stand
both amicably in each other's debt,
which leads to an excellent imder-
standing between us."
Again Margaret felt herself gently
poked ; but being as completely in the
dark as ever, she was forced to wait
for an explanation till a future time.
They admired all the arrangements, till
John's retum, when the doctor led them
back into the parlor, where, the fire
having been stirred up and the cur-
tains drawn so as to admit the sun,
the aspect of things was more cheer-
ful. Margaret once more admired
the kittens and books, and accepted
the doctor's offer to lend firom the
latter, by borrowing Miss Procter's
poems, in blue and gold, which she
espied on a high shelf
On their drive homeward, Margaret
said,
"Why did you punch me, Aunt
Selina ? Was I misbehaving ?"
" No, indeed ! I only wanted you
to notice what the doctor was saying.
What was it ?"
" The first time was when he said
his patients could visit him and get
their remedies at the same time."
" Yes, just his benevolence. Those
are his poor patients, you see, for
whom he has set up that dispensary ; he
gives them advice and medicine fi"ee."
" But then he must have money."
" So he has, a Httle; but he uses up
every cent and more; for he sends
some to his mother and sister, and
takes ever so much care of the poor
for miles around."
348
A Hero, or a Heroine t
" But he must have fees from his
rich patients ; you told me he was as
popular at Sealing as here."
" Certainlj' they pay him ; but he
does not encourage a large practice
in Sealing, for there is a very good
doctor living there, with a wife and
family. So though Dr. James visits
a few patients in Sealing, they are
almost all people who used to live
here, and are now not willing to give
him up. But his fees could not be-
gin to enable him to do all he does,
if he had not something of his own."
" The second time you admonish-
ed me was when he spoke of his
boy."
Miss Spelman laughed contemptu-
ously.
" It was exactly like him to speak
as if that matter was a give-and-take
affair ! The fact is, the boy's mother,
a widow, took it into her head, like
all mothers, that her son was some-
thing remarkable, and ought to be
sent to college ; of course without a
penny to do it with. She disclosed
her mind to Dr. James, and the end
of it was, that he has taken him clean
off her hands, gives him a nice little
salary for the work he does in the
dispensary, and is educating him,
besides, to be a first-rate physician ;
and I suppose when the doctor goes
away from this town, young Richards
will just step into his place and have
it all his own way. I know all this,
you see, because I know the mother.
The doctor never breathed a word of
it, you may be sure; but she told me
all about it. And this is what Dr.
James calls a mutual-benefit society,
or something of the sort."
Margaret laughed; but she was
not disposed to praise or admire the
doctor, chiefly because she was aware
that her aunt expected and wished
her to do so. She listened attentive-
ly, however, to this, and as much
more information as Miss Spelman
chose to volunteer about her favor-
ite, now and then putting in a
doubtful question, or slighdy depre-
ciatory remark, which only elicited
fresh praises; until sometimes the
litde lady would dimly perceive the
game her niece was playing, and re-
tire into silence and dignity.
CHAPTER IX.
STUDY OF HUMAN NATURE.
A month had gone, Margaret was
astonished to find how quickly. She
was contented and happy ; interested,
too, in her various occupations, and,
except for missing Jessie's sympathy
and companionship, feeling no regret
for her former life. Such a state of
things would have been impossible,
had she not been utterly wearied
with the whirl of gayety and the ac-
cumulation of engagements which
seemed to her unavoidable while she
remained in New York. But the
complete change was reviving to heir,
and, as she said, she had taken up
the study of human nature, which
really meant that she had become in-
terested in one person, and that per-
son was Dr. James. She saw him a
good deal ; for he came freely to Miss
Spelman*s house, he had taken her
sleigh-riding, accompanied her on ex-
peditions in search of coasting or skat-
ing, played chess with her, and lent
her books.
Since that occasion, on their first
drive to Sealing, when " the mistress
of a ix)or man's household" had
been alluded to, that ideal person
was frequently spoken of with coft-
siderable enjoyment of the joke by
both parties, and once Margaret had
asked him outright, what he would
consider necessary accomplishoaents
in such a person.
" I don't know that a poor doc-
tor's wife would differ from the wife
A HerOy or a Heroine f
349
of any other poor man," he had an-
swered her. " I hare in my mind a
woman not afraid of work, not re-
quiring amusement nor excitement,
able to do her own work ; you see I
say able — not that I would object to
her having a servant, or perhaps two ;
but she should understand and be
able to explain and direct all the do-
mestic arrangements of the house.
She should wait on herself; therefore
her dress should be plain and simple.
Especially should she know how to
cook and sew, to market well, and to
be considerate and cheerful to her ser-
vants. Then, as concerns my profes-
sional business, I should think a slight
acquaintance with simple medicines
and remedies, and where they are
kept in the shop, in case of emergen-
cy, would be useful ; fortitude to bear
the sight of, and even to suffer, pain
and sickness, so as to set a good ex-
ample ; and, to sum up, a cool head,
a steady hand, and presence of
mind."
When Dr. James had ended this
minute description, he was struck by
the extent of his requirements ; and
as Margaret's eye met his, they both
laughed heartily, and though at the
time she made no comment on his
ideal poor man's wife, she often al-
luded to her virtues afterward, before
other people, who, of course, could
not understand what she meant,
while the doctor, she was delighted
to see, was slightly embarrassed and
at a loss for a reply.
Margaret had seen a little of the
Sealing society at a few tea-parties,
which aimed at being so genteel that
they were insufferably stiff and drow-
sy. Margaret longed to do some-
thing to wake up the young men,
who, dressed in their best, with the
stiffest of collars and the most surpris-
ing aavats, sat with folded hands and
|eet placed dose together, helplessly,
just where they happened to be put.
without daring to do more than as-
sent in as few words as possible to
the stream of conversation kept up
by the ladies, who seemed to consi-
der it the business of the evening to
entertain them. She very nearly
proposed " blind-man's buff" on one
occasion, but her courage failed her
at the last moment; she thought it
would be a hopeless undertaking to
attempt to infuse life and activity in-
to such frozen figures. At last, one
young woman, named Mary Searle,
gave a small party, and had the inde-
pendence to propose playing games ;
and when Margaret warmly second-
ed the movement, and set the exam-
ple by suggesting "fox and geese,"
she was astonished to behold every
body become at once natural ^md
merry. The young men were meta-
morphosed, forgot their feet and
hands, and performed wonders of
agility. It dawned upon Margaret
that all this restraint must have been
occasioned wholly by her presence,
and she did her best to dispel all
respect for "city ways" by showing
that she could romp with the mer-
riest. The evening ended with a
Virginia-reel, and firom that time the
ice was broken, and Margaret saw
the people in theu: pleasantest light
— without affectation, simple, kind-
ly, and cheerful. But of "society"
she saw little; the Sealing young la-
dies complained that she was not
"sociable," though when they were
with her they got on very well ; she
said she was "too busy" to visit
much, and so managed to keep a
good deal to herself.
Of Martha Bumey, however, she
saw a good deal, and before long
made an arrangement to drive her
every morning to her school. The
Marchioness had come, and Marga*
ret had hired a little sleigh for her
own use and pleasure.
" You see I have to get up early
L^
350
A Hero^ or a Heroine f
now, for my drive with Miss Bumey,"
she explained to the doctor ; for she
was anxious that he should not think
she was trying to please him. After
leaving her companion, who returned
in the afternoon by the cars, she
sometimes stopped for her organ les-
son, and sometimes came direcdy
home, where she practised, or shut
herself up to study Latin. This lat-
ter, however, was a secret. The day
she visited Dr. James's dispensary,
she had noticed Latin names on his
jars and vials, and had then and
there decided in her own mind that
some acquaintance with Latin would
be indispensable to " a poor doctor's
wife." So she had bought a diction-
ary, grammar, and one or two Latin
books, and now worked laboriously
in private, every day, while in the af-
ternoons she walked, drove, or read
with her aimt.
CHAPTER X.
AN AWAKENING.
One Sunday evening, Dr. James
was sitting in Miss Spel man's plea-
sant parlor; she was dozing in her
chair by the fire, and Margaret sat on
a little sofa near her. There had
come a long pause, such as very of-
ten came on Sunday evenings, and
on this occasion the doctor had been
more abstracted and inattentive than
usual. He sat by the table in an
arm-chair, studying the fire with a
troubled face, and Margaret watched
him and wondered what was wrong.
At last he started and said, as their
eyes met,
" Miss Lester, pardon me. I be-
lieve I am very rude ; I have a good
deal on my mind, and when you
stop speaking, my thoughts go off
to something I cannot forget."
He paused a moment, and then,
before she could answer him, went on.
" They talk about a doctor's becom-
ing callous, and indifferent to pain
and suffering; I wish it were more
true I Of course there are certain
things which, when we have seen
them borne well and bravely by
some, we expect others to meet in
the same way, and so seem unfeeling
and unsympathizing when folks make
a great fiiss about them.
" When, however, I see people real-
ly suffering and in want, it makes me
sick at heart, and I cannot forget it
There is a family a couple of miles
out of the east end of this town who
are in great trouble, and I don't see
what can help them out of it." He
stopped abruptly and stared at the
fire again.
" Dr. James, do you suppose I
am not interested ? Go on quickly,
and tell me the rest; for perhaps I
can help these poor people."
Me looked at her earnestly and
continued,
" The husband is a shoemaker ; a
good fellow, though thriftless. It is
the old story; want of work, a sick
wife, a large family, rent due, and the
wolf at the door. I have been to
several people ; but money seems very
scarce just now, and more is needed
than I can raise for them. My own
funds are very low, and some kind
people suggest the poor-house at
Sealing for them; but that would
break their spirit ; so I can't bear to
think of it."
" Why, Dr. James ! of course I
can help them. Why did you not
come to me before ? Cannot we ^
to-night and pay the rent, and take
them what they need ?"
" To-morrow will do for them ; if
you like, however, I can take the
rent to Mr. Brown to-night Perhaps
you will sleep better for it ; I know I
shall. To-morrow you can drive
there, and do what you think best
for them."
A Here, or a Heroine?
351
Margaret's sympathy seemed very
consoling to the doctor, and he talk-
ed to her freely of the state of the
pKxnr people with whom he came in
contact. He said he had to see so
much misery he could not possibly re-
ieve, that it was a constant weight
on his mind ; it haunted him like a
ghost; and even when warm and
comfortable himself, he could not for-
get those wants which he so desired
to relieve but could not Then the
people in the neighborhood rendered
him but little assistance; for they
either did not realize, or else were in-
different to the destitution of their
neighbors.
Dr. James had never before open-
ed his mind to Margaret as he did
that evening. He spoke of his in-
tense sympathy with the poor, simply
and as a matter of course ; and every
word conveyed to her a reproach,
for it made her conscious of her own
selfishness and hardness of heart.
Though she had always given freely,
when asked, to fairs and subscrip-
tions, and to charity collectors, she
had done so, as she now saw, out
of her abundance, and with a cold
heart. How much thought had she
ever given to the sufferings of the
fK)or ? What had she ever done to
relieve them ? Yet here was a man
whose whole life was devoted to help-
ing and healing his fellow-creatures,
and who reproached himself for en-
joying the simplest comforts so long
as others were without them. A
whole mine of new thoughts seemed
opened in her mind; she longed to
be alone ; and when Dr. James had
left her, after warmly grasping the
hand that had given him the rent for
his poor family, she said good-night
to her aunt as early as possible, and
going to her own room, she thought
long and regretfully of the past, and
formed a firm resolution to hve more
nobly for the future.
CHAPTER XI.
UNEXPECTED ADVICE.
The next morning, afler driving
Martha Bumey to Sealing as usual,
Margaret filled her sleigh with good
things at the grocery and provision
stores and then made her way, by
the directions Dr. James had given
her, to the house of John McNally,
the poor man of whom he had spo-
ken. She found the distress quite as
great as she had expected, and would
not have known what to do first, had
she not found there a woman from
the neighborhood who was endea-
voring to assist the sick wife. This
woman at once made gruel and tea,
and put away the provisions in their
proper places, while Margaret col-
lected aroimd her the children, who
were half starving, and distributed
among them a plentiful supply of
bread and butter, to which she after-
ward added a dessert of oranges and
candy.
Poor John looked on as though it
were all a dream, and watched Mar-
garet's every movement as he would
those of a good fairy, till, she turn-
ing to him, said kindly,
" Will you not sit down and have
some breakfast ? Perhaps this friend
of yours will cook some steak for
you."
Then he mechanically sat down on
a chair near the table, and covering
his face with his hands, strove to
hide tears of joy that trickled down
his cheeks. Margaret went into the
chamber and sat by the wife, who was
sitting up in bed drinking her gruel,
while Susan, the finend, went to cook
the steak, the savory smell of which
soon filled the litde house. Marga-
ret lefl them with a promise to return
the next day; but before she went,
she put into John's hand a twenty-
dollar bill, bidding him get every
thing that his wife and family needed.
352
A Hero, or a Heroine f
What a happy day that was for
Margaret ! She felt so light-hearted
and joyous that she could hardly at-
tend to her usual duties ; but she en-
deavored to study and practise the
regular number of hours, saying to
herself, " If I am going to do good
every day, I must not let it interfere
with every thing else." In the after-
noon she would not go out; she was
sure the doctor would come, and she
could not afford to miss his call. So
Miss Selina took one of her friends
to drive, and Margaret sat at home
waiting. Tea-time came and her
aunt returned, and still the visitor
she expected had not appeared; at
length, as they left the table, sleigh-
bells were heard, and the doctor
opened the hall door.
"There is a lovely moon, Miss
Lester; can you not wrap yourself
up and take a short drive with me ?"
She hastened to get her hood,
muff, and shawl, and in a few mo-
ments was fiying over the frozen
ground, in and out of the white
moonlight and the dark shadows, the
sleigh-bells ringing gayly, and her
own heart beating fast with joy.
Dr. James was the first to speak.
" You can't think what a pleasure
it has been to me all day, to think of
those poor people relieved from their
trouble and wretchedness ; I am sure
it has been a happiness to you also.
The poor things consider your help
as a direct interposition of provi-
dence, and I must say they seem full
of gratitude rather to God than to
you. They appear to consider you
as merely a secondary cause of their
relief."
"That is right enough, Dr. James;
I owe a great deal more to them
than they to me ; I was never so hap-
py before in my life."
" I can well believe it. But I must
tell you something, Miss Lester, that
may diminish your satisfaction a little ;
which I would not mention, however,
if I did not think it would be useful
in the future. What you did for the
family was, in the main, excellent;
but you remember I told you Mc-
Nally was thriftless I Well, thQ.sum
of money you put into his hands
was too large; when he went to
Sealing for medicine and things for
his wile, some idle fellows got hold
of him, and the consequence was,
I found him reeling about the street
this afternoon, with a small bottle of
medicine in his pocket, and all his
money gone. I took him home, and
administered the medicine to his wife
myself; it was useless to speak to
him then, but to-morrow I am going
there to talk to him as he deserves,
for he has not been drunk before for
months."
"Why, I have done more harm
than good."
" Not so bad as that, I am sure ;
you were injudicious, and a great deal
too lavish in your bounty."
" Dr. James, it seemed to nie very
little to leave, when so much was
needed ; I quite congratulated myself
on my prudence."
"It was a great deal of money for
a poor man to have in his pjocket
In almost all such cases the wife is
the one to intrust with the money;
she knows for what it is most needed,
and makes it go as far as it can ; but
the best way of all, I think, is to find
out, by interesting yourself, what are
the wants of the poor, and supply
them by your personal care. When
you have time, you might go and
talk with Rose — that is the wife—
and, if you like, give her what she
needs."
" I am glad you told me this, Dr.
James ; it will teach me to be wiser
next time. You see I am wholly in-
experienced, for I never did any thing
of the kind before in my life. Now 1
am determined to try again. Can't
A Hero, or a Heroine f
353
you tell me of another case of distress
among your patients ?"
" Not at present, I believe, though,
for that matter, I believe there is no
ivant of poor people at any time.
Miss Lester, excuse my asking you ;
do you want to do good systemati-
cally, and practically, and persever-
ingly, or is this only a passing enthu-
siasm, which will vanish when the
novelty ceases ?'*
" Dr. James, if I do good perse-
veringly, as you say, I suppose the
excitement will wear off, and it will
become a very matter-of-fact, unro-
mantic business, perhaps even tedious
and inconvenient; still, I have thought
about it all to-day, and I have made
up 'my mind to help as many people
as I can. So long as I remain here,
it shall be one of my occupations."
" Very well, then ; and for the di-
rection of practical, systematic good
works, I advise you to go to the
Catholic priest."
" What ! to that fat man with the
red face, who laughs so loud ?"
"Ah Miss Lester! if you had a
little more medical knowledge, you
would be aware that natural tempera-
ment is in itself enough to account
for the corpulence of some people, to
say nothing of the sedentary life a
priest generally leads ; and in finding
fault with that laugh, you touch on
a tender point ; for it is, in my eyes,
one of Father Barry's shining vir-
tues. It is the * being jolly* under
all circumstances, and in spite of
every thing adverse and difficult,
which makes this obscure country
priest a great man. Think of his life !
What can be more laborious, more
self-sacrificing, more ill-paid, thankless
and disheartening ? And look at his
face ! My dear Miss Lester, he is an
educated man, and yet his intercoiuse
is entirely with the rude and ignorant
poor of this most bigoted of places.
He is cut off from all those who pro-
VOL. X. — 23
fess to be people of education here,
and who look down on him with con-
tempt and suspicion, because they
cannot even conceive what a life of
devotion and self-sacrifice means.
What could have induced him to
choose such a life, liable to be con-
demned to such a place and such a
people, I do not understand."
"Think of your own life, Dr.
James."
" Ay, there it is ; I often think of
the two lives, and naturally compare
them. Now, see the difference : I
choose this place for myself, and shall
stay here as long or as short a time
as I see fit ; he, as I understand it, is
placed here by his bishop, for a year
or for his lifetime, he knows not
which. Then, I work among these
people because it makes me content-
ed, and because I cannot bear to see
misery and not relieve it. But he,
strange to say, is not moved by a
spirit of active benevolence only, or
even chiefly, so far as I can judge ;
for he believes human suffering to be
the penalty of sin ; a penalty which
must be paid — therefore, better paid
in this life than in the life to come ;
and when I say to him, *Then why
do you do good to every one within
your reach?* he answers, *For the
love of God.* **
" Strange !'* Margaret answered,
feeling that he expected her to say
something, but with her mind occu-
pied, it must be confessed, rather with
her companion's character than with
that of the priest
" Yes, you see he is as far removed
firom mere philanthropy as he can
be, and yet I know of no life so use-
ful as his ; mine grows dim beside it
Then, again, when I compare our
lives, he has none of that self-ap-
proval, or ratjier self-complacency,
which is the staff and support of
mine.**
" What do you mean ?**
354
A HerOy or a Heroine t
"Just what I say. Of course I
know that my work is a good and
useful one, and that I do it well. I
know, moreover, that there are not
many men of my age and abilities
who would consent to live such a life
as mine. Hence I feel at times a
self-satisfaction which is to me mspi-
ration, and strength, and refreshment.
On the contrary. Father Barry, though
his life appears to me crowded with
good works, seems to fear that if he
should die now his hands would be
found empty. His life differs from
mine in its motive : he acts from reli-
gious principle, while I help the poor
only because it makes me wretched
to see suffering without trying to
relieve it. You see I talk to him
freely; I meet him a good deal
among my patients, and we have
done some good turns for each other.
I go to see him, and when he is not
busy, often sit with him of an even-
ing; and he is the best company
I know. But I have been so en-
grossed by my own reflections that I
forgot I was giving you advice; by
all means if you want to bestow re-
lief where it is most needed, ask his
assistance.
" Why not the minister here, or at
Scaling ?"
"Dr. Thomdike here is, as you
know, an old man, too old and infirm
to visit much ; he could not help you ;
and Mr. Sparks, at Sealing, has a
large family, a ivife who is alwajrs
delicate, and a small salary. Poor
fellow I he means to do his duty ; but
his only servant is a littie girl, and
after a wakeful night, walking up and
down with the baby, he has to see to
the furnace fire, split the wood, and
do * chores ' generally. Then he has
his sermons to write, his parishioners
to visit, and littie tea-drinkings to
grace with his presence; of all of
which duties I admit he acquits him-
self irreproachably. He is, in fact,
quite a model parson, and so, I assure
you, he is considered at Sealing ; but,
as you may imagine, he has little time
for miscellaneous visiting among the
poor. Indeed, he is only too glad to
have Father Barry assume almost the
whole of that hard work, and is on
the best of terms with him in private,
though he rails against popery and
the priesthood from the pulpit in the
most popular manner. No; I don't
advise you to be guided either by
our Congregationalist brother here,
or our Methodist brother at Sealing
Father Barry knows every poor family
for twenty miles around, and he can
give you as much and more work than
you can attend to." By this \xmt
they were nearing home and the
doctor said,
" I am glad you are not discour-
aged by this little accident, at the
outset of your benevolent works ; it
is brave of you, and deserves better
success next time. You have done
well for the beginning, and have rea-
son to feel happy. 1 will go over to
McNally's to-morrow, and frighten
him a little, and in the afternoon, or
the next day, you can go to see his
wife again."
Dr. James declined to come in ; he
shook hands warmly with Margaret,
and drove away. Miss Spelman was
very curious to know what had taken
place on the drive.
" Was he agreeable, my dear ? Did
he tell you about himself ?"
" Rather about his friend the priest :
how strange that he should think so
much of him."
Miss Spelman shook her head, " I
don't approve of that intercourse;
these priests are very sly, and who
knows that he may not be a Jesuit in
disguise ? I have warned the doctor
about it, but he is very self-willed.
Would you believe it, my dear ? The
only place he ever goes on Sund.iys
is to the Catholic mass, either at Seal
A Hero, or a Heroine?
355
ing or here, where they have it in the
hall once a month ; on which occasion
Father Barry alwa3rs dines with him.
I do not mean to say that Dr. James
goes to the mass every Sunday, for he
often sleeps late on that day ; but he
never goes to church anywhere else."
" I don't blame him," said Marga-
ret, " for not enjoying Dr. Thomdil^e's
senmons ; they always put me to sleep ;
or Mr. Sparks's either, for that matter,
they are so intensely commonplace !
I am sure I could write a great deal
better ones, without having been to
college or studied divmity, either."
CHAPTER XII.
PROGRESS.
Margaret did not see the doctor
till the next evening; she had been
very busy all day, and so had he ; but
as she was playing cribbage with
Miss Spelman, after tea, he made his
appearance, and, declaring that he had
plenty of time, and that they must
finish their game, he sat down before
the fire and waited till Miss Spelman
triumphantly announced :
"A double sequence, eight; pairs
royal, fourteen ; that takes me out,
my dear."
" It is a rubber, too," Margaret ob-
served, rising and approaching the
fire. " Now, Doctor James, I have some
business to talk over with you, and
you must come with me into the din-
ing-room ; or I will put on my cloak,
and we will go out on the piazza."
" It is moonlight out there," re-
marked Miss Spelman, " if you only
dress warm enough."
" And will the moon retire behind
a cloud, if I should insist on catching
cold, aunty? But you need not be
afraid ; my cloak is very warm ; I will
put the hood over my head, and we
will walk fast up and down all the
time. Shall we not, Doctor James ?"
They proceeded to the piazza, and
began their promenade, while Miss
Spelman, taking occasion to go into
the dining-room, stood there in the
dark, smiling as she watched their
figures pass back and forth before the
window. " It is all going just right,
she thought; "how much they al-
ways have to say to each other !"
Meanwhile, as soon as they had
stepped out of the window, Margaret
began, " Well, Doctor James, where
do you suppose I have been to-
day ?"
" To the McNallys', this afternoon,
I suppose."
"Very wisely guessed; but where
have I been this morning ?"
" Really, Miss Lester, you tax my
curiosity too far; I am not good at
guessing."
" I have been to see Father Barry."
" Really !" he exclaimed, now sur-
prised indeed, for he had not imagin-
ed she would act so promptly on
their talk of the previous evening.
He did not yet understand the en^-
gy of her character, her activity and
earnestness, which made a resolve
and its fulfilment almost simultane-
ous.
" Why are you surprised ? Listen,
and I will tell you all about it I had
such a remarkable adventure ! You
see Miss Bumey and I drove to Seal-
ing this morning, as usual. I did not
tell her a word of what I was going
to do ; I only worked on her sensi-
bilities a little about the McNallys;
not that I wanted her to do any thing
for them, but merely because I felt like
harrowing somebody's feelings. Af-
ter I had left her, I took my lesson,
shopped a little, paid a visit to those
silly Gleeson girls — ^putting off the
evil day, you see — and then went
straight to Father Barry's house. As
I approached, I saw a woman coming
out of the gate, holding in her hand
two plates — one turned upside down
3S6
A Hero, or a Heroine f
— evidently containing something
good. She was talking to herself and
saying, *0 God bless him! God
bless him I * and did not seem to see
me or any thing else. My curiosity
was roused, and I stopped her by ask-
ing, * God bless whom ? And what
have you got in those plates ? ' She
stared at me for a moment, and then
exclaimed, * Oh ! but he is a darling
man ! ' * God bless and reward him ! '
and so on. At last I extorted from
her that his reverence had given her
* a bit of lovely steak, * for her sick
daughter at home. I was interested,
and hurried past her, up the steps, where
I found the door ajar, left so probably
by the woman, in coming out I was
a little curious, I acknowledge, and
hence did not stop to ring. After
entering, I paused to consider what I
should do next. There were two
dosed doors on one side of the entry,
and one half open, on the other,
I approached the one that was partly
open, and stood on the threshold of —
what do you suppose? actually the
dining-room, with Father Barry seat-
ed at the table, eating bread and but-
ter, with a dish of potatoes on the
table, and before him a saucer con-
taining two boiled eggs. I under-
stood how things were, at a glance ;
he had sent his own dinner away with
that woman, and was dining on eggs
instead. Why are you laughing?"
Margaret exclaimed, suddenly break-
ing off.
"The whole thing is so amusing,
and I would say so characteristic.
Your stopping the woman, entering
the house as if it belonged to you,
seeing all that poor Father Barry was
eating for his dinner, and then making
so complete a story out of the whole
afi^ir. Forgive me for laughing ; you
can*t think how interested I am. Will
you not go on ?"
Margaret, who had been perfectly
serious herself, after a moment's pause
continued, " I was taken aback, you
may be sure, and begged pardon in
a very coafused manner; but Father
Barry rose, and, with the utmost polite-
ness, asked me if there was any thing
he could offer me. I thought to
myself that there was not much left
to offer any one. So I asked per-
mission to wait till he had finished,
and he showed me into a sort of par-
lor, where something, which must
have been a confessional, made part
of the furniture; and there I sat
and stared at large maps of the coun-
ty and of Ireland, and pictures of
a pope and of the Virgin, for about
ten minutes, when he came and
asked me to excuse him for keep-
ing me waiting. He knew me before
I told him my name, and seemed
surprised when I explained what I
had come for. He said he wished he
could give me Sunday-school woric
to do, but as I was not a Catho-
lic, that was impossible. However,
there was quite enough of other
work to be done. He was very kind,
and we soon came to a good under-
standing. The first family he spoke
of were the McNallys, and he pro-
posed—only think how sensible ! —
that I should give John some work
to do. He said shoes were very
much needed among his Sunday-
school children, this winter; so he
proposed that I should order a num-
ber of pairs of different sizes, and
bring them by instalments, for him to
distribute among his children. Alto-
gether, I was very glad I went, and I
see that his advice will be most useful.
I am going again on Friday."
" I am sure you have been quite
successful. Still, don't undertake
more than you can perform."
" No. Father Barry said the same;
I will take care not to overdo things
in the beginning, because I mean to
keep it up."
"I found John McNally," said
A Hero, or a Heroine ?
357
the doctor, "quite overcome by
shame and remorse ; he was sure the
lady would never trust him again. I
told him he did not deserve that she
should. I was very harsh at first,
and only allowed myself to be soft-
ened by degrees. At last I told him
that his rent was paid, and that I
would try to get him work."
" And I found Rose sitting up, this
afternoon," said Margaret. "She
would like to do a little plain sewing
when she is better, and I said I
would get her some. She says they
could get along very well, if John
could only have steady work to do ;
but it is so much easier to buy shoes
in Sealing, that people forget him.
Now, Dr. James, I have a plan of
moving them to Sealing, and getting
a little shoe-shop for John, and then
they would be sure to prosper, for he
is a good workman, I hear."
" Let me caution you against be-
ginning too impulsively in favor of
this one family. Remember that
there are others in want, and you
cannot do so much for all. Besides,
I have known a sudden stroke of
good luck to prove the ruin of poor
and * honest people like these. I
think we can get John more work,
and I will take care that other people
do not forget him."
Margaret was reluctantly persuad-
ed to give up the plan of a removal
to Sealing, and only comforted her-
self by ordering of McNally fifty
pairs of shoes for Father Barry's Sun-
day-school children.
CHAPTER xiir.
A PROOF OF FRIENDSHIP.
There is no need of describing
more fiilly the three winter months
that Margaret passed at Shellbeach.
The time went faster than ever, after
she had offered her services to Father
Barry. Under his direction, she did
great good; more indeed than any
one knew of, for she had obtained a
promise from the good priest that he
would not speak of her charities.
So when Dr. James once or twice
tried to lead his friend to speak about
the matter, Father Barry, desirous
that she should not lose the reward
of the " Father who seeth in secret,"
only smiled and said, " She knows
all about it, you must go to her." As
for the McNallys, Margaret still con-
sidered them as her prot'eghy and
cherished in private the project for
improving their condition.
Then she had done something else,
a thing of which she was very proud,
and of which she often afterward
boasted — ^she had taught a roomful
of children in the public school at
Sealing ! Old Mr. Bumey was grow^
ing more and more infirm, and seem-
ed threatened with the entire loss
of his mind. It became every day
more difficult to leave him ; and one
morning, Margaret, on calling as
usual for her friend, found that her fa-
ther had had a shock of paralysis, and
could not be left. Martha had plan-
ned to send an excuse by Margaret
for her absence; but she could think of
no person to supply her place, and
she was completely surprised by Mar-
garet*s announcing her intention to
try her hand at managing the chil-
dren ! All remonstrance was in vaui,
and having received a few brief direc-
tions, Margaret drove rapidly away
to Sealing. How her fashionable
fiiends in New York would have
opened their eyes, had they been fa-
vored with a sight of Miss Lester
hearing two or three dozen children
recite the multiplication-table !
She returned in the afternoon, ra-
diant, and, as she herself said, " hun-
gry as a bear." She gave glowing
accounts to Martha of her success,
and begged to be allowed to try the
358
A Hero, or a Heroiftet
experiment again on the morrow.
Some of the boys, she remarked, evi-
dently " took her measure ;" but after
trying a little impertinence, they gave it
up as a bad job, and every thing went
as well as Martha could have desired.
For three days, Margaret kept this
up, and gained the hearts of even
the most obdurate of her scholars.
How delighted she was with her suc-
cess ! At the end of that period, as
old Mr. Bumey had grown better,
Margaret's school duties came to a
dose.
CHAPTER XIV.
MARGARET'S COURAGE.
It was early spring. The buds
were swelling, the birds beginning to
sing, and a week of mild weather
had filled every one's heart with a
longing for out-of-door life, when an
excursion was planned by a few of
the Sealing young people, to a wild
and beautiful spot called the Glen, a
few miles inland, a favorite resort for
picnic parties. There were a dozen
in all, and they were to go* in a large
open wagon with four seats, and
take their provisions with them. It
was the custom of the place for the
young men to have the nominal get-
ting-up of these excursions ; that is,
they incurred the expense of the
** team " and the trouble of invita-
tions, while the girls prepared the
eatables. There was always to be
an equal number of ladies and gen-
tlemen; the couples were arranged
beforehand, and each youth was in
duty bound to devote himself to his
companion unremittingly, during the
drive and at the place of the picnic.
Dr. James had agreed to join this
party, an almost unheard-of thing for
him to do, and the committee of ar-
rangements had assigned him to Mar-
garet, as her escort. This was disin-
terested on the part of the other ladies ;
for although they were not supposed
to have a voice in the distribution of
the gentlemen, their influence was
certainly felt, as one or two of the
committee very conveniently had sis-
ters, who gave their advice at home,
and communicated to their intimate
friends the results of their important
deliberations. It was disinterested
in them, then, to allow Miss Lester
to have as her escort the doctor, who
was a great favorite, and by far the
most desirable man, in the towns of
Sealing and Shellbeach combined, for
an escort, a partner, a husband, or
what not. Added to this, it was
quite an honor to have him devote
so much of his precious time to their
picnic ; he was, in fact, the lion of
the party, and perhaps no one else
could have been selected for his com-
panion without exciting disapproba-
tion, to say the least, in the minds of
many of the others. So it seemed to
be a wise as well as a magnanimous
plan which gave to Margaret the
privilege of the exclusive attention of
Dr. James for one whole afternoon.
A perception of the state of the
case dawned upon her, as the great
wagon stopped at Miss Spelraan's
door, and she inwardly smiled when,
after seeing her contribution to the
feast safely packed away, she took
her place between the doctor and a
young man, who was usually account-
ed for as being " in the bank," though
what office he held in that important
institution was left rather uncertain.
She resolved to repay the politeness
of the rest of the party by making
herself generally agreeable, and mono-
polizing her escort as little as possible
In this she succeeded admirably, and
the whole company were in high
spirits and enjoying themselves to
the utmost when they reached the
Glen, and began to walk through
pastures and over rough and broken
ground, before reaching the bed of
A Hero, or a Heroine f
359
the brook, where the picnic proper
was to be held All the provisions
were set down on the high, flat rock
which answered for a table, and then
the party broke up into couples, as
the girls expressed their inclinations,
some to sit down on the rocks and
others to explore the woods or follow
up the stream to its source. •
Margaret, to whom every thing
was new and interesting, wished to go
through the Glen, and proposed that
they should climb the wooded bank
above them, follow the stream through
the woods, and return by the rocks.
Dr. James was very willing, and they
set out on their scramble up the bank,
and then along the edge, catching at
branches or roots of trees for support,
and slipping frequently on the wet
last year's leaves and damp earth. It
was all fun to Margaret ; she laughed
with an almost childish delight at
every difficulty, refused all assistance,
and kept generally ahead of her com-
panion, who seemed inclined to take
the rough climbing more leisurely,
and was not enraptured when the
treacherous leaves landed him in a
hole, or a seemingly firm bough which
he grasped gave way in his hand,
and almost made him lose his balance
and fall.
At last the head of the Glen was
reached ; a turn had hidden the rest
of the party from them, and their
voices sounded faint and distant
" Now we will go down to those
lovely green meadows," said Marga-
ret " But, O Dr. James ! what is
that ?"
" Only a bridge across, made of a
great pine log. You see the top has
been smoothed."
" A bridge ! Then it is meant to
be crossed. Come, let us cross it"
" Certainly, if you wish. I have
been foolish enough to cross it before,
and am willing to do so again."
" Why was it foolish ?"
"Because it is dangerous. It is
only a few steps across, I acknow-
ledge. But look down ; how would
you like to fall among those rocks ?"
At this moment three or four of the
party came round a huge rock which
had hidden them from sight, and evi
dently noticed the two standing by
the bridge.
" You need not try to frighten me,
Dr. James ; my nerves are not easily
shaken. Come, shall I go first ?"
" If you please. Your stick may
be a sort of balance-pole; imagine
yourself on the tight-rope, and look
steadily at that little tree before you ;
don't look down. I am in earnest,
Miss Lester."
Margaret looked at him, laughed,
and stepped on the littie bridge. The
people who were looking at them
were frightened, and the girls turned
away their faces. Margaret made
three steady steps, then paused.
" Do you see what a lovely green
that water is, just below us ?"
Two steps more and her stick
dropped, she staggered, and put her
hands to her head.
« I am falling 1"
But she felt a strong hand on each
of her shoulders, and a voice of com-
mand said,
" Fix your eyes on that tree, and
walk straight on." She obeyed, and
three more steps brought her to firm
ground. Instantly, almost before her
feet touched the bank, the doctor
withdrew his hands, and without a
word, with a displeased and gloomy
face, preceded her down the bank.
He was saying to himself,
" Now we shall have a scene, and
she will say she owes her life to me,
and call me her preserver, or some
such nonsense."
Margaret leaned for a moment
against the littie tree she had been,
told to look at so steadfastly, and then
followed her companion through the.
A HerOf or a Heroine f
< V N* .ilkcvl so fast that she
■ "iv of breath trying to
*u When she had done
^ ' .1 A low voice,
* ■ -i and contemptible. I
^•^if more than I can ex-
>,t\;;vc me for giving you so
•Vv-OiC
., \imcs turned; his face was
,, nI ^t^ saniled upon her with a
^. , m: x^as sunshine itself; he did
1^ "Iv ^» ^'«^ walked slowly by her
7^ ^v^ , vn\ stvH^pevl, and holding some-
V ^ c oat t\> hcr» said,
" .- <v'^^ ^^'^' *^^ ^^^ fi^t flowers ; the
V *^v >ooivitioa ventures out before all
tho n.>t, ^ViU you take it? How
rtvtty »t is! how delicate the colors
\ro ; i^"^^ ^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^ covered with fur.
Notice tho green and brown leaves,
tvv> ; thoy iuUl to its beauty and sin-
^^^ ^\itv. It is my favorite flower."
TIk ^<^^^ '^xxiXx \\\ Margaret's face
h»nd ^ti^'^^ rtway, and her voice had
n^uuH^l its usual tone when they
joiiu^l tlio R*st of the party, and sat
do\>n to the feast; but her gayety
wrts cv^no, and it seemed as if nothing
ixnilvl HH all it. Slie was abstracted
and soHouH, and not in accordance
»ith the movrimcnt around her. At
last slu* aixvse, and went to a rock, on
which she loaned, and watched the
little n\iunows darting about in a green
piK^l v^f water, when she was startled
t>v the ihHtv>r*8 voice close beside
her. W^ held toward her a small
Mlver tvuubler, fill«*il with iced claret
i^uvl water, antl saiil in an undertone,
«» Nh\s I. ester, how can you let a
Uirte >\cii;h so on your mind, and
1 Iv^vkI all yvmr enioyment ?'* He was
M\uhu>; in a t'licmlly way; but she
UHvkvvlal hin> iepn>achfully, and said,
** Uv^v can vovi call it a trifle ? It
^^Wjiht ha\e ^v^^t me my life."
^'* \ v^u aiv ri^hl." he replied gravely;
^MVvvUuu^ v^unht to be called a trifle
v>S,\v V oo^^^^uences might be serious ;
^V^N ^Uvn\vUu\t circumstances make
us look at the same thing in such
different lights at different times. On
the bridge, and when I felt angry
with you afterward, your conduct
seemed to me a most weighty matter ;
now I can with difficulty recall any
thing except the honesty and courage
of your apology. Having seen and
humbly acknowledged your fault, will
you not now confer a favor on the
whole party by forgetting what is
past ?"
Margaret smiled, and saying, "I
will, at least, forget myself," accom-
panied him back to the party.
She did her part very well, and,
owing in a great measure to her
efforts, the rest of the picnic and the
moonlight drive home were quite as
pleasant as the setting out had been.
" She is a brave woman," the doc-
tor said to himself that night in his
study ; but Margaret was quite uncon-
scious that his opinion of her had
been raised instead of lowered, by the
occurrences of the picnic party at the
Glen.
CHAPTER XV.
A CHANGE.
This little mortification — and it
really was one to Margaret*s high
spirit, owing to her anxiety to stand
well in Dr. James's opinion — should
have been a lesson to her to give up
contradicting him, and opposing her
own will to his, and for a time it was
so ; and yet that very wish to please,
of which she was conscious and
ashamed, made her often dispute
with and appear to oppose him,
when she would have hked to agree
and do as he advised.
She began to realize something
else, too, that had the effect of mak-
ing her surround herself, as it were,
with an armor of prickles and thorns;
so that her intercourse with the doc-
tor was far from peaceful or pleasant
A Hero^ or q Heroine f
361
She felt that the work she was doing
among the poor was wholly with and
for Father Barry; she was helping
liim, not Dr. James; and this, she
felt, was the doing of the latter, an d
not without a reason. At first, when
he had recommended her to take the
priest as her adviser, she had felt a
cooling of enthusiasm; still, having
said she meant to persevere, she
would not draw back.
It would have been sweet to her,
she knew it now, to help the doctor ;
to be his friend, confidant, coadjutor;
to feel that she was making his labor,
which she revered and sympathized
with, easier and pleasanter. But he
had made that impossible; he had
directed her to go to some one else
for help, for counsel, for support,
while he stood alone as before, and
had never again applied to her for as-
sistance for his patients, though she
had once or twice asked if she could
not relieve them. She understood
the pride which prevented him from
accepting her money, or placing him-
self under obligations to her. " He
does not like me well enough to let
me help him," she said to herself;
and she soon abandoned all those
efforts to make herself agreeable to
him, which at first came so naturally
to her.
The picnic lesson, therefore, though
by no means forgotten, had ceased to
influence her actions ; and when the
real spring-time came, with mild air,
and young, fi-esh green, as May drew
to its close and June was at hand,
Margaret had managed to quarrel
with Dr. James several times, and
had made herself unhappy and him
far firom comfortable. He began to
come less often to his old friend. Miss
Spelman's, and to hear less of Mar-
garet's plans and doings.
Miss Selina was much puzzled at
the turn things were taking, and yet,
when they disputed, she was half the
time uncertain whether they were in
fun or in earnest ; and it did no good
to remonstrate with Margaret ; for the
incomprehensible girl agreed with all
she said, and acknowledged the doc-
tor to be perfecdy right.
The friendship with Martha Bur-
ney continued, however, and at her
house Margaret always appeared tO'
the best advantage, even before Dr.
James. She seemed to stand some-
what in awe of her older friend, and
was desirous to please ; and besides,
she had made a kind of agreement
with herself that when she met the
doctor there, she might allow herself
to be as pleasant and conciliatory as
her inclinations led her to be. She
was in a peculiar frame of mind, and
this curious compromise can be bet-
ter described than explained.
In the mean time, old Mr. Bumey
gradually became more and more
feeble ; soon he lost his mind to such
a degree as not to be able even to
recognize his faithful daughter; and
at last, early in May, he died. Mar-
garet could not understand how
Martha could grieve as she did at his
loss ; knowing his character and for-
mer misdoings, and seeing him a
broken-down, witless old man, the
daughter's sorrow seemed to her un-
reasonable ; but when Martha talked
of him as he was once, when his wife
was living, handsome and brave and
generous, the idol of those two fond
women, it made her think of her own
dear and noble father, lying alone in
his quiet resting-place in the little
Swiss graveyard, and she found she
could give the sympathy and comfort
which before were impossible.
His death made little apparent
difference. Martha, after the funeral,
went quietly on with her school du-
ties, till she "could think of some-
thing more useful to do," she said;
and her little household was as quiet
and homely as usual, only, as it seem-
362
TJu Samiiaty Topography of New York City.
ed to other people, much pleasanter.
But Martha said,
" Oh ! it was such a difference ;
she could not work with half the
spirit now that it was only for herself;
she had always had some one to
live for, and now she could not feel
any interest in what she did"
Margaret often went for her in her
phaeton and brought her back to her
aunt's to tea, and there grew up be-
tween them a sympathy and affection
that was destined to last for life.
TO BX CONTIKVEO.
THE SANITARY TOPOGRAPHY OF NEW YORK CITY.
The rapid growth of New York
City is at present exciting universal
interest throughout the country ; and
as a place of residence, or in a busi-
ness point of view, it would be diffi-
cult to overestimate the vast advan-
tages it possesses. Nature has lav-
ished upon the island its choicest
gifts ; surrounded on one side by the
East and Harlem rivers, on the other
by the beautiful Hudson, ^the " Rhine
of America," as an entirety, its ad-
vantages for natural drainage and
general healthfulncss cannot l)e sur-
I>assod, But eighteen miles from the
Atlantic Ocean, with an admirable
harlwr, the nations of the earth
already vie with each other in pour-
ing into the lap of this xwiww giant
their most cosily produciions and
most iKJuliful works of art It is
now the most j>opulous cily and the
greatest commercial emporium of the
wc>ten\ hemisphere, and stands wiih
its youlhtul viv;or a proud rixal of I ho
larj^est cities of the olil woild. \\ iih
the vast undeveloiHxi wealth of nve
Ameriea, and the energ\' and ani lo-
tion ot" her sturdy sons to ^^ri-^^ it
fv^ruarvi, is it not easy to foresh,ui^>w
ihc riros;Hv:i\o innxv.t.uiee c^i t>is
metTopvVji> of the Vnion ?
r»*-t one s*:l'jvVt of uneo^sincss j^rc-
sents itself in this glance at the future,
and that is the rather limited spaa
which nature's barriers have allowed
us, and which threatens eventually
to stop the progress of the dt)'.
" Manhattan Island is but thirteen and
one half miles long, and has an ave-
rage width of one and three fifths
miles. This gives an area of twenty-
two square miles, or fourteen hundred
acres." •
We may consider the city as pretty
solidly built up as far north as Fifty-
ninth street, the border of Central
Park. The census of next year will
probably show the population to
number between thirteen and four-
teen hundred thousand souls; and
the rate of increase is estimated to be
Ixnween six and seven per cent per
annum. Thus the population of the
island in iSSo will number far above
two millions, and the city be extend-
ed as for northward as Ninetieth
sirotn. There are but "37,244 lo^
of fu.l >i/e, that is, tmentj' -five by one
J*;jnv'.reii feet, between Eight)'-sixth
anJ, i^nc Hundred and Fifty-fift^
Miwt ' * This shows condusirdy
\\\:\\ U n^re many more such decades
o! \v\*',x voU Tv^und, every available
1 \** \.-* *
■W, \ ebnury l5d^ sSH
The Sanitary Topography of New York City,
3^3
portion of the island will be built
upon, and our fiuther expansion ap-
parently prevented. But this, we
•hope, will be obviated by the erection
of the East River bridge, and other
modes of rapid transit to our sister
city, Brooklyn, and the Jersey shore ;
thus enabling us to bring within our
limits all the territory that will be re-
quired.
For the present, the rapidly in-
creasing number of our commercial
houses and the consequent greed for
space shown by trade in the lower
part of the city, as well as our con-
stantly augmenting population, show
conclusively that the better class of
residents now occupying locations
south of Thirty-fourth street will be
obliged to look elsewhere for homes.
That this is to be the case no one
can doubt, who has studied the pro-
gress of business marts in their up-town
inarch, during the last two years.
The invasion of Union Square, the
magnificent buildings on Broadway
between Eighteenth and Nineteenth
streets, the *' Grand Hotel," and, more
than all else, the appropriation of the
lower end of Fifth Avenue for public
galleries, attest this fact, and wani us
that no prominent location below
Thirty-fourth street will, in a short
time, be safe from the all-powerful
grasp of this insatiable demand. With
this fact before us, the question arises,
>Vhat portion of the island offers the
greatest prospective permanency for
private residences, and at the same
time the best inducements for the
happiness and physical well-being of
the people ?
That tract of the island bounded
on the south by Thirty-fourth street,
on the east by Lexington avenue, on
the west by Sixth avenue, and on the
north by Fifly-seventh street, is un-
doubtedly very desirable property;
but with our rapid growth it is im-
possible to tell what it will be twenty
years hence ; and besides, we are lur-
ed past this portion by the many ad-
vantages offered by the section north
of it.
We have now before us the Cen-
tral Park, extending from Fifth Ave-
nue on the east, to Eighth avenue on
the west; and stretching out in pic-
turesque beauty from Fifty-ninth to
One Hundred and Tenth street. To
the east and west of this, we find to-
pographically a very different charac-
ter of country. On the east side from
Fifty-ninth to Ninetieth street, the
surface is very uneven ; in some parts
ledges of rock run up one hundred
and twenty feet above tide-water,
and then abruptly descend into val-
leys almost on a level with tide-water;
and here are found the beds of old
streams, so many of which formerly
rolled their sluggish waters through
this portion of the island into the
East River. The general fall is east-
ward, though not sufficiently so to
make natural drainage into the river
good. From Ninetieth street to the
Harlem River, we have a perfectly
flat plain ; unbroken, with the excep-
tion of Mount Morris Square, by any
marked elevation. The land lies but
little above tide-water, and presents
every appearance of being to a great
extent " made ground." This suppo-
sition is further strengthened by the
alluvial character of the soil. Many
suppose that a branch of the Hudson
once flowed across the island at Man-
hattan ville to Hell Gate ; but we be-
lieve that originally the upper portion
of Manhattan was a distinct island,
and have no doubt the waters of the
Hudson washed freely between the
two, and in time the amount of soil
gradually deposited on either bank
limited and eventually closed the
gap, thus giving us our present for-
mation.
On the west side of the park we
have a very different topography.
364 The Sanitary Topography of New York City,
" From Fifty-ninth to One Hundred and Ninth avenue and Eighty-fourth street lao feet.
Fourth street, the Eighth avenue is near- Ninth avenue and Nincty-fir»t street .. 121 "
, ^, ^ 1 'J r^L T 1 J T.. Ninth avenue and One Hundred and Fifth
ly the central ndgc of the Island. Its ave- ^^^^ ».
rage height is twenty to thirty feet above the Tenth avenue and Seventy-seventh street. ... 98 "
Fifth avenue. At Fifty-ninth street, the ele- Tenth avenue and Eighty-fifth street log **
vation of the Eighth avenue above the tide- Jenth avenueand Ninety-Second street . ,07 "
, ,. .-i-.r •• • Tenth avenue and One Hundred and Fifth
level IS seventy-six feet four inches, increas- %xx^t\. 109 **
ing to ninety feet at Seventieth street, Tenth avenue and One Hundred and Seven-
reaching one hundred and twenty feet at teenth street 145 "
Eighty-fifth street and one hundred and «. t» ^ ^t. 1 *• u* 1. / ..
^ ° / , r i. i. XT- . J * » Between these elevations, which (except
twenty-two feet at Ninety-second street; . 1 •. ^ v / *u x- Tu
, -'j. .^. ..^ i e . . r\ I a central ridge or terrace between the Ninth
descending, it is eighty-nine feet at One j r,. ^» /l c » • .u *.
ttjjjt:" ^u/* J J 11 and Tenth avenues fi-om Seventy- ninth to
Hundred and Fourth street, and gradually xt- » r ^u » *\ * n
, ,, tr . .X. 11 1 1 r ti 1 ^ Ninety-fourth street) are not generally con-
falls off to the general low level of Harlem . ^ u n j n
. . ** tinuous, are numerous hollows and valleys,
»* Af n TT \ f\ H S* th t t the ^^^ lowest having an elevation of fifty to
., , J ,, ^ ji 1 • * *u^ sixty feet above the tide-level. The average
ridge extends north -westward! y, leaving the , ^. r ..u- 1 *. • u
.,.**, ^, . V 1 *u elevation of this plateau is as much as scv-
Eighth avenue, running nearly along the . ^ r ^ • *u *i 1
XT- *u 1 r\ 1^ A A A 'V enty-five feet: in the more northerly por-
Ninth avenue to One Hundred and 1 wen- . ^ ' u j j r ^ o^u
^. ^. ^ ^ ^, I J. . ji A tion, as much as one hundred feet. The
tieth street : then bending westwardly, and r j - r •u- 1 .. c j •*-
f . ^, * . ..,,.. f ^u \r surface drainage from this plateau finds its
forming the southern hill-side of the Man- . ^l • *i. u *u n i
. ,^ ** ,, ^ *. TT J T)- ri^u^ way to the river, through the valleys above
hattan valley to the Hudson River. The . /. ^ . ^ c- \ ..u -c- u*- *v a
jr*i_"i7-i.»i. 1 A indicated, at Sixty -seventh. Eightieth, and
new grade of* the Eighth avenue already k* * • *i, f t "*
established, by keeping up elevations and ^*
filling depressions, will gradually ascend With a view tO the prospective
to and then descend fi-om its summit at j, j^al health of the city, the au-
Ninety-second street, and make the finest , ' . . , , j •• • •
possible grade for any avenue on the thonties should do every thing pos-
island." * sible to destroy the extensively pre-
vailing malaria found in it, which
To appreciate, one must see the emanates from the large tract of made
romantic beauty presented by the g^^^^d along the East River, and
bold bluflfof rocky formation against ^^^^ ^^e beds of the original streams,
\yhich the crystal waters of the Hud- ^^^^^^ covered acres of land in the
son dash in ceaseless waves and primitive state of the island. Few
eddies. At points forming ascents people fully comprehend the insidious-
from seventy to one hundred and ^^ ^^ ^^js ^^-^^^ ^hich affects the
forty feet above tide-water, it stretches ^^^^^^ -^^ ^^^^ ^ variety of ways and
away, with varymg elevation and ^^^^^ ^^^^i erratic developments that
constantly changing scenery until ^^ ^mes the skill of the physican is
it reaches Manhattanville. There, ^^f^^^ ^^ attempting to detect its
as if to make space to cradle the presence. It is rendered more per-
village in its rocky embrace, for a ^anent in many locations by die
few blocks it disappears, only to nse miserable condition of the sewers,
in more- stately proportions beyond, ^^^^ ^^^^^ ^^i^^ 1^^^^^ j^^^ 5^^
forming its crowning glory of landscape ^^^^^ ^y ^^le irregular grading of
grandeur at Washington Heights. ^^^^^ forming obstructions to the
"There is a high table-land between the natural drainage of the soil Again,
Eighth and Ninth avenue ridge on the east, in many places where sewers have
and the Hudson River bank on the west been provided, as along the course of
The surface of this table-land is broken ; it Seventy-fourth Street between Third
has high rocky ridges and mounds m cen- , r^-ivL *.u j^ ^t. ,^ *^
tral loitions reaching these elevations. At and Fifth avenues they do not seem to
enturely prevent the generation of the
NbSrra:',;;ll'::^t1;2;St'::;:::;:: W^"- poison, as intermittent and remittent
• New York JfVf^ rebmaiy 15th, 1868. * New York H^^rU, February istb, 1S6&
The Sanitary Topography of New York City.
36s
fevers are still rife in the surrounding
districts : not properly filling up the
beds of the streams in many of these
cases may, however, account for this.
Owing to its rocky formation, ma-
laria has found a home in but few
locations in the north-western section
of the city ; and if these are examin-
ed, they will generally be found to be
lots which, by the grading of the
streets, have been made lower than
the side-walks. When these are pro-
perly filled, the deleterious influence
they exert will disappear. In addi-
tion to this, the level of this section
is so much above tide-water that it
possesses every advantage for natural,
and, when that does not prove suffi-
cient, every facility for promoting ar-
tificial, drainage.
According to the report of the
Board of Central Park Commission-
ers for last year, "the prevailing
winds for the year were west and
north-west." Let us see what com-
parative difference this makes to the
two sections of the city under consid-
eration. The west side receives this
wind in all its bracing freshness di-
rectly after it has passed over the
Jersey highlands, on the opposite
side of the Hudson. It carries be-
fore it all the exhalations from this
side toward the east, and imparts a
healthful vigor to all who come with-
in its influence. The east side, being
so much below the level of the west,
receives but little of the benefit to be
derived fix>m this wind. Again:
"When the mercury in the barometer
rises, the smoke and mjurious emanations
are quickly dispelled in the air. When the
mercury lowers, we see the smoke and
noxious vapors remain in the apartments
and near the surface of the earth. Now,
every one knows that, of all winds, that
from the east causes the mercury in the ba-
rometer to rise the highest, and that which
lowers it most b from the west When
the latter blows, it carries with it all the
deleterious gases it meets in its course from
the west. The result is, that the inhabi-
tants of the eastern parts of a city not only
have their own smoke and miasmas, but
also those of the western parts brought by
the west wind. When, on the contrary, the
east wind blows, it purifies the air by caus-
ing the injurious emanations to rise, so that
they cannot be thrown back upon the west.
It is evident, then, that the inhabitants of
the western parts receive pure air from
whatever part of the horizon it comes.
We. will add, that the west wind is most
prevalent, and the west end receives it all
fresh from the country.
"From the foregoing facts, M. Junod
la)rs down the following directions ; First,
persons who are free to choose, especially
those of delicate health, should reside in the
western part of a city. Secondly, for the
same reason, all the establishments that
send forth vapors or injurious gases should
be in the eastern part Thirdly and finally,
in erecting a house in the city, and even in
the country, the kitchen should be on the
eastern side, as well as all the out-houses
from which unhealthy emanations might
spread into the apartments."*
The absence of foliage is a great
disadvantage in malarious districts,
and here the east side of the city en-
joys a marked superiority over the
west in the ample and rich character
of its soil, which, with proper cultiva-
tion would produce trees of luxurious
foliage. On account of the small quan-
tity and the poor quality of the soil in
many locations in the north-western
section of the island, trees are not as
numerous as they should be ; but it
becomes only a greater duty to foster
those we have, and to constantly in-
crease their number by planting others
in every desirable location. Too lit-
tle regard has in all ages been paid
to that beautiful harmony established
by the wisdom of God in nature, and
but few persons consider how essen-
tial the vegetable kingdom is to ani-
mal life. With each inspiration of air
which we draw into our lungs to obtain
oxygen, a certain amount of blood
is purified, and throws ofl its carbon.
* '* Influence of Locality on Duration of life.**
Cathouc World, April, 1869.
366
The Sanitary Topography of New York City,
ITiis carbon is rapidly absorbed by
plants, and nurtures them ; and in re-
turn they liberate the oxygen which
b absolutely necessary for our being.
"Plants absorb their food entirely in a
liquid or gaseous form, by imbibition, ac-
cording to the law of endosmosis, through
the walls of the cells that form the surface ;
as when liquids of unequal density are
separated by a permeable membrane, the
lighter liquid or the weaker solution will
flow into the stronger with a force propor-
tionate to the difference in density ; but at
the same time a smaller portion of the
denser liquid will flow out into the weaker,
which process is called exosntosis. The
fluid al»orbed by the roots is thus carried
from cell to cell, rising principally in the
wood, and is attracted to the leaves, or oth-
er parts of the plants exposed to the sun
and light, by the exhalation which takes
place from them, and the consequent inspi-
ration of the sap. Here the crude sap is
exposed to sun and light, and assimilated
and converted into organizable matter." *
Man, in his ruthless desire to utilize,
according to his weak appreciation,
every thing placed within his power,
destroys the very breastworks against
disease and death with which the
foresight of the Creator has surround-
ed him. Many instances are record-
ed where the removal of a grove
of trees has rendered entire villages
for ever afterward a prey to the
innumerable miseries produced by
malarial poison. This fact has been
recognized from the earliest days,
and demonstrated so clearly by ex-
perience, that the more intelligent
inhabitants of rural districts, where
marshes abound, build their homes
so that winds passing over them, and
consequently laden with their pesti-
lential exhalations, shall be intercept-
ed by some belt of forest-trees. Many
parts of Italy would be uninhabita-
ble without the protection of its luxu-
rious vegetable productions, and it is
well known that the citizens of Rome
are thus shielded from the south-west
*P»aik Parks. /ohnH.Raiich,M.D.,ofChia«o.
wind passing over the dreaded Pon-
tine marshes. The salutary influence
of foliage is not felt in the case of
malaria alone : observers have node-
ed the comparative immunity from
epidemic diseases also enjoyed by
those whose homes are thus protect-
ed. During the prevalence of cho-
lera in Burlington, Iowa, in 1850,
this was strikingly demonstrated.
" In the houses on the west side of Main
street, north of Court, more deaths took
place than in any other portion of the city ;
and more occurred, in proportion to the
number of inmates, in every other house
than in the one in front of which were trees,
and, what is still more convincing, the natu-
ral predisposition to cholera existed to a
greater extent among the inmates of thia
house, than in any other. Another and
more striking instance occurred in the two
houses nearest the *x)ld saw-milL' The
house adjoining the mill was surrounded by
trees, and not one of the occupants suffered
from cholera ; while, in the other house,
which was exposed, and stood upon the
bank of the Mississippi, three deaths took
place ; and what is more to the point, the
family which escaped were new-comers,
and suffering from nostal^iay and the effects
of a change of climate, which act as a pre-
disposing and exciting cau§e of the disease ;
while those who lived in the other house
were old resfdents, and had been thorough-'
ly acclimated. Dr. Buckler notices similar
facts in his account of the cholera, as it
appeared in the Baltimore Alms-house, in
1849.*' ♦
Trees are useful to us in another
respect ; they moderate temperature.
In winter, the heat of the earth is
constantly ascending their trunks to
be given to the air. It is well known
that large forests decidedly lessen the
intense cold, and, in summer, mode-
rate the extreme heat, by the great
amount of moisture which they ex-
hale from their leaves. Again, who
has not felt the happy influence a
forest has upon the mind ? How our
petty troubles melt away, and our
hearts expand with grateful homage,
when we listen to the tuneful harmony
•PnblkPark*. John H. Ranch, M.D.
The Sanitary Topography of New York City,
367
of asolian sweetness, as the feathered
songsters of the grove, and the pass-
ing breezes rustling through the ver-
dant foliage unite to form nature's
orchestra, wafting upward one grand
strain of praise to the Deity. And
when, in the autumn of our lives,
borne down by blighted hopes and
ruined ambition, we seek the forest's
solitude, every fitful breeze sounds a
low wail of sympathy, falling in gen-
tle cadence on the crushed heart.
The young growth of the trees
is particularly noticeable in Central
Park, and in this respect it will be
many years before we can rival Druid
Hill Park near Baltimore, where the
grand old trees, raising their majes-
tic heads toward heaven, seem whis-
pering to every passing zephyr hymns
of adoration. Here, art may carve
meandering roads, span the crystal
streams with elaborate bridges, erect
statues in honor of man, decorate
and adorn to suit the taste of the
most fastidious; but high above all
these, the majestic oaks wave their
luxuriant foliage, and assert the supe-
riority of the works of the Creator
over the imitations of the creature.
Thus it needs but a moment's con-
sideration to see what a material ad-
vantage to our comfort, physical well-
being, and happiness trees are ; and
to understand why our broad ave-
nues should be bordered with them,
and their growth fostered as much
as possible in our parks; and we
may rest assured that succeeding
generations will bless us for the fore-
thought which will add so much to
the beauty and healthfulness of our
metropolis.
The eastern portion of all large
cities is devoted to manufacturing
purposes, and New York presents no
exception to this almost universal
rule. By reason of the comparative-
ly level and easily graded character
of the east side, buildings were
rapidly erected along the line of the
Second, Third, and Fourth avenues ;
and the suburban villages of Harlem
and Yorkville have been most remune-
rative to property-holders on that side
of the park. The easy access to the
points above named by the city rail-
roads has drawn that kind of capital
which invests in good substantial ten-
ant-houses. These pay sufficiently
well to prevent their being demolished,
even with a prospect of better pecu-
niary results fi*om a higher class of
property; and thus are always an
obstacle in the way of first-class im-
provements in a neighborhood.
The east side possesses a great
many advantages which will in time
increase its commerce, and render its
entire river-side most valuable. Al-
ready numbers of manufactories, lum-
ber-yards, and other business places
occupy nearly the entire water-front
as high as Fiftieth street; -and the
easy approach to, and gentle slope
of its bank offering great facility for
landing merchandise, will rapidly in-
crease their number toward the north-
em extremity of the island. Again,
should the attempt to relieve Hell
Gate of its dangerous rocks be suc-
cessful, a new era of prosperity will
dawn for the East River shore, and
every foot of its extent at once re-
ceive increased valuation. Piers will
spring into existence, and vessels of
every description bearing the pre-
cious wares of every clime, will seek
this hitherto inhospitable channel,
and thus lessen their tedious voyage
by at least two hundred miles.
North of Fifty-ninth street on the
west side, with the exception of the
squatter's shanty, removable at a few
days' legal notice, there is nothing to
impede the numerous and beautiful
improvements designed by the Cen-
tral Park Commissioners, to whose
judgment this work is intrusted.
These improvements consist in laying
368
The Sanitary Topography of New York City.
9
out parks and public drives^ and in
adding in every possible way to the
natural advantages of this section.
First, at the intersection of Broadway,
Eighth avenue, and Fifty-ninth street
we will j iave the Circle, with a radius
of two hundred and sixteen feet.
This will provide at once an opening
to the grand Boulevard, and also
add to the beauty of the entrance at
this point to Central Park. The
ground around this circle will un-
doubtedly present one of the finest
positions in the city for public build-
ings, and will become as valuable for
this purpose as that in the neighbor-
hood of Union Square. In this con-
nection we would express a hope
that the commissioners will reconsid-
er the great mistake they have made
in closing Sixtieth street between
Eighth avenue and the Boulevard,
thereby cutting off the view of the
park and its grand entrance from tlie
residents of that street. It would
add much to the finish of the circle,
and the beauty of the approach to
the park, if Fifty-ninth street retained
to either river the width it has be-
tween Fifth and Eighth avenues.
Eventually a ferry will be established
at either extremity of this street, for
the accommodation of persons desiring
to visit the park ; and this with other
circumstances, combines to make it
very desirable that it should be one
of the wide streets. Several efforts
have been made to have the Belt Rail-
road running on this street removed
to Fifty-eighth street, but so far with-
out success. As this change is desired
by the property-owners and residents
in the neighborhood of the park, it is
hoped it will be effected by the Legis-
lature during their session this winter.
From the north-western portion of
the circle issues the boulevard men-
tioned above. This will be in reality
the extension of Broadway, and is
designed to be one hundred and fifty
feet wide, with twenty-two feet of its
central portion reserved for a grass-
plot, to be bordered on either side with
shade-trees. It will extend along
the line of the old Broadway road
" crossing Ninth avenue at Sixty-fifth
street and Tenth avenue at Seventy-
second street, and then passing about
midway between the Tenth and
Eleventh avenues to One Hundred
and Fourth street, where it bends to
the westward, following the line of
the Bloomingdale road, and strikes
the Eleventh avenue at One Hundred
and Seventh street, and then follows
the Eleventh avenue to One Hun-
dred and Fifty-fifth street. Beyond
One Hundred and Fifly-fifth street it
continues as a part of the improve-
ments of the Fort Washington dis-
trict, which are now being carried
out by the commissioners under the
law of i865,"* framed for this pur-
pose.
Then we have the Zoological Gar-
den, which is considered a portion of
Central Park, and which is to occupy
the space bounded by Seventy-se-
venth street on the south. Ninth
avenue on the west, Eighty-first
street on the north, and Eighth
avenue on the east. It should pro-
perly be extended, taking in the
same blocks from Seventy-seventh
to Eighty-first street, as an arm
of the park, and crossing the inter-
vening avenues and boulevard by
arched bridges, to the Riverside
Park, which skirts the Hudson.
This last will be one of the most
beautiful improvements on the island
Commencing at Seventy-second
street, with the rocky highland, it
continues along the bank of the
Hudson as far north as One Hun-
dred and Thirtieth street It will be
bounded on the east by the new
River-bank avenue, which runs along
the crest of the highland, and is to be
• New York ffVrM Febnury isth. 1868.
The Sanitary Topography of New York City.
369
one hundred feet wide, and on the
west by Twelfth avenue. It is diffi-
cult to imagine a more charming va-
Tiety of scenery than this park must
present from its many prominent
points. A continuous view of the
Hudson for miles will be seen, with
the bold highlands of New Jersey on
the opposite shore, and the limpid wa-
ters of the Hver adding variety to the
charming landscape. Turning toward
the north, Fort Washington looms
up in grand proportions against the
distant horizon, covered with rich fo-
liage, and studded here and there with
princely mansions. Glancing east-
ward, the park, with its charming
intermingling of natural and artificial
beauty, stretches away toward the
East River in endless variety of lawn,
shrubbery, and pebbly pathway;
while to the south a grand panoramic
view of the island city is presented,
with its myriad towers and steeples of
pubhc buildings and of churches, all
attesting the prosperity and wealth
of the people. We hope the Park
Commissioners will consider the ex-
tension we have above suggested. If
made now, its expense would be light
in comparison with the increased value
of the property bordering the propos-
ed connections; while the combina-
tion of the two parks, the boulevard,
and the Zoological Garden would
form a succession of grand pleasure-
grounds such as no city of the world
can now boast of.
We have still to mention Morning-
side Park, which is to commence at
One Hundred and Tenth street, and
extend as far north as One Hundred
and Twenty-third street. It will be
somewhat irregular in form and its
sonthem portion will be bounded on
either side by one of the new avenues,
and the norUiem extremity by Ninth
and Tenth avenues. It is most for-
tunate that the original intention of
cutting down the grade of the streets
VOL. X. — 24
in this section has been changed, and
the matter left to the option of the
Central Park Commissioners. We
may rest assured that exceUent taste
will harmonize their improvements,
and every notable point be re-
served for some artistic design, and
thus no natural advantage be de-
stroyed which would add to the
beautiful symmetry of the whole.
During the progress of these vast
improvements a permanent system
of sewerage should be devised for the
comfort and convenience of the in-
habitants of this district At present
this could be readily effected, as in
many parts of the boulevard. Eighth
avenue, and side streets, the grade
will have to be raised several feet
above the present level. This is par-
ticularly noticeable in the boulevard;
in the neighborhood of Eighty-fourth
street, where the old Broadway road
must lie twenty feet below the grade
of the grand drive. It should also
be a question as to the kind of sewer
to be adopted. We are convinced
that throwing away the contents of
our sewers is an irreparable error, as
all the dkbris passing through them
should be used as a fertilizing agents
Throughout the country, but more
particularly in the South, is the reck-
less abuse of the soil noticeable.
Our farmers sow and reap their crops,
year after year imtil the earth is worn
out, and loses its productive power;
then they seek new fields. Our ter-
ritory is so vast, that the effect of this
wretched mode of farming has not aa
yet been felt ; but it must be, sooner
or later. In many parts of Europe,
the same ruinous policy has been
pursued, and now the inhabitants are
obliged to import guano to sufficient-
ly revivify their impoverished land to
raise even the lightest crop. We are
happy to see that some of our public
men have had their attention drawn
to this fact Senator Sprague in a
370
The Sanitary Topography of New York City.
recent conversation said, "We are
rapidly exhausting our virgin soil,
without furnishing it the means of
recovery in the shape of fertilizers,
and extending our raihx>ads to new
tracts as fast as we wear out the old
cultivated ones." If we could de-
odorize the material from our sewers,
and put it to practical uses, we would
be gainers in many ways. In the
first place, our piers would be reliev-
ed of the enormous quantity of de-
composing matter which may con-
stantly be seen festering under the
-sun's rays, and emitting pestilential
exhalations; and secondly, a vast
amount of valuable fertilizing mate-
rial would be garnered from this
large city, which would go far to-
ward enriching the lands around us ;
and we may add that this experiment
has been tried, and proved not only a
-success, but also highly remunerative.
" Sewerage has been adrantageously de-
•odorized and applied to agricultural uses in
localities in England, where it could not be
conveniently discharged into the sea, by the
process of Mr. W. Higgs, of Westminster,
which consists in collecting it in large tanks
and admitting with it a stream of lime-wa-
ter, the effect of which is to cause the pre-
-cipitation of the organic matter with the
phosphates, urates, sulphates, etc, and the
'expulsion of any free ammonia. Through
the cover of the tanks the ammonia and all
gaseous matters are conveyed by a pipe
into a convoluted chamber, where they are
fijced by various chemical reagents, and pre-
served. The tanks, jirhen full, are allowed
to remain undisturbed for an hour, when
the liquids are drawn off clear and without
odor. The pulpy sediments are then col-
lected and dried, and rendered fit for the
market The expense of the process was
rated at £\ per ton, and the manure thus
prepared was sold at Cardiff for £,i per
ton."*
It is an unquestionable fact that
through the sewers of cities enormous
quantities of the constituents of
plants are conveyed into the sea, and
unless saved and restored to the soil,
the loss must be made up from other
sources, or the lands become impover-
ished. From the London sewers, re-
fuse matter is thrown into the river
Thames; and so fearfully does this
immense body of filth pollute its wa-
ters that it has been found necessary
during warm weather to neutralize the
impurity and destroy the foul gases
by throwing large quantities of dis-
infectants into the river, costing the
city as much as "^20,000 in the
summer of 1859." They are now
constructing an addition to their sew-
ers which will carry their contents
along the course of the river eight
miles to Barking, into a reservoir a
mile and a half long, and about one
hundred feet wide by twenty-one feet
deep. From this reservoir it will be,
at high-tide, discharged, through nu-
merous large pipes, into the middle
and bottom of the river, at the depth
of sixty feet below the siurface.
"The estimated cost of this vast
work is about ^4,000,000, and the
time fixed for its completion five
years."*
As the river Seine divides the city of
Paris into two parts, so it divides the
sewers into two districts, which for-
merly emptied their contents respect-
ively on the right and left bank of
the river. In order to prevent the
infection of the water of the river, the
main sewer of the left bank was
made to pass its contents through a
tunnel under the river, and empty
them at Asnibres, the same point
where that of the right bank emptied^
thus avoiding the current which
washed the discharged material back
upon the city.
Thus we see that the disposition of
sewerage has alwajrs been a question
of great import, even to cities situat-
ed on large streams of water, into
which it could be turned. While pro-
posing a system for at once doing
•N4wAtm0rkmmCjd0fmdm,
The Sanitary Topography of New York City.
371
away with the nuisance caused by it,
and at the same time utilizing it for
fertilizing purposes, we are happy to
add that it is not the first time the
plan has been brought forward for
New York. Professor Lewis A. Savre
during his administration as Resident
Physician of this city, had regular
plans drawn up and calculations
made as to the cost of the entire
work; and also what return could
with certainty be expected from the
investment. The designs were made
by the late John Randall, of Mary-
land, one of the ablest civil engineers
tiie country has ever produced.
The professor's idea was, to have
the street excavated for some twelve
feet below its grade. A substantial
wall of masonry was to be built on
either side to sustain the sidewalk,
and a convex iron girder was to cross
the entire width of the street, upon
which the pavement could be laid.
Within the inclosure thus made, the
sewer, water, and gas-pipes could be
placed, and trap-doors arranged at
certain distances to make it possible
to get at them without disturbing the
pavement. Here could be carried
on a vast laboratory for deodorizing
the contents of the sewers. His plan
also embraced a sort of trap by which
the yard of each house communicat-
ed with the main sewer, and an ar-
rangement by which the fluid portion
was allowed to drain away from the
solids, which in turn were to be
dumped from the temporary reser-
voir in which they were received into
a small car at the bottom of the ex-
cavation, and then carried to the
laboratory by a regular railroad in-
tersecting every portion of the city.
This general plan of subterranean
sewerage may strike the eye of the
uninitiated as very expensive; but
when we consider the manipulation
a street is subjected to from the time
its boundaries are defined by the
surveyor, until it has been handed
over to the city as complete, by the
last contractor, we think the plan will
appear in a very different light. In
the first place, take a street that r^
quires filling up to a certain specified
grade. Sealed proposals or bids are
received from contractors for the work,
and the party makmg the most ad-
vantageous offer obtains the contract,
and in due course of time completes
the work. Then, in all probability,
a second party obtains a contract to
at once put down some kind of pave-
ment After this, houses are buik
upon the street, and a sewer must be
laid. This completed, the gas and
Croton mains must be put down.
Then each house must have separate
sewer, gas, and water connection.
Thus the pavement is perpetually
torn up and relaid, each removad
rendering it more unfit for travel.
Why not, when the street was low
enough to lay the sewer without turn-
ing out one shovelful of earth, put
in the pipes for the sewer, gas, and
water, and leave the laying of the
pavement until it could be done with-
out having it torn up four or five times
for necessities which every one knows
will arise ? Let any one calculate the
vast sums of money spent on a street,
in these various changes, and we are
sure the amount will be larger than
the cost of the plan above proposed,
with ' this great difference, that when
the work is completed, in the latter
case, a yield of from six to seven per
cent upon the outlay could be at
once expected, while in the former
there would be constant call for ad-
ditional expense in repairs. Where
the grade of a street requires to be
raised several feet, it is doubtful if it
would cost much more to put up the
two walls of masonry and the iron
girders than it^ costs to fill up the
space with earth and rocks. Con-
tractors pay from forty to seventy-
572
The Sanitofy Topography of New York CiXj.
five cents per load ix this filling;
and every one knows how very few
square feet the carts used for this
purpose hold Again, the question
of an underground railroad has been
much discussed during the past few
years. With this plan of sewerage,
it would be no more expensive to
carry such a railroad over the entire
city, worked from given points by
stationary engines and wire ropes, as
is proposed for the overground rail-
road, than to lay such a road in the
streets of the city; excepting that
arrangements would have to be made
at certain distances to enable passen-
gers to go down to platforms below,
for the purpose of entering the cars.
This project would at once put into
the hands of the city authorities a
subterranean city, and also the vast
revenues to be obtained from its un-
derground railroads, and does not
present half the difficulties that must
have been experienced in bringing
the Croton water across the Harlem
River.
Having shown that nature has par-
ticularly favored that portion of the
city which lies west of the park, and
that, from present indications, the
highest art will prevail in the magni-
ficent improvements which are there
going on, we will mention another
cause, which will add weight to the
many reasons already adduced, why
it should in the fiitiure become the
home of the fisishion and wealth of
the metropolis. If we look at the
great capitals of Europe, we will no-
tice the general tendency the afflu-
ent classes have shown to select their
abodes in the western sections <^
these cities. Paris, London, St Pe-
tersburg, Berlin, and others show
this conclusively. In each, the west-
em section is covered with the ele-
gant palaces of the rulers and the
cosdy mansions of the rich; while on
the east side is found the bustling
activity of the workshops and manu-
£sictories. In a translation from Le
Corrcspondant published in the April
number of this magazine, the writer,
speaking of this subject, says,
''In TisitiDg the mins of Pompeii and
other ancient dties, I have obsored, at
weU as M. Jtinod, that this custom dates
from the highest antiquity. In those cities,
as is seen at Paris in our day, the largest
cemeteries are found in the eastern parti,
and generaUy none in the western. M.
Junod, examining the reason of so general
a £ict, thinks it is connected with aimaspkf
ric pressure,
** M. Elie de Beaumont has since mention*
ed some (acts which tend to prore the con-
stancy and generality of the rule laid down
by M. Junod. He noticed in noost of the
large cities this tendency of the wealthy
class to move to the same side — generally,
the western — unless hindered by certain
local obstacles. Turin, Li^, and Caea
are examples of this. M. Moquin-Tan-
don has observed the same thing at Mont-
peilier and Toulouse."
In the first part of this article the
influence of ^^atmospheric pressure ^^
was fully spoken of, as also the effect of
the winds so favorable to residents
on the west side. With these facts
in view, it is easy to foresee that those
who possess means will always pur-
chase homes in this pordon of the
city, which offers the best secmity
against disease and the greatest guar-
antee for continued physical health.
It is curious to go back to the
commencement of the present centu-
ry, and to note the changes in loca-
tion the growth of the city has oblig-
ed the wealthy to make since that
time. In the eariy days. State street,
and then Bowling Green, offered to
this class attractions superior to those
of any other portion of the city. TTic
ample shade of the latter, its stately
forest-trees, verdant lawn, and beauti-
ful walks, with the refreshing sea-
breeze constantly blowing in from
old ocean, and the magnificent mov-
ing panorama in the harbor, made
it a great favorite of our forefathers.
The Sanitary TopograpJy of New York City.
373
They whiled away their time in this
charming resort, smoking their pipes,
and watching the merry gambols of
the children. It may be, they can-
vassed the future of diis goodly city,
which under their thrifty influences
already promised well, never dream-
ing, however, of the gigantic growth
its future was to develop. In time
this garden spot changed into the
great entrepbt^ where emigrant ships
daily landed vast numbers eager to
obtain employment and homes in this
new country where every thing pro-
mised wealth and happiness. Green-
wich street next absorbed within its
precincts the votaries of fashion ; soon
after, it had for rivals in public favor
£ast-firoadway and College Place.
They, in turn, were deserted for the
location between Fourth and Eighth
streets. But the same agency being
at work here as below, soon brought
Union Square into requisition. After
this, Fifth and Madison avenues be-
came the grand centres of the opu-
lent classes; and to-day the entire
course of the former, with its long
line of brown-stone architecture and
regal grandeur, attracts the attention
and challenges the admiration of the
worid. But after this avenue reaches
Ninetieth street, its grade descends
rapidly to the low level of the Har-
lem plains, and is no longer so desira-
ble for residences. At the rate it is
now being built upon, it will soon be
completed to this point, and then in
what direction will this current turn ?
The Harlem Railroad will always
prove an insurmountable objection to
Fourth avenue, which is behind it;
and it does not require a prophet's
power to foresee that the Grand
Boulevard, the garden parks overlook-
ing tiie Hudson, and the great aids to
general healthfulness possessed by
the west side, will prove sufficiently
attractive to cause the next move to
be in the direction of the beautiful
sites which border these improve-
ments.
The proposed widening of Broad-
way from Thirty-second to Fifty-ninth
street adds certainty to this predic-
tion. We think it most unfortunate
that this change did not commence
as low down as Seventeenth street,
and we hope it may yet be fotmd ad-
visable to do so. We would then
have a noble thoroughfare starting
from the Battery, crossing the various
avenues diagonally until it reached
the beautiful circle at the Eighth ave-
nue entrance to the park ; and then
continuing as the Grand Boulevard
to the upper extremity of the island.
This measure, which seems to meet
with the disapprobation of a large
portion of the community, if carried
out, would, we are convinced, prove
a crowning glory to the metropolis j
and it is but fitting that the thorough^
fare which is to vie with any other in
the world should have a continuance
in the lower part of the city worthy
its princely magnificence; for it would
then be a subject of pride not only
to us but to the whole country, which
would regard it as a national orna-
ment.
We may also look forward to an
ever-increasing commercial impor-
tance for the east side, with its long
line of piers fronting the harbor, al-
ways filled with vessels bearing the
flags of every commercial nation of
the world.
Its shore will be covered with ca*
pacious warehouses and immense
manufactories, from which will re-
sound the noisy bustle and unceasing
activity of trade.
A glance at the residences in the
different locations mentioned above,
as being at various times the homes
of those possessing wealth, will show
that each successive change has been
marked by an increase in the lavish
expenditure of means for the purpose
3/4
The Basilica of St. Peter.
of producing architectural display.
With this fact before us, we may form
an idea of the palatial houses with
which, by means of their rapidly in-
creasing wealth, the rising generation
will crown the hillsides of the west-
em section.
When the proposed improvements
for this portion of our city have been
completed, the whole, bounded on
the one side by Central Park, with its
many natiual and artificial beauties
appearing hke a fairyland^ and on
the other by the dancing waters of
the Hudson, will give to our metro-
polis attractions superior to those
possessed by the most celebrated
cities of Eiu'ope.
THE BASILICA OF ST. PETER.
TKAKSLATaO FltOM LKS BT0DB8 «SLIGIKUIIS» MISTOKIQVIS BT LITTXKAnUtt.
While visiting, two or three
BQonths since, the Vatican Basilica, it
seemed to me there was a certain
correspondence, a kind of harmony,
between this monument and the great
event of which it is soon to be the
theatre. Since that time new obser-
vations have strengtliened this first
impression ; then reminiscences of a
different kind, the perusal of various
works, unfortunately too limited in
numbers, and especially a more atten-
tive examination of St Peter's, have
had the effect of defining more clearly
what at first was only a vague and
confused perception.
Before my pilgrimage to Reme, I
was so fortunate as to visit one of the
cities which had for a long time been
the objects of my most ardent ciui-
osity. I refer to the humble Tyrolean
city where, more than three hundred
years ago, was held the last and most
glorious of the general councils.
The city of Trent presents nothing
extraordinary to the eye of the tra-
veller except, perhaps, a kind of trident
of mountains which gives it its name,
and which forms around it a group
of natural fortifications truly grand.
Certain monuments, among others the
cathedral of a Roman style, and
somewhat interesting, appeared to
merit some attention. But that which
attracts and interests the Catholic
heart in the most lively degree is the
church where the holy CEcumenical
Council held its immortal sessions.
It bears the name of St. Mary MajoTi
the same as the great Roman basilica
so generally known and venerated
In truth, this renowned tide is hardly
appropriate, if the dimensions of the
ed^ce and its architectural m^ts
alone are considered. In these re-
spects it more nearly resembles our
modest Parisian chiux:h of Notre
Dame des Victoires. This compari-
son, without being wholly just, may
yet give a good idea of the sanctuary
rendered illustrious by the Council d
Trent.
As to the local traditions respecting
this august assembly, a sojourn far too
short prevented me fi-om collecting
them as fully as I could have wished.
According to the information of a re-
spectable priest with whom I convened
a short time, a great revival of faith,
the effects of which are still visible,
took place in the city on the third
commemorative centenary in the
The Basilica of St Piter.
37$
month of June, 1863. This same
ecclesiastic likewise informed me that
the memory of our great Laynez has
always been dear to the popular me-
mory, and that the greatest eulogium
that can be passed upon a man who de-
votes himself to works of charity is
to compare him to that indefatigable
apostle. Probably his learned dis-
courses are nearly forgotten even in
the places where they were delivered ;
his preaching is only remembered be-
cause of his deeds, a new proof, among
so many others, in support of the
divine word, " Wisdom passeth
away, .... but charity shall never
pass away."
Not far from the entrance of Santa
Maria Maggiore is a monument,
erected in 1855 for the first anniver-
sary of the proclamation of the
dogma of the Immaculate Concep-
tion. It bears a statue of her " who
has destroyed all heresies throughout
the world," and for whom the fathers
of the Council of Trent formally
stipulated an exception in the decrees
respecting the doctrine of original
sin. I noticed in the interior of the
church a painting representing one
of the reunions of the councfl, and
especially the crucifix which stood on
a table in the centre of the nave and
presided, so to speak, at those solemn
assemblies. This crucifix may now
be seen above one of the side altars.
It b regarded with extreme veneration
by the faithful. I will not attempt
to depict my emotion in celebrating
the holy mysteries before this sacred
image with the same chalice the car-
dinal legate had used, which was
kindly loaned me by the venerable
chaplain. You can easily imagine
that the place, the circumstances, and
those precious relics, without mention-
ing my own inclinations, imposed it
on me as a duty to offer up the holy
sacrifice for the success of the ap-
proaching coimcil
On the whole, the city of Trent
and the sanctuary of the council do
not fully correspond with the solemn
grandeur of the event which took
place therein. It is unnecessary to
say that this kind of contrast does not
shock in the least a mind at all fami-
liar with objects connected with the
fiiith. Hiis want of correspondence
b firequendy to be noticed even in
a more strildng degree. The least
supernatural eye soon forgets the
whole edifice and these material ob-
jects only to behold the great Chris-
tian wonders once wrought within so
small a space. We say to ourselves,
with profound emotion, that this is the
cenade of modem times — a real cen-
acle, in truth, where the light of the
Holy Ghost was diffused more abun-
dantly than had ever taken place since
the day of Pentecost
Without any great effort of the
imagination I could see a figure of
the religious renovation produced
by the holy Council of Trent in
circumstances, wholly accidental, that
occurred at the time of my journey.
It was during the latter part of the
month of October. On the way
fix)m Botzen the country had been
ravaged by an inundation of the
Adige. Everywhere was a scene of
desolation sad to behold. The fol-
lowing morning, on the contrary, just
as we were starting for Italy, a glorious
sun rose over the city of Trent. The
bold summits that surround it were
crowned with such hghts as are only
seen in mountainous countries. Clouds
of magic brilliancy hung here and
there over the deep gorges and on the
heights, the fields had resumed their
joyous and smiling aspect, even the
traces of the inundation were less sad
to behold, and our eyes could linger
with a pleasure almost without alloy
on the magnificence of nature.
The council of the nineteenth cen-
tury, for which preparations are now
576
Tkg Basilica of St Piter.
being made at Rome and throughout
the civilized world, cannot be less
fruitful than that of the sixteenth
in the regeneration and salvation of
souls. The gravest reasons on every
hand appear to justify this hope, and
perhaps it is allowable to find a sig-
nificant sign of it in the happy
choice of the place where this great
court of Catholicity is to be held.
At all events, the basilica of St Peter
is certainly the most suitable theatre
in the whole world in which to as-
semble an oecumenical council. Eve-
ry thing about it is marvellously
adapted to this purpose ; every thing
seems to reveal a preconceived har-
mony that divine Providence is so
often pleased to manifest in the ac-
complishment of his august designs.
§n speaking thus, I only express dif-
ferently, if I am not mista|^en, the
idea of Sixtus III. in the fifth centu-
ry. This pontiff, having convoked
in the ancient basilica of St. Peter a
certain number of bishops, wrote to
Cyril, the patriarch of Alexandria, to
announce this synod, and, among
other things, wrote these remarkable
words: ^^ Ad beatum Bstrum Aposto-
lum universa fraUmitas convenit
Ecce auditorium congruens auditoribuSy
conveniens audiendis^ • " The whole
brotherhood meets at the tomb of
blessed Peter the Apostle. Behold a
place befitting both the hearers and
the things to be heard.*'
It cannot be doubted that this suit-
ability, so well understood by Sixtus
III., aJso occurred to Pius IX., when
he designated the tomb of St Peter
as the rendezvous of his brethren in
the episcopate. It seems to me de-
sirable that an inscription in a con-
spicuous place should bear the fine
expression of Sixtus III. Its mean-
* See Istoria dellm taerotttnia pairiarcaU Basili-
^cm, yaiicana. By the Rev. F. M. Mignand. Vol.
.4. c xxiit. Other special aynods are mentioned,
• beld in the ancient basilica of St Peter — the first ia
. J86, and the hat in 1413. ,
ing and adaptation with regard to die
approaching council would be more
strikingly apparent than they couM
have been at the particular synod of
the fifth century.
Let us now enter this august tem-
ple and regard with admiration, as we
pass, the colossal portico and the vast
nave, whose length and height cannot
at once be taken in by the unaccus«
tomed eye. Almost at the extremity
of the nave, at the right, is the bronze
statue of St Peter, which for more
than fourteen centuries has received
the homage of pilgrims. Let us not
forget to prostrate ourselves after
their example, and press our trem-
bling lips to the feet of the apostle,
literally worn by the pious kisses of so
many generations. A few steps fur-
ther on, and we stand before the
Confession, that is, the glorious se-
pulchre of the first vicar of Jesus
Christ, around which a hundred lights
do not cease to bum night and day.
After kneeling for a few moments, not
without being penetrated by a pow-
erful but sweet emotion which stirs
the soul to its very depth, let us rise
and look first at the superb baldaquin
of gilded bronze which rises to the
height of eighty-six feet over the
grand altar and the tomb of St. Pe-
ter. Above bends over us " the Pan-
theon raised in the air " by the genius
of Michael Angelo— the incompara-
ble dome, measuring one hundred and
thirty feet in diameter, and four hun-
dred and twenty-six feet in height on
the outside.
If, from this central point of the
basilica, we look to the right, we sec
the northern transept extending more
than one hundred and sixty feet fix>m
the Confession. The altar at the end
is consecrated to the Saints Proces-
sus and Martinian — two Roman sol-
diers, at first jailers of the aposde Sc
Peter, and then his disciples, baptized
by his own hand. " From tliat time,"
Thi Basilica of St Peter.
377
says the AbW Gerbet, " the remem-
bnnce of these two saints has con-
stantly dung to that of St. Peter,
their master and their friend, as the
shadow follows the body. Martyr-
ed the same year as he, they were
buried near the Aurelian way, not far
from the Vatican. The antique sta-
tue of St; Peter, now venerated in the
basilica, was formerly in a monastery
couaected with the cemetery where
these two martyrs reposed. It was
afterward placed in the oratory which
Pascal I. had erected in their honor
in the ancient Vatican basilica, whi-
ther he had their relics transported.
The ashes of these two jailers of St.
Peter always in a manner gravitated
around him, mitil, placed here at his
side, they have become for ever his
acolytes in this magnificent crypt, as
they were his guardians in the dark
dungeons of the cq)itol.*
Another glory is in reserve for
Saints Processus and Maximian. Be-
fore their altar and in the spacious
chapel which is dedicated to them
are to be held the solemn sessions of
the council. Let us hope with firm
assurance that these faithfiil guar*
dians of the first pope, and his im-
mortal acolytes, will keep invisible
guard around his successor, and
around the bishops, his brethren,
when they are reimited in this sanc-
tuary to continue the work of the
great Fisher of Souls.
Returning from the altar of Saints
Processus and Maximian, before re-
suming our place by the Confession,
let us notice at the left, at the end of
the Gregorian chapel, the tomb of
Gregory XVI. and the marble statue
with his hands raised to bless. Con-
nected with him many interesting
thoughts came into my mind. He is
the last of the popes who joined the
church triumphant. His tomb and
tiiat of St. Peter, so near each other,
bring before us the two extremity
of the great chain of apostolical suc-
cession which extends back from our
own age to the first Christian era.
The intermediate links are known to
us all through the authentic records
of history, and they are represented
here almost entire under our eyes.
Look first at the tombs and statues
of the greater number of popes since
the commencement of the sixteenth
century. It is sufficient to name a
few of them. There is the funereal
monument of Pius VI. at the foot of
the staircase leading to the Confes-
sion. If e merited this post of hon-
or, as has been justly remarked, be-
cause he was "the first pope who
died firom the martyrdom of exile
and captivity after the construction
of the new basilica." Two other
pontiffs, Benedict XIV. and Clement
XIII., are entombed close by the
transversal nave where the council is
to be held. They will be there on
each side of the august assembly-—
the double personification of cleri-
cal learning and pontifical firmness.
The throne of Pius IX. will almost
touch the tomb of Clement XIII.
A little further on, in the southern
nave, is the monument of one of the
greatest pontiff of the seventeenth
century — that of Innocent XL, the
firm antagonist of Louis XIV. At
the end of the choir, or apsis, the
sixteenth century is represented by
Paul III. His tomb is at the right
of the syfhbolic chair of St. Peter,
which is supported by the four great
doctors. He also was worthy of
this privileged spot ; for his name is
indissolubly coimected with what have
been called " two of the greatest pro-
vidential events of modem times,"
(and I can say that the expression is
certainly true of the first of these :) ,
he convoked the Council of Trent,
and was the first to give his approval
to the formation of die Society of
378
Thi Basilica of St. Peter.
Jesus. Among the tombs of the
pontiff of the fifteenth century we
select at hazard those of Sixtus IV.,
Nicholas V., and Eugenius IV., all
three rendered illustrious by the great
events of their pontificates. The
ashes of the two last are in the sub-
terranean church of the Vatican.
Only six or seven tombs represent
the preceding ages in the upper
church. They are those of St. Gre-
gory the Great, St Leo the Great,
Sts. Leo IL, III., IV., and IX.
The crypts spread before us a much
longer list. Conspicuous therein is
Boniface VIII., the pontiff who de-
clared the first jubilee of the four-
teenth century ; and then, going back
into the preceding ages, Alexander
III.; Calixtus IL ; Urban IL, the
first organizer of the Crusades; St
Nicholas L, one of the men who
merited by the most brilliant claims
the title of great; Adrian L, the
friend of Charlemagne, and celebrat-
ed by him in that immortal elegy
so worthy of the great pope and of
the great emperor, and still to be
read in the portico of St Peter's ; St
Agatho, made glorious by the sixth
oecumenical council, held at Con-
stantinople; Honorius L, the beau-
tiful inscription on whose tomb so
eloquently avenges undeserved cal-
umny ; St Boniface IV., who conse-
crated the Pantheon ; and then a great
number of other glorious pontifife, till
we come to St Simplicius, the second
successor of St Leo the GrSat Dat-
ing from the latter, there is an inter-
ruption of more than two centuries in
the pontifical sepulchres of the Vati-
can. The popes of this time repose
in the catacombs, particularly in that
of St. Calbctus. But until the year
202 all the others, with the excep-
tion of St Clement I. and of St Al-
exander I. in going back firom St
Victor to St Linus, the immediate
successor of St Peter, have been de-
posited near the Prince of the ^)09-
ties in the place where St Anadetus,
even in the first century, constructed
" the memorial of the blessed Peter
called the Confession," according to
the expression of an ancient inscrip-
tion on the walls of this sacred crypt
When a portion of the pavement was
removed in order to construct the
monument of Pius VL, the bones of
the first successors of the apostle
were exposed. Their faces were
found turned toward his tomb.
Altogether, the Vatican basilica
and its crypts contain the tombs of
about one hundred and forty popes.
Let us not fail to remark that almost
all the others are in the catacombs,
or the neighboring churches; only a
small number of popes have been
buried out of Rome. We have then
here, without going out of St Peter's,
the greater part of that dynasty
which is the most ancient and the
most glorious in the history of the
world. I refer to the privilege it
possesses — and it alone— of tracing
a succession, uninterrupted and of
incontestable legitimacy, back to him
whom Jesus Christ established as
head and foundation of the univer-
sal church. Some slight shadows,!
know, seem to hover here and there
over certain links in this descent of
eighteen hundred years, but this can-
not disturb an unprejudiced mind for
a moment The glory of the whole
line diffuses too powerful and subdu-
ing a light for that! Where is the
rival church that can show in its his-
tory, in its monuments, its temples,
and even in its tombs, a succession,
a connection, an antiquity, and a
proof of catholicity, worthy, I will
not say of equalling, but of being
compared with this ? Christian tra-
dition, the liturgy, the fi^uent lan-
guage of schismatical churches them-
selves, are agreed in giving the pope
the name of Apostolic This namc^
Tkt Basilica of St. Peter.
379
as well as that of Catholic, of which
St Augustine boasted with such good
reason against the Donatists, would
alone be a strong title in favor of
Rome* At all events, it is the unique
and incommunicable privilege of the
Roman Church to have been built upon
the foundation of the apostles — super
fundametUum apostohrum. And this
expression of St Paul, which has not
perhaps been sufficiently noticed, is
verified at Rome with a fulness of
evidence truly wonderful. It has, in
truth, pleased Divine Providence to
consecrete this church in the eyes of
aU with the special characteristic of
apostolicity, to collect within its walls,
if not the entire bodies of all the
apostles of Jesus Christ, at least con-
nderable portions of their relics. A
part of the bones of St Paul repose
fraternally beside those of St. Peter
in the Vatican, and, as if to attest
more strongly the brotherhood of
these two founders of Christian
Rome, a part of the body of St Pe-
ter has been transported to the basi-
lica of St Paul beyond the walls,
and their skulls are placed together
at St John Lateran; both thus
taking possession of the three great
basilicas of Rome. The bodies of
Sts. Simon and Jude are also at the
Vatican. Those of St. James the
Minor and St Philip are in the Church
of the Holy Apostles, that of St Mat-
thias at St Mary Major, and that of
St. Bartholomew in the basilica that
bears his name. Different churches
9X Rome possess important relics of
other members of the apostolic col-
lege, as well as of St Mark and St
Luke. One apostle delayed longer
than the rest joining this rendezvous
of the glorious dead, and yet it was
only proper, it would seem, that he
should be near Simon Peter, for it
was his brother in the flesh, his elder
Ixother. But this vacancy was at
last filled up by the agency of Him
who directs all human events. To-
ward the middle of the fifteenth cen-
tury, Thomas Paleologus, King of
Peloponnesus, fearing that the head of
St. Andrew, preserved until that time
in Achaia, would fall into the hands
of the Turks, wished to preserve it
by confiding it to the Roman Church.
At this news great was the joy of the
magnanimous pontiff whose name,
destined to cast such brilliancy over
succeeding ages, was just becoming
renowned. Pius II., in order to re-
ceive this precious relic, had a pro-
cession and ceremonies of extraordi-
nary solemnity, an enthusiastic de-
scription of which has been handed
down to us in the annals of that
time. The sacred head, which the
Saviour of the world " had more than
once, without doubt, touched with
his hands and with his divine lips,**
(these are the words of Pius II., in
an admirable discourse on this occa- i
sion,) was placed not far from the
tomb of St. Peter, where it remained
till a sacrilegious hand dared to carry
it away firom its sanctuary for a time.
But, as is known, Pius IX. had the
joy of finding it some days after with
the seals intact, and henceforth the
homage of the faithful will not cease
to offer reparation for the outrage
committed.* To increase devotion
toward St Andrew, a imique privi-
lege, which had its origin in the
delicate inspirations of Christian
sentiment, has long been granted
to him; the colossal statue of
the brother of the Prince of the
Apostles stands before the altar of
the Confession, and on a level with
the three great, statues which recall
the precious relics of the Saviour's
Passion.
Thus, it is evident, the apostolic col-
lege is in a manner assembled in the dty
* The fiKt to whk^ I have albdcd happeacd in
1848. Tha details are to be feund in Mignanti'a
ttUrim, vol. ii. pp, 103-5.
38o
The Basilica of St Piter.
of Rome. '^ The legend, according to
which all the apostles assembled to-
gether to witness the last moments
of the Blessed Virgin, has in a man-
ner been verified as to their mortal
remains around the tomb of St Pe*
ten The first coimcil of Jerusalem
seems to be held here permanently."*
This idea appears to me to give
an admirably beautiful significance
to one of the most solemn prayers
of the litiu'gy which is chanted at
the mass of the apostles and especial-
ly on the festivals of Sts. Peter and
PauL Imagine that we h^ar resound-
ing the voice of Pius IX., of a com-
pass and harmony equal to the basi-
lica itself, which it fills with its pow-
erfiil undulations. Listen to this
prayer which he addresses the eternal
Shepherd : Gregetn tuum^astorctUme^
mm deseras^ sed per bcatoi apostolos
tuos canHnua protections custodias j ut
iisdetn rectoribus gubemetur quos ope-
ns tui viearios eidem contuiisti pneesse
pastores, " Desert not, O eternal
Shepherd, thy flock, but through the
blessed aposUes grant it diy unceas-
ing protection; that it may be go-
verned by those rulers whom thou
hast appomted to continue thy work
and to be the pastors of thy people."
Does it not seem that the truly pro-
vidential presence of the sacred relics
of all the apostles at Rome is like a
continual reply of Jesus Christ to the
supplication of his high-priest ? Or
raise your eyes toward the radiant
dome, as Pius IX. often loves to do
while he is chanting, and while the
sursum corda of his soul is manifest-
ed by his looks, do you not behold
the mosaics gleaming there on high
like celestial apparitions? See the
eternal Shepherd who does not cease
to watch over his flock, and around
him his blessed i^>ostles, his vicars
on earth, who now firom the highest
heavens continue to protect and go-
* Esquiut dt R^mt CArHifmm^ ToLLch.iL
vem the lambs and sheep of ^ <fi-
vine fold.
I have not yet had the great Chris-
tian joy of assisting at the festival of
St Peter in the basilica itself; but
on another occasion I experienced
in the same place, leaning against
the balustrade of the Confession, a
joy almost comparable. It was on
PaJm-Sunday, when the choristers of
the Sistme chapel made the arches re-
sound with the grand and solenm afl^-
mations of the Catholic Credo. I shall
never forget the quiver that passed
through my frame when I heard re-
sounding these simple words as they
were taken up one after another : et
unam — sanctam — CathoHcam — ett^os-
toUcam — ecclesiam. . . << and one-
holy — Catholic — and apostolic —
church." Then my eyes were irre-
sistibly attracted toward the dome,
and through the light which at that
moment flooded it I had a ^ht of
the glorious figures with which it is
adorned, and which appeared to me
like a reflection of the church trium-
phant in the heavens. Then I re-
called the gorgeous procession I had
just seen pass through the grand nave
of the basilica — Pius IX. borne on
his Sedia Gestatoria^ and before him
the imposing cortkge of cardinals,
bishops, and prelates, all bearing in
their hands the triumphal palms — 4nd
it seemed to me that this immense
indosure expanded to a still larger
size, or rather, its walls vanished and
gave place to the church universal
dispersed in the four quarters of the
globe, but all bound to the tomb of
St Peter, in perpetual communion
with him, receiving fxom him by a
constant influence its divine charac^
teristics of unity, sanctity, catholicity,
and apostoHcity, living by his feith
and his love, ruled and governed by
his authority, and always spmtuaUy
present where he is to be found, ac-
cording to the words of St Ambrose^
The Basilica of St Peter.
381
Ac truth of which I had never com-
prehended so fully, Uld BttruSy iH
eccUsiai "Where Peter is, there
is the church."
But let us leave these retrospective
ideas and evocations, and rather en-
deavor to discover in the basilica of
St. Peter the visible signs of unity,
sanctity, and catholicity, as well as of
apostolicity, the authentic marks of
which we have just noticed.
And first, let us read around the
dome these words in colossal letters
on a golden ground of mosaic, Tu
SS PeTRUS ; ET SUPER HANG PETRAM
^DIFICABO ECCLESIAMM MEA; ET TIBI
BABO CLAVES REGKl CCELORUM. " ThoU
art Peter; and upon this rock I will
build ray church ; and I will give to
thee the keys of the kingdom of hea-
ven." And a little lower on the frieze,
above the two pillars of the choir,
these words recently placed on a
similar ground, Hinc una fides mundo
re/ulgetj "Hence one faith shines
upon the world ;" to correspond with
which these other words are hereafter
to be engraved above the opposite
pillars, Hinc sacerdoHi unitas exoritur^
" Hence the unity of the priesthood
arises." There is a symbolic commen-
tary on this last inscription in the
um placed on the tomb of St. Peter.
It contains the palliums which the
pope sends to the metropolitans.
They are kept in this place to signify
that that is the origin and source of
all jurisdiction and all ecclesiastical
authority. This urn and these in-
scriptions are sufficient to make us
understand the whole mystery of
Catholic unity. This unity, indeed,
is comprehended in the decisive
words which established Peter as the
foundation of the church and confid-
ed to him the keys of the kragdom
of heaven. Peter thus became the
true representative of Jesus Christ
and the personification, so to speak,
of the divine authority. And he
himself in his turn transmitted this
plenitude of power to the Roman
pontiff, his successor, his inheritor,
his universal legatee, thus living
again, as it were, in his successor, in-
vesting him with his authority, and
communicating to him by a continu-
ed operation the full and entire pow-
er of feeding, directing, and governing
the universal church, according to
the dogmatic definition of the Coun-
cil of Florence. From this centre of
power the apostolic authority extends
through all ranks of the hierarchy,
and by a wonderful ubiquity is de-
fused without bemg weakened to
the lowest grades of the Catholic
priesthood. Patriarchs, primates, me-
tropolitans, archbishops, and bishops
throughout the worid are all armed
with the plenitude of this authority;
all derive from this source their juris-
diction and the legitimate exercise
of their rights; all, as they love to
acknowledge, govern their own
churches " by the grace of God and
of the apostolic see." And this is
why throughout the church there is
the same government, the same doc-
trine, the same administration of the
sacraments and divine worship. There
is but one rule of government; for, as
Bossuet (who was always incompara-
ble when the whole truth illumined
his soul) has somewhere said, " There
is such a sympathy in sdl parts of the
body of the church, that what each
bishop does according to the rule
and spirit of Catholic unity, the whole
church, the entire episcopate and the
chief bbhop, does with him." There
is the same doctrine ; for the Roman
see teaches all others, and these
again all the faithful, or, to express it
better, the different grades of teachers
(it is still Bossuet who speaks) " have
only one doctrine, by reason of the
necessary connection they have with
382
The Basilica of St Peter.
the chair which Peter and his suc^
cessors have always occupied." • Fi-
nally, the administration of the sacra-
ments and the divine worship are the
same ; for the central authority of Pe-
ter intervenes in some manner in all
the sacramental functions, whether to
render them legitimate, or, as is seen
in the ministry of the confessional,
to make them efficacious and valid ;
and besides, it is only in communion
with Peter that God accepts the of-
fering of the divine sacrifice as well as
all other acts of worship and prayer.
The perfect unity that reigns in the
hierarchy and the government of the
church engenders a not less perfect
unity in the entire body of the faith-
ful. Indeed, all the members of the
church are reunited and bound to-
gether by means of the central au*
thority of Peter, always present in the
pope, and, through him, in all the
representatives of the episcopal hie-
rarchy. All the faithful recognize
this peculiar authority as that of Jesus
Christ. It is by subnission and
obedience to it that they rise when
fallen. It is by faith in this authority
and its depositaries of every degree
that they receive the teachings of the
true faith. It is to this they have re-
course in order to be admitted to the
participation of the sacraments and
all the treasures of the church. And
thus all, whoever they may be, re-
main attached to this authority by
tlie intelligence that affirms the same
truth, the will that observes the same
law, and the heart that draws from
the same sources of life ; a unity of
faith, of obedience, and of the sacra-
ments — a triple unity realized by Je-
sus Christ and his vicar, to whom all
hearts, all inclinations, and all minds
adhere as luminous rajrs to their cen-
tre and source. It is true that this
adhesion has not among all the same
strength and efficacy; sometimes it is
• Sermoo on the Unity of the Churcfa.
purely exterior, and yet it exists in a
certain manner till the rupture is con-
summated either by excommunica-
tion or by manifest schism and here-
sy. But, thanks be to God, the
number of the faithful is always im-
mense in whom this imion is full and
entire. And they accomplish there-
by a mystery of unity still more dose
and wonderful than that which we
have just considered. It is given to
the authority of Peter, who visibly
imites the faithful, to bind them also
together invisibly by the ineffeble tie
of the communion of saints — the
crown and full consummation of uni-
ty. But no; the vicar of Christ has
yet another privilege by virtue of the
power that he has received of bind-
ing and loosing in heaven as well as
on earth — ^he opens the entrance to
the eternal mansions. The souls sub-
missive till the end to his authority,
and ruled by the power of his attrac-
tion, rise and mount to become living
stones in the harmonious construc-
tion of the celestial temple :
FnhripolitM mmUt0^
Ha$%e saxa nwltm cotutrmimt^
Aptisquejuncta itexih$s,
LtcatUur m/mttigic
* Thb Tast edifice, even to the pediment, is com-
poeed of atones poliajied by the nuUet of the work-
man and skilfully joined together,"
It is thus that the gigantic edifice
of the Vatican dome, after taking root
around the tomb of the apostles,
springs up from the soil on its four enor-
mous supports, binding them toget])er
by the key-stone of its vast arches,
and then, gathering itself together,
rises more and more resplendent,
more and more transfigured, till, at the
moment of uniting all its ascending
lines, it half opens to form a sublime
sanctuary around the Ancient of Days,
whose form beams forth from its very
top.
It is grand to assist in the basilica
of St. Peter at one of these solemnities
which are like splendid foreshadow-
The Basilica of St. PeUr.
383
ings of the future state of souls in their
glorious union with God. Behold
around the choir the inscriptions en-
graved on marble. They recall the
dearest and most solemn festival that
has yet been celebrated in our age —
the proclamation of the dogma of the
Immaculate Conception. That day
witnessed under these arches the tri-
umph of Catholic unity, as well as
the triumph of the Virgin conceived
without sin. The accounts of ocu-
lar witnesses, still remembered by all,
have made us familiar with that great
manifestation of the cor unum and
the anima una^ of the " one heart "
and "one soul," when, at a word
fix)ra Pius IX., the act of faith, full,
absolute, and unanimous, burst forth
in loving tones from the hearts of the
two hundred prelates and bishops,
and the multitudes of priests reunited
in this basilica, then resounded with
one accord fix)m the souls of forty or
fifty thousand of the faithful likewise
assembled in the same church, and was
prolonged in repeated echoes from
the lips of the two hundred millions
of Catholics scattered throughout the
world. Since that time two or three
manifestations almost as glorious
have been made in this basilica, and
in all cases the great episcopal hierar-
chy, represented by a vast deputa-
tion, have inclined before the word
of their august chief, believing what
he believes, approving what he ap-
proves, and condemning what he
condemns ; and in all cases also the
universal voice of true Catholics,
whether present at Rome bodily or
only in spirit and in heart, has risen
to hail with one acclamation the in-
fallible decisions of the successor of
Peter.
But how can we forget the last
festival, so sweetly and deliciously
touching, which has just been cele-
brated in this grand basilica ? That
also was a brilliant manifestation
and triiunph of unity; of that unity
the sweetest and most beautiful of
all others — ^that of brethren of the
great Catholic family around their
father and their pope, to celebrate
with him the golden wedding of his
old age so long and painfully tried,
but ever courageous and serene, and
always blessed by God. There were
mingled people of all ages, of every
condition, and, morally speaking, of
every race and nation on the globe.
And these representatives of all na-
tions, divided among themselves not
less by distance than by their inter-
ests, prejudices, and hereditary enmi-
ties, and perhaps — ^who knows ? — on
the point of renewing old fratricidal
struggles, drawn in against their will
by the calculations of human policy —
they were all there, drawn together
and united by mutual love for their
common father ! And doubtless there
was among them another source of
division. I refer to divergence of
opinions — opinions more or less cor-
rect, more or less at variance with
the truth. There are alwa]rs such in
the bosom of Catholic unity. But
admire the strength of this imity, re-
maining still intact in the midst of
these elements of discord. We know
that every assent given to mere opin-
ions is necessarily conditional in this
sense — ^that every Catholic worthy
of the name is always ready to yield
them to the teachings of revealed
truth. Adhesion to the faith, on the
contrary, is absolute, without condi«
tion or reserve, and moreover, this
adhesion extends not only to the
truths that the church requires us di-
rectly and expressly to believe, but
also to the whole order of truths con-
tained in the depository of revelation.
What takes place, then, when the soul
of the believer finds himself dinging
to an erroneous opinion ? That which
happens in the physical order when
two forces are in opposition to one
^
384
The Basilica qf Si. PeUr.
another — the more feeble is absorbed
by the overruling force. By virtue
of the same law of moral dynamics,
foithy which is an absolute afiinna-
tion, neutralizes and absorbs an erro-
neous opinion, which is only a condi-
tional affirmation ; in other terms, the
latter is disavowed — ^retracted by the
very fact that he makes a genuine
act of faith. And this is how, among
Catholics, the unity of the faith
bursts forth and triumphs even in
the midst of the causes that would
seem to destroy, or at least to modi-
fy.it
You will not expect me to describe
this sacerdotal festival in detail. It
was at once solemn and grand, as
well as simple, popular, and affecting.
Besides, other accounts have made
you as familiar with all this as it is
possible to be with what is indescrib-
able. I will only select from the
wonderful whole one thing which per-
haps escaped general attention. It
was at the moment when the grandest
72r Deum I ever heard was resound-
ing beneath the arches of the basihca
like the voice of the great deep.
When this verse of the Ambrosian
hymn was being chanted, Te per or-
hem terraruM sancta confitftur eccle-
sial — ^**The holy church acknow-
ledges thee throughout the whole
earth" — Pius IX. raised his hands to
his eyes as if to collect his thoughts.
It was as if his mind wandered off
from one hemisphere to the other — to
every region where there is a Catho-
lic church — and saw the entire world
communing in thought with him;
praying with him, and with him ren-
dering glory and thanksgiving to
God. And indeed, as you know,
at that same hour, millions of souls
scattered over the globe were united
in a general concert of prayer in or-
der to join themselves more com-
pletely to him who was more than
ever the great Chief of Prayer, as
the savages of the new wodd saUime-
ly style the vicar of Jesus Christ
I can boldly declare that in no
time, no place, did any man, any
king and father of a nation, any pon-
tiff, perhaps any saint, have such an
ovation, such a manifestation of uni-
versal love; and I say further that
this was not merely a triumph, but a
miracle of supernatural union in the
church — a miracle doubtless presage
ing still greater to come.
I have said that this jubilee of
Pius IX. drew representatives from
the whole Catholic world to Rome.
The city of imity was on that day
also the city of Catholicity par excel-
knee. This last characteristic, how-
ever, Rome does not manifest only
on extraordinary occasions, but p»-
manently by its physical and moral
position. " If a nation i>ossessed a
cathedral surrounded by a portico to
which each province had furnished
an arcade or column which bore its
name, this monument would be a har-
monious emblem of the diversity to
be found in the unity of this people.
There is something analogous to this in
the Christian world." In the shadow
of the great basilica of the popes most
nations have their church, their fes-
tivals, and their national tombs.
Each one finds some sacred monu-
ment bearing on the history of his
country. Every one breathes here, in
the atmosphere of religion, his native
air. National establishments, reunit-
ed in the same city by political or
commercial interests, represent con-
cord less than division. Counting-
rooms are rivals, altars are brethren.
This is 'one cause of the sentiment
that almost every one experiences
who hves for some time in Rome, far
from his native country. Nowhere
does one feel so much at home as in
this city." • If one comes from a re-
mote province of Lower Brittany oc
The Basilica of St. Peter.
385
from the extremities of Ireland, from
the depths of Ethiopia, the Indies, or
the two Americas, he finds every-
where sanctuaries, tombs, institutions,
offerings exvoto, and indeed all kinds
of mementoes that recall the far-off
country. The prelacy, the priest-
hood, and the religious orders have
representatives from all countries.
The army itself has a cosmopolitan
character. You see there, under the
noble garb of the Zouave, the dark
skin of the African beside the white
face of the Dutchman or Canadian.
Whoever you may be, you are sure
not to be wholly isolated or un-
known. Soon a familiar accent or
an unforeseen accident will reveal a
comp>atriot or a friend. It is impos-
sible to forget your country; it be-
comes dearer to you than ever.
You appreciate it perhaps more fully,
but the narrowness of your former
attachment is destroyed by contact
with the broad spirit of Catholicity
which penetrates you.
He who has the leisure to exam-
ine certain statistics will find at Rome
evidences of Catholicity even in ex-
amining the list of travellers, or the
missives of the mails, or even the ca-
talogues of gifts sent to the holy fa-
ther, and especially that of the of-
ferings he recently received for the ju-
bilee of his priesthood. All this and
many other things constantly verify
a proverb now misinterpreted, and too
trivial to be quotec^ but which the an-
cients expressed very nobly, "All
roads lead to Rome." There is this
difference — the roads leading to the
Rome of Sts. Peter and Paul are far
more extended than those of the Rome
of Romulus and Remus. What one
only accomplished by force of arms,
the other has effected by the uni-
versality of evangelical preaching.
Without leaving the Vatican basili-
ca we can discover, on all sides, au-
thentic proofs of this universality.
VOL. X. — 25
On the day of solemn functions,
when the pope celebrates the holy
sacrifice, " a Greek deacon offi-
ciates beside a Latin deacon, and
chants the Gospel in the language of
St. Luke. A Greek archbishop also
assists at it as well as one of the Ar-
menian Church. The Syriac Church
has also its ministers at the holy see.
The presence of these bishops and
these priests of different rites is not a
mere spectacle unsustained by reali-
ty. They are representatives of
churches scattered throughout the
East.* We have many other reflec-
tions to make on this subject, but
they must be reserved, with a thou-
sand things, till a future time. See
now, on the tablet that perpetuates
the remembrance of the formal deci-
sion respecting the Immaculate Con-
ception, the names of the bishops
who were present. The titles of a
great number of their churches
would be vainly sought for in the an-
cient diptychs. They assert the pre-
sence of the Catholic hierarchy in re-
gions unknown to the fathers of Nice
or even of Trent. See, further on,
the confessionals ranged around the
southern transept; the inscriptions
they bear notify you that there are
penitentiaries and confessors who
speak all the principal languages of
Europe, including that of Greece.
Behold also' a bas-relUf^ peculiarly
significant, under the statue of Gre-
gory XVI. It is symbolical of the
most glorious event of his reign — the
institution of the work of the propa-
gation of the faith. At the feet of the
pontiff are the types of almost all races,
who render him their tributes of vene-
ration and gratitude. There is an-
other idea under this symbol: it
shows that the see of Peter is the
source of the apostolic missions, the
centre of a power which is expansive
and subjugating, and the focus of
*'E9quund*R0m€Ckittumtu,yfA,l c ii.
386
The Basilica of St Peter,
that divine light which seeks to be
difl'used throughout the entire heart
of humanity.
It is in truth from Rome that the
great evangelizers of nations have
set out. To mention here only a
few, and not the most ancient, Pa-
trick, the apostle of Ireland, wished,
as is said in his Acts, " to repair to
the see founded on a rock. He wish-
ed to comprehend more fully the
canonical laws of the holy Roman
Church, and obtain for his mission
and his labors the strength derived
from the apostolic authority." He
came then to the tomb of the holy
i^K)stles, and set out again with the
benediction of Pope St. Celestin I.,
as at a later date the monk Augustin
departed, sent by St. Gregory I. to
evangelize England. Another pope
of the same name, St. Gregory II.,
had the glory of conferring his bless-
ing on the monk Wilfrid, the great
apostle of Germany. He summon-
ed him to his presence in the church
of St. Peter, and consecrated him
bishop after having changed his name
to Boniface. After his consecration,
he placed in the Confession of St.
Peter a writing that ended with these
words:
** I, Boniface, an unworthy bishop, have
written with my own hand this paper con-
taining my oath of fidelity, and, in placing
it on the sacred body of St Peter, I pro-
mise to keep this vow before God, who is
my witness and my judge.'' . • •
St Corbinian, who was also one
of the first preachers of Christianity
in Germany; St. Amandus, who
preached on the shores of the Ga-
ronne, the Escaut, and the Danube,
and St Kilian, who evangelized Fran-
conia, came likewise to prostrate
themselves at the Confession of St
Peter, whence set forth in other times
Paul, Formosus, Donatus, Leo, and
Marinus, sent by Pope Nicholas I.
among the Bulgarians; Egidius,
Bishop of Tusculum, sent to Poland
by Pope John XIII.; and Waiibald,
Prochorius, etc., who received an
apostolic mission to Vandalia.*
Let us also mention St Anscharius,
who was sent by Gregory IV. as le-
gate to the Swedes, Danes, Icelanders,
and all the northern nations. Two
other apostles who evangelized a
great race, now, alas ! almost entirely
given over to schism, kindled their
missionary ardor at the tomb of the
Prince of the Apostles. After having
commenced their apostolic labors
among the Sclaves, St Cyril and
St Methodiiis came to Rome to
receive episcopal consecration, and
celebrated here the first mass in the
Sclavonic language, t Then, their
second evangelical expedition being
terminated, they both returned to
Rome. One of them, Cyril, died
here, and his tomb, placed beside that
of Pope St. Clement, remains as a
perpetual memorial of his attachment
to the centre of unity and of Catho-
licity.
It would take too long to mention
here the names of all the other apos-
tles who set forth from Rome before
or after the most illustrious of all —
St. Francis Xavier. We will only re-
mark that the numerous pupils that
the Roman ecclesiastical seminaries
have sent on a mission never fail to
kindle their zeal at the Confession of
the Prince of the Apostles.
One of these ^minaries requires
special notice, because it is in itself
a proof of Catholicity and of the prin-
ciple which engenders a Catholic
spirit. I wish you could have been
present, as I was, at the festival that
the Propaganda celebrated on the
Sunday in the octave of the Epipha-
ny. You would have heard speak or
chant in their own languages Greeks,
• Esguisu de Rom* ChrttUnne vol. i. c 6.
• My learned con/rht^ Father MartinoS; has be«
•o kind as to translate a passage from an aodcal
manuscript attesting this interesting fiict.
Tlu Basilica of St. Peter.
3^7
Syrians, and I know not how many
fix)m other nations— even a negro
from Senegambia, who was not ap-
plauded the least, for, though his
ttwlo/ was understood by hardly any
one, his powerful and pathetic voice
made an extraordinary impression on
the whole audience. A composition
in verse, recited some years ago at
one of these exhibitions, sets forth in
a happy manner the peculiar charac-
ter of this house. Here is an extract
from it which you wiH not read with-
out pleasure :
** Toute direntt^i vient id se confoodre :
Le Chinois parie au Turc surpris de lui r^pondre,
Gambier par I'Indoostan se laitae interroger,
Le nigre ouvre ToreUle aux doux chanU de U
Gr^e,
Et dans c« chceur de voix, qui t'ainirandit aana
cesse,
Diett prepare une place au Bedouin d' Alger.
Rome t c*e3t dans ton sein que leur accord s*opire I
Dans ce chaos de mots qui divise la terre,
L'harmonie apparlt dh* qu'on prie avec tui ;
Ton hymne universel est le concert des imes,
Le Dieu de I'unit^ que seule tu proclames,
£n nos accents divers entend la m&ne foi.
Sor tout rivage o& peut aborder une voile,
Tes apotres s'cn vont, gutd^ par ton ^toile,
Des peoples renouer Tantique parent^ ;
La vikit^ re£ut ce qu^a d^truit le crime,
£t Rome, de Babel antipodc sublime,
Dtt genre humain 6pars reconstruit l*unit£*'
All races are here mingled. The Chinaman con-
verses with the surprised Turk, and Gambia is ques-
tioned by Hindostan. The negro listens to the sweet
diants <^ Greece, and in this choir of voices, con-
stantly increasing. Providence has prepared a place
for the Bedouin of Algiers.
Rome, it is in thy bosom that this union is effect-
ed I In the confusion of tongues which divides the
nations, harmony is restored by union with thee. AU
•ools join in thy universal hymn. The God of unity,
whoa thou alone prodaimest, hears the same accent
of ^th in our different languages.
Thy apostles, guided by thy stjur, go forth to every
ihore where a vessel can land, to bind all nations to
their venerable head. Truth repairs the devastations
of sin, and Rome, sublime an tipode of Babel, re-
Hores the unity of the scattered human race.
These verses quoted by the Abbrf
Gerbet, and which he had, I think,
composed himself for that occasion,
express with a rare felicity this uni-
que character of Christian Rome,
which is the harmonious fusion of
Catholicity with unity. Besides, are
not these two prerogatives one and
the same thing under two different
aspects? For what is Catholicity
but a unity which expands and is
diffusive? And what is unity but
Catholicity drawn to its centre ?
The name of Holy City, now sy-
nonymous with that of Rome, im-
plies another characteristic, not less
brilliant, not less peculiar of the
church which is one and universal.
The Vatican basilica — for it is this we
are particularly studying — seems to
have been constructed and arranged
expressly to prove that the church is
the mother of the saints. Remem-
ber, first, that this temple has been
for a long time the only sanctuary
used at the great festivals of beatifi-
cation and canonization. It is use-
less to recall th# ceremonies of this
kind that have recently been cele-
brated here with so much solemnity ;
but what is not useless to remark is,
that the public honors conferred on
these heroes of sanctity have always
been preceded by examinations so
minute and scrupulously careful that
the most distrustful critic could n9t,
without the loss of human confidence,
resist the light of evidence. Look
up above the arches of the grand
nave. There, on a level with the
acanthus leaves of the pilasters, are
the colossal representations and per-
sonifications of the Christian virtues,
mingling like the flora of heaven with
the vegetation of earth. Are there
only mere symbols there? Look a
little lower down, and you will dis-
cover something else. Ranged around
the nave firom the choir and the tran-
septs to the porticoes are the statues of
the founders of the religious orders, be-
ginning with the patriarch St. Benedict
and ending with St. Vincent de Paul
and St Theresa ; and under the form of
these great leaders, the eye of thought
beholds an innumerable number of
holy souls — monks or religious — ^who,
following their footsteps, have ac-
quired the palm of sanctity. This
388
The Basilica of St, Peter.
brilliant array of saints around the
basilica does not end at the threshold
of the temple. Go for a moment into
the grand portico, and you will see
the chain continued and prolonged
on the immense colonnade of the
square. There is a whole nation of
martyrs, pontiffs, confessors, and vir-
gins, ranged like a procession before
the Saviour and his apostles, whose
images look down from the facade
of the basilica. And entering anew
into the nave, you will find on the
pillars of the three first balustrades
at the right and left, the medallions
of the first popes, almost all martyrs ;
and this is not a complete list of
those who are honored as saints.
There are more than eighty here who
bear this title ; and how many more
are also worthy of being numbered
with them ! For, in spite of some
stains that calumny has vainly mag-
nified, the successors of Peter have
brilliantly justified the title of Holy
See conferred on the Roman chair,
and have left in history the most lu-
minous train in the annals of sanc-
tity. You see also the fine mosaics
on the projecting arches of the small
domes — they, are the doctors and the
fathers of the chiu*ch; and among
them you will find these grand orien-
tal figures : St. Flavian, St Germa-
nus of Constantinople, and St. John
Damascene. Beneath the altars of
the lateral chapels you will discover
the bodies of these other incompara-
ble glories of the ancient oriental
church : St. Basil the Great, St. Gre-
gory of Nazianzen, and St. John
Chrysostom. The whole church is
in a manner paved with the tombs
of the saints.* Do not forget that
this is the place where Nero, the
greatest of persecutors, had the Chris-
tians of Rome burned as torches be-
fore his atrocious eyes. Add to all
• Tutto il ^ivimtnto tUlF isUssa ckUsa i ^Uno di
%e^0kri di Mnti. Bosi^ H^ma S^tUr. p. 33.
these venerable relics, the number-
less others that St Peter's possesses
in its treasury, without mentioning a
second time the ashes of the holy
apostles, and your faith will behold a
thousand times more beauty and bril-
liancy in the august remains that
adorn this grand basilica than in one
of its great illuminations, though the
finest in the world.
And what would we find if we
could examine all the other sanctua-
ries of Rome and its immense ceme-
teries ? The catacombs alone have
furnished for the veneration of the
faithful an incalculable number of
bones of martyrs, and the richness
of these mines, so fruitful in sanctity,
has not yet been exhausted. Differ-
ent circumstances have contributed
to bring together at Rome relics fit)m
the entire Christian world. The
most humble oratories and chapels
display such treasures wiihout num-
ber. ** One would say that from al-
most every region where the gospel
has been preached — from the moun-
tains of Armenia to the forests of
America, from the shores of England
to the caves of Japan — the most of
those who were martyrs by the shed-
ding of their blood, or martyrs of
charity, have been desirous that some
part of themselves should join this
great council of catacombs. The
ancient Christians sometimes desig-
nated the cemeteries of the martyis
by the name of councils." A list has
been drawn up of the countries and
cities which were the birthplace, the
residence, or the tombs of the saints
whose relics are at Rome. This geo-
graphical selection is in a manner a
funereal atlas of the Christian world.
.... What constellations of tombs
are here ! An antiquary has happily
said they form the subterranean heawn
of Rome If you connect in
imagination with the different parts of
this reliquary of the universe the vir-
The Basilica of St, Peter.
389
tues that each specially represents,
and which altogether afford the least
imperfect likeness of the God-man,
you will see in the midst of this
campo santo of the Christian world
the most sublime image of the Saviour
that can be found on earth; for it is
not produced by colors, or composed
of pieces of marble, but of the mem-
bers of those who lived the life of
Jesus Christ — a kind of mosaic doubly
sacred by reason of what it represents
and the materials of which it is com-
posed, in which each part contributes
to reproduce more grandly the image
with which it is itself stamped. Every
Christian era has contributed to this
work, and Rome is the sepulchre
where this mysterious form will re-
pose till the last day.* . . .
This is not all. Relics much more
sacred than those of the saints* are
also reunited in this great metropolis.
Pious pilgrims may venerate con-
siderable fragments of the wood of
the manger and of the true cross, as
well as the inscription in three lan-
guages that Pilate attached to it.
They can climb the staircase of the
pretorium which the Saviour must
have ascended and descended several
times, and on which may be still seen
traces of his blood. Finally, (for I
cannot tell all,) from the tribune of
the Vatican basilica there is exposed,
on certain solemn occasions, the holy
* I am sorry to abri<^ these quotations from the
Abb6 Gerbet. They should be read in their connec-
tioQ in order to comprehend the beautiful develop-
ment of his ideas. I wished to make numerous
atracts from this great writer, first, because they
would be the most brilliant part of these pages, and
that they might cause a book too little known, in
spite of its eminent merits, to be more appreciated.
WUoerer truly wishes to know Rome, should read
and re-read PEsquisse d* Romf CkrHunnt. Al>
tbot^ this work was not as fully finished as the cele-
brated Bishop of Perpignan intended, he implies to a
certain degree what he does not say, for he possesses
atoggestiTe talent which is the peculiarity of genius.
He opens to us new perspectives. His broad reli-
CioQs and philosophic views of Rome direct and
develop the personal views of the reader who atten-
tively studies the place. Such has been my expe-
rience, and I wish that all instructed Christians who
cone to Rome coold experience it more fully.
face imprinted on the veil of Vero-
nica, a part of the true cross, and the
lance that pierced the heart of Jesus
after his death. What was most
precious at Jerusalem providence has
transferred to Rome, to show that it
is henceforth a new Jerusalem — the
holy city and the treasury of the
merits of Jesus Christ.
This accumulation of relics and
sacred memorials gives to Rome a
peculiar power of profoundly moving
every Christian heart. It is well
known that it is particularly in this
holy city that are wrought the won-
ders of divine grace — the most extra-
ordinary conversions. When one has
a soul reasonable and noble enough
to rise above prejudice and common
views, when one is capable of tasting
the gift of God, it is impossible not
to feel the sweet influence of this at-
mosphere all impregnated with su-
pernatural odors. All the religious
monuments, all the sanctuaries, every
atom of dust, so to speak, of this soil
impregnated with the blood of mar-
tyrs, cause in the worthy heart, an
emotion more penetrating and pow-
erful than any other on earth. And
whatever frivoHty or hatred — too of-
ten agreed — may say, these impres-
sions are not weakened by observing
the Roman people in general, or the
majority of the pilgrims to the Holy
City, or its adopted children ; on the
contrary, the sight of the crowds
kneeling on the pavements of the
churches or proceeding with grave
thoughtfulness to the stations and re-
ligious festivals, has its share in affect-
ing the very fibres of each Christian
heart. All this I know does not
move those who quench the light,
according to the expression of
Holy Writ: these can, if they
choose, repeat the insolent proverb,
Roma veduta^ fede perduta — " To see
Rome is to lose your faith;" and,
after all, they are right ; for when the
390
The Basilica of St Peter,
eyes are diseased, nothing blinds them
more easily than the rays of the sun.
Is there any need of adding that
in this respect the Roman Church
defies all comparison with schisraati-
cal or Protestant churches, wherever
they may be? I confine myself to
one question: where is the city in
England, Germany, or Russia that,
after attracting to it the noblest and
most sincere souls in the world, im-
poses on them the irresistible desire
of abjuring the religion of their fa-
thers, as illustrious Protestants have
often done at Rome ? This strange
phenomenon, diis power of convert-
ing, pecuHar to Rome, and to Rome
alone, suffices to prove to those who
can reason from cause to effect that
the Roman Church is truly a holy
and sanctifying church, as it is a
church indivisible, catholic, and
apostolic — unamj sanctum, catholi-
cam, et apostolicam ccclcsiam.
All these privileges, these charac-
teristic signs of the true church are
found, as we have seen, in the basili-
ca of St. Peter. It is more than cer-
tain that no premeditated intention
has produced this lapidary and mon-
umental synthesis. All has been
brought about in a spontaneous man-
ner — effected only by a sense of the
truth here set forth, and whose inspi-
rations have been followed. The
Vatican basilica has become an im-
mense book, which shows on every
leaf the authentic proofs and charac-
teristics assigned by Christian anti-
quity as the means of recognizing
the true institution founded by Jesus
Christ.
It seems to me there is no need
of prolonging these observations to
show the correspondence I mention-
ed at first, between this basilica and
the solemn reunion which is soon to
take place under its arches.
When the Council of the Vatican
holds there its grand sessions, the very
stones of the edifice will cry aloud,
lapidcs clamabunty to attest that the
church is indivisible — one in its faith,
its government, its sacraments and
worship, and united in all these by
the unity of its priesthood to its cen-
tral authority. The stones of the ba-
silica will proclaim by their inscrip-
tions, their statues, and all the sacred
mementoes of which they are the
witnesses and depositories, that this is
the church alone Catholic, the only
origin and source of Catholicity;
alone holy, the only mother of the
saints, and the only source of sancti-
ty. They will unite their voice to
that of the monuments and tombs in
declaring that this is the church
alone apostolic — the only inheritor
of the see and privileges of Peter,
and, consequently, the only founda-
tion of all other churches.
The Vatican basilica possesses a
particular memorial which I have not
yet mentioned, and which is a mate-
rial proof of the legitimate succession
of Peter in the Roman Church. It
is the chair once used by the Prince
of the Apostles. This incomparable
relic was exposed to the veneration
of the faithful at the eighteenth cen-
tenary of the martyrdom of St Peter.
Since that day it has been religiously
enclosed in the walls of the basilica ;
but if it is no longer visible to the
eye, there is, at the end of the apsis,
a symbolical representation which
eloquently expresses the same idea.
It is the apostolic chair supported by
the^four great doctors of the East and
West, St. Augustine and St. Ambrose,
St. Athanasius and St. John Chrj-sos-
tom. In conferring on them the
glory of supporting the chair of Peter
the genius of art has only expressed
the constant language of their deeds
and their writings, condensed in an
expression of St. Augustine, " The pri-
macy of the apostolic see has always
been confined to the Church of
The Basilica of St. Peter.
391
Rome." A similar testimony in fa-
vor of the Roman primacy has been
given by other doctors and founders
of churches whose forms adorn the
basilica, or whose bodies repose un-
der its altars. They all proclaim
the rights of the apostolic see in
union with St. Jerome, "It is on
this rock that the church was found-
ed ; whoever eats of the lamb out of
this house is defiled." They all pro-
claim with St. Irenaeus that *'all
churches ought to rally around that
of Rome on account of its prepon-
derating preeminence," as the smaller
domes of the basilica surround the
great dome to render homage to its
royal dignity, propter potiorem pritui-
palitaUm. Finally, the same testimo-
ny is rendered to the supremacy of
St Peter's chair by the immense
"council of catacombs," by all the
saints whose relics repose in this
campo sanfOy this "holy 'field" of the
Christian world. Their remains are
the glory of the Roman communion
in which they professed to live and
die, and, all dead as they are, they
speak and prophesy that this church
will be till the end the true taberna-
cle of God with man.
Thus, when Pius IX. takes his
seat to preside at the august coun-
cil, he will be surrounded by all
the proofs that assert the plenitude
of his apostolic authority — the testi-
mony of the martyrs and holy con-
fessors, of the doctors and founders
of churches, of the popes his prede-
cessors and all the traditions they re-
tcpresent; finally, the testimony of
Jesus Christ himself, whose words the
Vatican basilica expresses in various
ways : " Thou art Peter^ and upon this
fock I unit build my church
And I will give to thee the keys of the
kingdom of heaven / have
frayed for thee that thy faith fail not,
Feed my sheep. Feed my
^ky Surrounded by so many
proofs of his power, of which no
other place in the world can give
a recapitulation more sblemnly elo-
quent, the successor of Peter can
here claim, with more reason than
anywhere else, the prerogatives of
the Prince of the Aposdes; he can
apply to himself the words graven on
the pedestal of the bronze statue of
St. Peter, " Behold in my person the
Divine Word, the rock beautifully
wrought with gold, upon which I
now stand immovable."
The bishops also will find in the
basilica more monuments than in any
other place in the world that attest
the divine right they have received to
govern the church with the successor
of St. Peter, and under his supreme
authority. The expressive statues
of Athanasius, Ambrose, Augustine,
Flavian, and Germanus of Constanti- •
nople, the bodies of Basil the Great,
Gregory of Nanzianzen, and Chr)rsos-
tom will be there to proclaim the
glory, the privileges, and the inalien-
able rights of the episcopacy. But
especially the united relics of the
apostolic college of whom the bish-
ops are collectively the successors,
the constant presence of this " coun-
cil of Jerusalem" will be a proof that
it belongs to them to judge in all
matters of faith and discipline, and to
appropriate the august formula, "It
hath seemed good to the Holy Ghost
and to us" — Visum est Spiritui Sancto
et nobis.
The Son of God himself will give
to the council of the Vatican very
special pledges of his protection and
love. I have already mentioned the
precious relics of the Passion, the im-
print of the divine face, his cross
which redeemed the worid, and the.
lance that brought forth blood and
water from his heart — symbols of
baptism and all the treasures of grace.
The Catholic faith has the assurance
of the divine assistance promised to*
392
The Basilica of St Peter,
oecumenical councils. It cannot re-
ceive from the presence of these vene-
rable objects any substantial aug-
mentation; but they may produce a
sensible excitation, and will be a very
special pledge of reasonable hope;
and besides, if it is true that certain
privileged places have the power of
profoundly moving the soul, how can
it be denied that this virtue evidentiv
belongs to the basilica of St. Peter ?
Yes, it is right that the greatest event
of our age should take place in this
temple — the largest in the world —
under these arches which astonish us
the more the longer we regard them,
because they give us an ever new
sensation of immensity and majesty.
It is right that the representatives of
the universal church should be face
to face with the immortal monuments
of apostolicity, unity, catholicity, and
sanctity ; in presence of these tombs
of the sovereign pontiffs and great
bishops; in contact, so to speak, with
the comer-stone on which whoever
falls shall be broken. It is right that
in looking down into the glorious
tombs of Sts. Peter and Paul they
should behold the very origin of
Christianity ; and this at a time when
there is a question of the renovation
and modification of Christian society.
Finally, it is right that, in laboring upon
this superhuman work, they should
have before them the eloquent exam-
ples of their glorious predecessors
in the same work, and likewise
the visible signs and authentic proofs
of the assistance, protection, and
blessing of Heaven. All these me-
mentoes and holy objects will inspire
the fathers of the council with a more
profound sentiment of the greatness
of their task and a deeper conscious-
ness of their strength ; and when they
behold on the dome the representa-
tion of the Father of light, from whom
Cometh every perfect gift, that of the
eternal Shepherd surrounded by his
apostles and the Queen of saints, and
that of the Spirit of truth hovering
over the tomb of St Peter and over
his symbolic chair, they will feel more
fully that they are not vain represen-
tations; they will hear and compre-
hend with a more profound and in-
tense emotion the words of the divine
promises, Behold I am with you, . .
As the Father hath sent me^ so have 2
sent you / will send you the
Bzraclete^ who shall teach you all truth.
He who heareth you hear-
eth me : he who despiseth you despiseth
me. He who believeth shall be saved:
he who believeth not shall be con-
demned,
I have endeavored to present some
of the reflections suggested by the
Vatican basilica by reason of the com-
ing council. From the same point of
view we might find many other per-
spectives not less interesting, by tak-
ing new positions near the tombs of
the holy apostles.
For the present, however, it is time
to close. Let us leave these sacred
walls after having kissed anew the re-
vered foot of Peter. In traversing the
great square, let us read the celebrat-
ed inscription graven by Sixtus V. on
the obelisk, and which, it is to be
hoped, will have, by means of the
council, its entire verification, Chris-
tus vincit — Chris tus regnat — Christus
imperat, Christus ab omni malo pie-
bem suam defendat, " Christ over-
comes — Christ reigns — Christ rules.
May Christ defend his people fi^ra
every evil."
And now, before separating, let us
ascend for a moment one of the hills
of Rome to contemplate this great
basilica from a distance, at the hour
preferred by visitors, when the sun is
about to set behind the dome. Here
listen to the Hnes of a poet whose
name is dear to us by so many titles :
•* Dair altezza del Pincio contcmplando
II disceso all' oocaso Astro primiero.
Beecher's Norwood.
393
Ammirairam siccome eg^i* toocando
La divina Basilica di Piero,
Arricchisca di luce i suoi tesori
£ con celeste amor si fermi a cingeria
Di rubini, xaffiri et fulgid' ori ;
lo quindi ammutolia.
M> intesi una piii fervida, pii^ pia
Alma esclamar : ' Son quelle
Le due dell' universe opre piA belle
Onde materia sublimata adomisi :
Dio per 1' uom quella Lampa in ciel ponea,
Al suo Signor 1' uomo quel tempio ergea.
1 1»
Contemplating afer from PJncio's height
ITic monarch orb slow sinking in the west,
Enrapt we stood to sec him touch the shrine
Of Peter, the Basilica divine-
Enriching all its treasures with his light :
And bow his love its grandeur did invest
With robe of rubies, sapphires, and bright gold.
And I withal grew voiceless at the sight ;
But one, a soul of purer beat than mine,
Made utterance at my side, * In these behold
Two works, of all which matter can unfold
Of ornament, creation's loveliest.
God set for man that lamp in yonder sky :
Man to bis Lord this temple raised on high.' "
Yes, Silvio Pellico is right: there
are before us two of the finest crea-
tions in the universe. The light that
God has suspended in the firmament
to shine on man, and this temple
that man has erected to honor hiK
God. But if the divine basilica of
Peter appears so beautiful and radi-
ant when the sun surrounds it with
an aureola of i-ubies and sapphires,
what will it be when the look of faith,
which discovers things invisible, sees
it surrounded by the rays, a thousand
times more brilliant, of divine and in-
corruptible truth? Such, neverthe-
less, will be the spectacle Catholic
souls will enjoy when is accomplished
what the bishops in a celebrated ad-
dress have styled the great work of
light — grande opus illuminationis,
Rome, April 19, 1869.
BEECHER'S NORWOOD. •
[Our delay in noticing this book by a
distinguished author till the reading public
have probably forgotten it, has been purely
unintentional. We placed it, soon after its
publication, in the hands of one of our colla-
boratcurs, a genuine New Englander by
birth, education, and association, to prepare
a notice or a review of it, as he might judge
proper. He read it, no inconsiderable feat,
but was taken very ill, and lay for many
months with faint hopes of recovery. Dur-
ing his illness and for some time after his
recovery the book was forgotten. He now,
at this late day, sends us his judgment, and
we hasten to pay our respects to the author,
and our debt to the publishers. — Ed. Catil
World.]
The Beecher family is certainly a
remarkably gifted family, though we
think the father, Dr. Lyman Beecher,
was the best of them all. Yet his two
•AVnwwrf; or. Village Life in New England.
By HeoTy Ward Beecher. New York : Scribucr &
Co. 1868. lano, pp. 549.
daughters. Miss Catharine Beecher and
Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, are wo-
men of rare abilities, and have made
their mark on the times and sad havoc
with New England theology. Dr.
Edward Beecher has written se-
veral notable books, among which
may be mentioned Th^ Papal Con-
spiracy and the Conflict of the Agcs^
which prove him almost equally hos-
tile to Rome and to Geneva. Henry
Ward Beecher is the most distin-
guished of the sons, and probably
ranks as the most popular, certainly
the most striking, pulpit orator in the
country. But none of the family are
remarkable for purity of taste, refin-
ed culture,, or classical grace and
polish as writers. They would seem
to owe their success partly to their
audacity, but principally to a certain
394
Beechers Norwood,
rough vigor and energy of character,
and to their sympathy with the popu-
lar tendencies of their country. They
rarely take, never knowingly take, the
unpopular side of a question, or at-
tempt to stem the current of popular
opinion. They are of the world,
and the world loves them. They
never disturb its conscience by con-
demning its moral ideal, or calling
upon it to strive after a higher and
purer ideal. They have in an eminent
degree the genius of commonplace.
There are in Uncle Tom's Cabin and
The Minister's Wooing passages of rare
force and vigor, but they are not
very original, nor very recondite.
The Beecher genius is not lyrical or
dramatic, but essentially militant and
prosaic. It can display itself only
against an antagonist, and an antago-
nist at least about to fall under the
ban of public opinion. They have
some imitative ability, but little crea-
tive power, and rarely present us with
a living character. We remember only
two living characters in all Mrs.
Stowe's writings, Dred and the Wi-
dow Scudder; and we are not cer-
tain that these are not copies of ori-
ginals.
The author of Norwood is less of
an artist than his sister, Mrs. Stowe,
and under the relation of art his
novel is» below criticism. It contains
many just observations on various
topics, but by no means original or
profound ; it seizes some few of the
traits of New England village life;
but its characters, with the exception
of Judge Bacon, Agate Bissell, and
Hiram Beers, are the abstractions
or impersonations of the author's
theories. The author has little dra-
matic power, and not much wit or
humor. The persons or personages
of his book are only so many points
in the argument which he is carr^'ing
on against Calvinistic orthodoxy for
pure naturalism. The substance of
his volume seems to be made up of
the fag-ends of his sermons and lec-
tures. He preaches and lectures all
through it, and rather prosily mto the
bargain. His Dr. Wentworth is a
bore, and his daughter Rose, the he-
roine of the story, is a species of
bluestocking, and neither lovely
nor lovable. As a type of the New
England culrivated and accomplish-
ed lady she is a failure, and is hardly
up to the level of the New England
school-ma*am. The sensational in-
cidents of the story are old and worn
out, and the speculations on love
indicate very little depth of feeling or
knowledge of life, or of the human
heart. The author proceeds on a
theory, and so far shows his New
England birth and breeding, but he
seldom touches reality.
As a picture of New England vil-
lage life it is singularly imfortunate,
and still mere so as a picture of village
life in the valley of the Connecticut,
some twenty miles above Springfield,
in Massachusetts, where the scene is
laid, and where the tone and man-
ners of society in a village of five
thousand inhabitants, the number
Norwood is said to contain, hardly
differ in refinement and polish fh)m
the tone and manners of the better
classes in Boston and its vicini-
ty. There are no better families,
better educated, better bred, more
intellectual in the State, than are
to be found in no stinted numbers
in the towns of the Connecticut val-
ley, the garden of Massachusetts.
The book is full of anachronisms.
The peculiar New England traits
given existed to a certain extent, in
our boyhood, in back setdements or
towns not lying near any of the great
thoroughfares; but they have very
generally disappeared through the in-
fluence of education, the railroads,
which run in all directions through
the State, and the almost constant
Beechef^s Norwood.
39S
intercourse with the society of the
capital.
The turnpikes did much to destroy
the rustic manners and language of
the population of the interior villa-
ges, and the railroads have complet-
ed what they left undone. Save in
a few localities, there is no longer a
rustic population in Massachusetts,
and very little distinction between
the countryman and the citizen. In
small country villages you may find
Hiram Beers still, but Tommy Taft,
Polly Marble, and Agate Bissell are
of a past generation, and even in the
past belonged to Connecticut rather
than to the Old Bay State. Strangers
suppose the people of the several
New England States have all the
same characteristics, and are cut out
and made up after the same pattern ;
but in reality, except in the valley of
the Connecticut, where there is a
blending of the characteristics of the
adjoining States, the differences be-
tween the p>eople of one State and
those of another are so strongly
marked that a careful observer can
easily tell, on seeing a stranger, to
which of the six New England States
he belongs, without hearing him speak
a word, and not unfrequently the sec-
tion of his State from which he
comes. There is no mistaking a
Berkshire countryman for a Cape
Codder, or a Vermonter for a true
son of the Old Bay State, or a Rhode
Islander. The gait, the air, the
manners, the physiognomy even, tell
at once the man's native State. The
Vermonter is the Kentuckian of the
East, as the Georgian is the Yankee
of the South, and we have found no
two cities in the Union, and there are
few east of the Rocky Mountains
that we have not visited, where the
citizens of the one have so many
points of resemblance with those of
the other, as Boston, the metropolis
of New England, and Charleston, the
real capital of South Carolina, Ac-
cidental differences of course there
are, but the type of character is the
same, and the purest and best Ameri-
can type we have met with. And
we are very disinterested in our judg-
ment, for we are natives of neither
city nor State. In both we have the
true English type with its proper
American modifications. No two ci-
ties stood firmer, shoulder to shoul-
der, during the American war of inde-
pendence, " the times that tried men's
souls," than Boston and Charleston.
They became opposed not till, under
the lead of Philadelphia and the
Pennsylvania and Kentucky politi-
cians. Congress had fastened on the
country the so-called American sys-
tem, which struck a severe blow at
the commerce of New England, and
compelled its capitalists to seek in-
vestment for their capital in manu-
factures. It is a litde singular that
New England, which up to 1842 had
voted against every protective tariff
that had been adopted, should have
the credit or discredit of originating
and securing the adoption of the pro-
tective system. The ablest speech
ever made against the system in Con-
gress was made in 1824 by Mr.
Webster, then a member of the House
of Representatives from Boston. We
express no opinion on the question
between free-trade and so-called pro-
tection ; we only say that Pennsylva-
nia and Kentucky, not the New Eng-
land States, are chiefly responsible
for the protective system ; the very re-
mote cause, at least, of the late terri-
ble civil war between the North and
South, in which, if the victory was
for the Union, the South are likely to
be the gainers in the long run, and
the North the losers.
But we are wandering. Mr. Beech-
er speaks truly of the diversity and
originality of individual character in
New England, which you discover
396
Beechers Norufood.
when you have once broken through
the thin crust of conventionalism;
but he seems not to have observed
equally the marked differences of cha-
racter between the people of the seve-
ral States. The wit of a Massachu-
setts man is classical and refined;
of the Connecticut man sly, and not
incapable of being coarse; of the
Vennonter it is broad farce, and no-
body better than he can keep a com-
pany of good fellows in a roar till
morning. The Bay State man has a
strong attachment to tradition and to
old manners and customs, and his
innovating tendency is superinduced,
and is as repugnant to his nature as
Protestantism is to the perfenndum in-
^enium Scottorum, He is naturally a
conservative, as the Scotch are, if
we may so speak, naturally Catholic ;
and it was only a terrible wrench of
the Scottish nature that induced the
loyal Scots to adopt the Reformation.
The Connecticut man excels the
Bay State man in ingenuity, in inven-
tive genius, in doing much with lit-
tle ; is less conservative by nature,
and more enterprising and adventur-
ous, and in his exterior conduct more
under the influence of public opinion.
Each is proud of his State, and the
Connecticut man especially, who has
acquired wealth elsewhere, is fond of
returning to his early home to display
it ; but attachment to the soil is not
very strong in either, and neither will
make heavy sacrifices for simple love
of countr}'. The Bay State man is
more influenced by his principles, his
convictions, like the South Carolinian,
and the Connecticut man more by
his interests.
The Vermonter has no conservative
tendency by nature ; he cares not the
snap of his finger for what his father
believed or did ; is personally inde-
pendent, generally free from snobbish-
ness, no slave to public opinion, and
for the most part has the courage of
his convictions ; but he loves his State,
loves her green hills and fertile val-
leys, and when abroad holds a fellow-
Vermonter dear as his brother. A
Georgian and a Connecticut man are
fighting in Georgia ; the Connecticut
man looking on will wish his country-
man to get the better of his Geor-
gian opponent, but will not interpose
till he has inquired into the cause of
the dispute, and ascertained on which
side is the law. A Georgian and a
Vermonter are fighting under the same
circumstances; the Vermonter comes
up, looks, knocks the Georgian down,
rescues his countryman, and investi-
gates the cause and the law after-
ward. The Vermonter pays no at-
tention to the personal responsibility
he may incur ; the Coimecticut man
tries to keep always clear of the law;
and if he makes up his mind to do a
great wrong to some one, he takes
care to do it under cover of law, so
that no hold can be got of him. The
Bay State man is much the same;
and the Connecticut man has less of
patriotism than the Vennonter. We
speak of what was the case in our
own youth and early manhood ; yet
the character of the whole American
people has so changed during the
last forty years that we can hardly
any longer recognize them, and in
the judgment of an old man they
have changed not for tlie better.
We have no space to remark on
the characteristic differences of the
three remaining New England States.
These States have still less resem-
blance to each other. The people
of Maine differ widely from the peo-
ple of New Hampshire, and the peo-
ple of Rhode Island have very few
traits in common with the people of
any of the other New England States.
The author of Norwood has lost no
little of his own original New Eng-
land character or overlaid it with his
Westemism. He is not in sympathy
B^echer's Norwood,
397
with the true New England charac-
ter, as found in any of the New
England States, and is more disposed
to exaggerate, in his descriptions, its
few eccentricities than to bring out
its higher and nobler qualities. No
doubt the Puritan settlers of Massa-
chusetts and Connecticut set out
H-ith the intention of founding what
they regarded as a Christian com-
monwealth, in which the evangelical
counsels should be recognized and
enforced as laws. They would have
organized and maintained society,
except in not enjoining celibacy, after
the mode of a Catholic monastery.
They attempted by constant vigilance
and the strict enforcement of very
rigorous laws to shut out all vice and
immorality from their community.
They were rigorists in morals, some-
what rigid and stem in their personal
character, and have been generally
supposed to be much more so than
they really were. Their experiment
of a Christian commonwealth as it
existed in their own ideal failed, part-
ly through their defective faith and
the absence of supernatural grace,
and partly through their exacting too
much of human nature, or even of
men in the flesh, except an elect
few. But they, nevertheless, suc-
ceeded in laying the foundation of
^ Christian as distinguished from a
pagan republic, or in founding the
state, the first in history, on truly
Christian principles; that is, on the
lights of God, and which better than
*ny other known state has protected
^e rights of man.
The Puritan did not separate from
^e Church of England on the princi-
pk of liberty of dissent, or because
^c wished to establish what liberals
J^ow understand by religious liberty,
^e principle of his separation was
"jc Catholic principle, that the ma-
pstrate has no authority in spiritu-
***! and no right to prescribe any
forms or ceremonies to be used in
worship. It was a solemn protest
not against the doctrines of the An-
glican Church, but against the au-
thority it conceded in spiritual mat-
ters to the civil power — or the civil
magistrate, as they said then. The
Puritan was logical ; he had a good
major, and his conclusion would have
been just, if his minor had only been
true; and we are, in our opinion, in-
debted to him far more than to Lord
Baltimore or to Governor Dongan
of New York for the freedom of con-
science secured by our institutions.
Lord Baltimore and Governor Don-
gan sought the free exercise of
their own religion for their co-reli-
gionists, and asserted, and in their
situation could assert, only toleration.
Neither could assert the principle of
true religious liberty, the incompe-
tency of the state in spirituals, hold-
ing, as they did, their power from the
king of England and head of the
Anglican Church. The Puritan
abominated toleration, called it the
devil's doctrine, and proved himself
little disposed to practise it; but in
asserting the absolute independence
of the church or religion before the
civil magistrate, he asserted the true
principle of religious liberty, which
the Catholic Church always and
everywhere asserts, and laid in the
American mind the foundation of
that religious freedom of which our
religion, which they hated, now en-
joys the benefit.
We have nothing to say of the vir-
tues of the Puritans in relation to the
world to come; but they certainly
had great and rare civil virtues, and
they have had the leading share in
founding and shaping the American
state. They were grave, earnest —
too much so, if you will ; but however
short they fell in practice, they al-
ways asserted the independence and
supremacy of the moral order in rela-
398
Beechei^s Norwood.
tion to civil government, and the ob-
ligation of every man to obey God
rather than men, and to live always
im reference to the end for which
God makes him. Their moral stan-
dard was high, and they set an ex-
ample of as moral a people as can be
looked for outside of the church.
They had only a faulty religion, and
perhaps were Stoics rather than Chris-
tians in their temper; but they al-
ways put religion in its right place,
and gave the precedence to its minis-
ters. They placed education under
charge of the church, and the system
of common schools which they ori-
ginated or adopted was really a sys-
tem of parochial schools, under the
supervision of the pastor, and sup-
ported by a tax on the parish, impos-
ed by the parishioners, in public
meetings, on themselves. The cen-
tralized system of godless schools,
borrowed from the Convention that
decreed the death of Louis XVI.,
generally adopted by the Middle and
Western States, is hardly yet fully
adopted in Massachusetts, though
since 1835 it has been gradually gain-
ing the ascendency ; and Cambridge
University, founded for God and the
church, has only this very year thrown
off its religious character, dispensed
with nfioming prayers,* and become a
purely secular institution — an inevita-
ble but a lamentable change.
The Puritans not only adopted a
high moral standard, but they lived
as nearly up to it as is possible for
human nature alone since the fall,
and few examples of a more rigidly
moral people can be found than were
the New England people for a centu-
ry and a half after the landing of the
Pilgrims, and to them, in no small
measure, the whole Union is indebted
for its moral character as well as for
* Since thtt was written, we le^rn th^t morning
prayera are not dispensed with, only they ar^ hsid at
•ight o'clock inatead of an earlier hour, at formerly.
the greater part of its higher institu-
tions of learning. There have been
as learned, as gifted, as great men,
found in other States, and perhaps
even more learned, gifted, and great-
er; but there is no part of the Union
where the intellectual tone of society
is so high, or intellectual culture so
general as in New England, especial-
ly in the States founded by the Puri-
tans, as were Massachusetts and Con-
necticut. New York leads in trade
and commerce ; Pennsylvania latteriy,
Virginia formerly, in politics ; but the
New England mind has led in law,
jurisprudence, literature, art, science,
and philosophy; though since Pu-
ritanism has been lapsing into lib-
eralism its preeminence is passing
away. We speak of New England
as it wais thirty or forty years ago, or
a little earlier, when the majority of
the supreme judges, and two thirds
of the members of the legislature
of New York were Connecticut or,
at least, New England men. New
England, we fear, is no longer what
she was when we were young, and
she appears only the shadow of her
former self. She is attempting to do,
from sheer calculation, and purely
secular motives, what even in the
heyday of Puritanism was more than
she could effect, aided by strong reli-
gious convictions and motives. StiH
if the substance is wanting, she keeps
up the appearance of her old moral
character, and in no part of the
Union will you hear finer moral sen-
tences, or better reasoned orations on
the beauty of virtue and the necessi-
ty of religion to the commonwealth.
Even New England infidelity b
obliged to assume a moral garb, to
express itself in Christian phrases,
and aff<^t to be more Christian than
Christianity itselC
The author of Norwood docs not
do justice to the intellectual character
of New England Hfe, to the though^
BeecJurs Norwood,
399
the reflection, and movements of a
New England village of five thousand
inhabitants. His village philosopher,
Dr. Wentworth, is very shallow, be-
ing very narrow and very prosy. We
could easily find any number of farm-
ers in the valley of the Connecticut
able to see through his paganism at a
glance, and refute it with a word.
Especially is the author unjust to
New England women. No doubt such
women as Polly Marble, Rachel Cath-
cart. Agate Bissell, and Mother Taft
can be found in a New England vil-
lage, but they are not representative
characters. New England Puritan-
ism was never so stiff, or so annoying
to one's self or to others, as it appears
in these exceptional characters. The
women of New England are in gene-
ral remarkable for their intellectual
culture, their gentleness, their refine-
ment, their grace and dignity of man-
ners, the elevation and breadth of
their minds, and the extent and vari-
ety of their information, no less than
for their domestic tastes and habits,
or superior faculty as housekeepers.
There are, no doubt, blue stockings
in Yankeeland which their wearers*
skirts are too short to conceal; no*
doubt, also, there are women there
who encroach on the rights and pre-
rogatives of the other sex, and aspire
to be men; but your leading wo-
man's rights women and men are not
New Englanders. Our old friend,
Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, is a
New Yorker, and Susan B. Anthony,
if bom in Nantucket, is a Quakeress,
and the Quakers are of no country, or
simply are their own country.
Many movements are accredited to
New England which originated else-
where, and are simply taken up by a
^^crtain class of New Englanders in
easy circumstances, as a diversion or
a dissipation, instead of whist, balls,
routs, and plays. Yet they are only
a dass. The Massachusetts legisla-
ture voted down, by a large majority,
the proposition to give the elective
franchise to women, and the legisla-
tion of the Old Bay State continues
far more masculine and conservative
than that of the State of New York.
Norwood leaves the impression on
the reader that the Puritans were a
set of gloomy fanatics, austere and
unbending, harsh and cruel, minding
every body's business but their own,
and seeking, in season and out of sea-
son, to cram their horrible doctrines
down every neighbor's throat, and
that the only sociable and agreeable
people to be found among them were
precisely those who had broken away
from the Puritan thraldom, and re-
turned to the cultivation and worship
of nature. The wish is father to the
thought. More social, neighborly, ge-
nial, kind-hearted, hospitable people
it would be difficult to find in the
Union than were the great body of
these New England Puritans, than
perhaps they are still; though they
have by no means improved since
they have abolished the dinner-table,
as they suppose in the interest of
temperance, and substituted opium
for Santa Cruz rum and old Jamaica
spirits, as they have philanthropy for
devotion. Intellect, morals, and so-
ciality seem to us to have sadly de-
teriorated under the misdirected ef-
forts to advance them.
But Henry Ward Beecher has had
a far other purpose in Norwood than
to produce a work of art, to con-
struct a story, or to sketch New Eng-
land village life. He is willing
enough to correct some of the misap-
prehensions which Southerners have,
or had, of New England character;
but his book, after all, has a seri-
ous purpose, and is intended to be a
death-blow to New England theolo-
gical and moral doctrines.
The author, though nominally a
Christian, and professedly a Congre-
400
Beecher^s Norwood,
gational preacher, is really a pagan,
and wishes to abolish Puritanism for
the worship of nature. But it is less
the Puritan than the Christian he
wars against ; and if he understands
liimself, which is doubtful, his thought
is, that a child, taken as bom, with-
out baptism or regeneration, may be
trained up by the influence of flowers
and close communion with nature,
beasts, birds, and fishes, reptiles and
insects, to be a Christian of the first
water. Dr. Wentworth represents
this theory, and reduces it to practice
in the training of his daughter Rose,
whose chief educator is the half-idiot
negro, Pete, " no great things in the
intellects, but with a heart as big as
that of an ox." The theory recog-
nizes Christ only in nature, and really
identifies him with nature, and re-
solves the Christian law of perfection
into the natural laws of the physi-
cists. The author holds, if any thing,
that heaven, the crown of life, is in
the order of generation, and is at-
tainable as the result of natural de-
velopment.
The theory, of course, rejects the
very fundamental principle of Christi-
anity, which declares that " except a
man be bom again he cannot see the
kingdom of God." The author, indeed,
does not deny in words the new birth ;
nay, asserts it, but resolves it into a
natural operation, a sort of mental
and physical crisis, and recognizes no-
thing supernatural, or any infusion of
grace in it ; which is in reality to deny
it. We have as hearty a dislike of Cal-
vinism as any one can have, and we
know it passably well by our own early
experience; but we confess that we
have no wish to see old-fashioned
Puritanism exchanged for pure ra-
tionalism or mere naturalism, and as
against Henry Ward Beecher, we are
strongly tempted to defend it. Any
one who knows New England at all,
knows that its morals have deterio-
rated just in proportion as its old
Puritanism has declined, or been
liberalized. The fact, whatever the
explanation, is undeniable. In our
judgment, it is the natural result of
loosening the restraints which Puri-
tanism undoubtedly imposed on the
passions and conduct, and leaving
people to their natural passions, in-
stincts, and propensities, without any
restraint at all. Despotism is bad
enough ; but it is better than no gov-
ernment, better than anarchy. .As it
affects the question of conversion to
the church, we see no gain in the
change. We think a sincere, earnest-
minded Puritan a less hopeless sub-
ject than a liberal, like an Emerson,
a John Weis, a John Stuart Mill, a Mr.
Lecky, a Herbert Spencer, or such
men as were the late Mr. Buckle
and the late Sir William Hamilton,
who despise Christianity too much to
offer any direct opposition to it The
honest Puritan is prejudiced indeed,
and unwilling to hear a word in
favor of the church ; yet he believes
in Christian morals, and has some
conception of the Christian plan oi
salvation, and therefore really some-
thing for the missionary to work on;
but men who have resolved Chris-
tianity into naturalism, and measure
reality or even the knowable by their
own narrow and superficial under-
standings, are beyond his reach.
Their case is hopeless.
Puritanism keeps alive in the com-
munity a certain Christian habit of
thought, a belief in the necessity
of grace, and more or less of a Chris-
tian conscience. The greater part
of the common people gathered into
the sects in seasons of revivals, if
our missionaries were present, could
just as easily be gathered into the
church, and be saved. We suffer
terribly in this country for the want
of missionary priests, who can go
wherever their services are needed
1
Beeckcf^s Norwood.
401
by those who know not yet "the
faith once delivered to the saints."
Our priests are too few for the wants
even of our old Catholic population,
and what with hearing confessions,
and attending sick calls, building
churches and school-houses, and pro-
viding for the most pressing wants of
a Catholic people, are over-worked,
and soon exhausted. The great ma-
jority of our priests die young, from
excessive labor. There is with us a
vast missionary field, not indeed
among the sects, but among the so-
called Nothingarians, who comprise
the majority of the American people,
and who, though without any speci-
fic belief, are yet far from being con-
firmed unbelievers. But let the
Beechers and their associates succeed
in reducing Christianity to naturalism,
and you soon make this whole class
downright infidels. We can have,
therefore, no sympathy with Beecher-
ism, or pleasure in seeing its success
against even old-fashioned New Eng-
land Puritanism.
We should say as much of the
Presbyterianism of the Middle, West-
em, and Southern States. We believe
any of the older Protestant sects that
retain a belief in the Trinity, the Incar-
nation, and future rewards and punish-
naents, and that practise infant bap-
tism, are preferable by far to any form
of modem liberalism, which discards
dogma for sentiment and reason for
the soul, and are really nature- worship-
pers, and as much idolaters as were the
old pagans, whose rivers and ponds,
whose gardens and orchards were over-
nm with gods. Even a Methodist is
upon the whole better than a Liberal,
YOI« X. — 26
however puffed up he may be by the
successful worship of mammon by
his sect, and its growing respectabili-
ty in the eyes of the world.
We have bestowed, perhaps, more
attention on Mr. Beecher and his no-
vel than they deserve, but we have
made them the text for a desultory
discourse, partly in defence of New
England against her denigration at-
tempted by one of her prominent sons,
and partly in protest against the re-
vival of heathen nature-worship
favored by the author. We have
not aimed at exalring New England
above other sections of the Union.
Each section of our common coun-
try has its peculiar merits, which are
essential to the welfare and develop-
ment of the whole. New England
has hers, which, in some respects, ex-
cel those of other sections, and in
other respects fall short of them. It
is not for us to strike the balance,
and to decide which upon the whole
preponderate. We have wished to
give New England her due, without
detracting any thing from what is
due to any other secdon of the Union..
We should be sorry to see the effort,
now making to New Englandize the
South succeed. There are some-
things in the New England charac-
ter that could be corrected withi
advantage ; and there is much in the-
Southern character, its openness, its.
frankness, its personal independence^
its manliness, its aristocratic tone andt
manner, that we should be sorry to»
lose. But we do not like to find an^r
man decrying his own native land
or insensible to its merits.
L...
402
Church Music.
CHURCH MUSIC
I.
« The Prayer of the Church is the
most pleasing to the ear and heart
of God, and therefore the most
efficacious of all prayers." While
we have been perusing the various
works on church music that have
come before us in the shape of
book, pamphlet, tract, and magazine
article, we could not keep the words
we have quoted above from the cele-
brated Dom Gueranger out of our
mind. In Europe, both in England
and on the continent, it i« evident,
from the numerous publications per-
tinent to the subject which have
been lately issued, that the due cele-
bration of the divine offices of the
Church is becoming more and more
the object of no little anxiety on the
part of the hierarchy, and that the
clergy are everywhere making strenu-
ous eflforts to get rid of the abuses
which since the Protestant reforma-
tion, the straitness of the times has
tolerated. One of the most notorious
of these abuses, fully naturalized
amongst us, is the profane character
of church music. Several writers,
among whom stand preeminent two
English priests — the Rev. Canon
Oakeley and the Rev. James Nary —
have crossed swords on the subject
of reform, and we have thus been
enabled not only to get at the merits
of the particular dispute between these
two amicable combatants, but have
been led as well to reflect upon the pri-
mary object of music in the divine offi-
ces, the intention of the Church, and
the means she has ordained for real-
izing it; although we must confess
that, with Dom Gueranger's words
ringing in our ears, we have not
heard from the pages of the publica-
tions in question quite so dear an
echo to their truth as we would have
wished.
The ritual service of the Church is
her prayer, and melody is the almost
universal form of expression employ-
ed in its celebration. Whatever mu-
sic is sung or performed at her so-
lemn rites is supposed to be sung
and performed by her not as a mua-
cal performance, but as a prayer.
These are the points more or less ig-
nored in all the discussions on what
is or may be made suitable music for
the Church. The different sentences,
anthems, psalms, etc., appointed to
be sung by the choir, are all so
many prayers offered by the Church.
Therefore it is plain that what is
proper as music at her offices must
as a first principle be a worthy ex-
pression of the voice of the Church
lifted in prayer. When the priest
robed in his garments of sacrifice,
intones the Gloria at the altar, he
does so in the name of the Church,
not as the Rev. Mr. performing
a short, effective, and fine tenor solo;
and when the choir continues the
same angelical anthem, they do so
^-or rather, arc supposed to do y^i—
as his assistants in the divine action.
The priest takes his seat to await its
conclusion, not to make one of an
audience who for the time being are
to be relieved from the more engross-
ing thoughts of prayer by criticising
the Gratias as rendered by Mr. A-,
enjoying the Qui toUis by Miss R, ^
the telling chorus of the Cum Sand»'
That the musical portions of the
church offices are in a true sense
Church Music,
API
prayer, and are based upon that idea
alone, namely, the union of the soul
with God; that such is the chief
intention of the Church, and should
be the only object sought in the
choice of music and the execution of
it, to the absolute subserviency, even
if not to the completely ignoring, of
every other sentiment, is therefore be-
yond question ; but who will not be
able to count upon his ten fingers
the churches in the United States
where the music would be likely to
leave any such impression upon the
minds of the worshippers ?
We say this not in any cynical
spirit We know the " straitness of
the times," and we ourselves have
been straitened, and are still, as
well as our neighbors ;' but the gen-
eral uneasiness and discontent felt
among all classes because of the
wretched performances of sacred mu-
sic to which we have been subjected,
utterly at variance as they are with
the spirit of the sublime and solemn
functions of religion, is beginning
to find a voice to make audi-
ble complaint, and exciting some
laudable efforts to rid the holy place
of harmonies which savor more of
the world, the flesh, and the devil
than they do of divine prayer. So
common is the ignorance of what
the true music of the Church is, that
it is a rare thing to find even a Ca-
tholic who has any idea that the
Mass has not yet been fully sung
when he has heard the Kyrie, Gloria,
Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei, and
Jiot a note of the Introit, Gradual,
Prose, Offertory, or Communion.
And as for the Vespers, we think the
fijigers of one hand might suffice to
f*^^t the churches where any attempt
K made to perform them entire. Of
^e compositions executed in every
^yle of musical art at Mass, will not
^ fi^t person to whom you may
•^4ress yourself, be he a devout Ca-
tholic well instructed in other matters,
or a music-loving Protestant who is
fond of " attending service " in our
churches on account of the "glori-
ous music of the Catholic Church,"
which he thinks he hears there — ^wiU
they not both tell you, if you are at
the pains to interrogate them, that
Mozart and Haydn hold the place
of angelic doctors of music in the
Catholic Church, and Webbe, Farmer,
Concone and Co. have equally hon-
orable titles for small churches and«
country choirs ?
Would not either of them return
you a stare of increduHty if you told
them that not one composition of
any of these authors has ever been
recognized by any authority in the
Church, and that the singing of them
has, in point of fact, been only barely
tolerated; that the great mass of
these musical morccaux are wholly
unfit for the purpose for which they
were written, and that, ten chances
to one, neither of these good friends
have ever heard, save the chanting
of the priest, one single note of the
music sanctioned by the Church in
all their lives ? Yet all this is true
to the very letter. Lamentably true ;
for religion, in the grandeur, power,
and spiritual beauty of its sacred offi-
ces, is the loser by it, and the devout
and prayerfid spirit which such offices
are calculated to excite in the souls
of the faithful is to a great extent
hindered, and replaced by a spirit
of sensuousness and worldly amuse-
ment.
The fact beyond dispute is, that
the faithful are deprived of the true
expression of the divine prayer of
the Church, both on account of the
profane character of the music per-
formed and the entire omission of
those portions of the Mass and Ves-
pers which give a distinctive color,
tone, and meaning to the seasons
and festivals, such as the Introit, tliC
404
Church Music.
Gradual, Prose, Offertory, Commu-
nion, and Antiphons.
Not to speaJc of the wholly inex-
cusable practice of reproducing well-
known arias from different operas to
which the words of some devout
hymn are adapted in the most shock-
ingly garbled manner, without regard
to grammar or sense, a cursory ex-
amination of " the masses " popular
among us, and sung, without dis-
tinction, at any season and on any
festival, would be sufficient to con-
demn them as totally unfit as vehicles
of expression for the words set to
them, or the occasion of their per-
formance. Let us quote some true
words from the Rev. Mr. Nary :
" Would any one contend that the rollick-
ing tunes of many a modern Kyrie express
the meaning of the supplicatory ejaculation,
Lord, have mercy im US? . . It may fairly
be questioned whether any one unaccustom-
ed to our florid church-music, upon hearing
one of the jigs which render the sweet pray-
er, O Lord, give us peace, dona nobis pacem,
in some of our modern masses, would be
able to tell, not only that it aptly describes
the words, but even that it expresses any
religious feeling at all. That in numerous
instances, modern church music, instead of
being descriptive of the holy words to which
it is joined, rather expresses the sensuous
languor of the stage, or the airy joy of the
ball-room, could not well be disputed.
"Indeed,it is exceedingly remarkable that
what Haydn, Mozart, Weber, and others
would have been ashamed to do for the
stage, they have, seemingly without a qualm
of conscience, done for the house of God.
They knew that they must have been ac-
cused of folly, had they in one of their
operatic works given to earnestness the
tones of jesting, to prayer those of mirth ;
but this is prcdsely what they have done
for the services of the Church. The most
touching supplications of the liturgy are
often clothed by them in strains of mockery.
. r . . It is not implied here that there
are not in the works of the great modem
composers beautiful passages full of genu-
ine religious feeling ; but will any impartial
judge contend that there are many masses
in which there is no blundering at all be-
tween the words and the music ? . . . •
Nay, is it not true that certain masses by
those composers, if separated from the
cred words and applied to some libretto oT
the late Eugene Scribe, would only gain in
naturalness and meaning by the change ?
What, then, it may be asked, is there no
other music for the Almighty than that of
the theatre ? .... It can hardly be
disputed that some of our own churches
have too often, in their musical efforts, ex-
hibited scenes bordering very closely upon
downright desecration of the house of GodL
.... There, is no need to describe the
sad feelings which arise in the heart of a
Catholic who finds the adorable sacrifice
of the Mass turned into a Sunday monung
amusement
" Some people, who allow that the music
of some of our churches is thoroughly pro-
fane, still justify its use on the plea that it
allures strangers, who may be favorably im-
pressed with other and more religious por-
tions of the service. But this is a poor
justification of practices which annoy the
real congregatipn, and hinder devotion.
No doubt a priest should seek to dmw
strangers to his church, but all means axe
not equally legitimate toward attaining
this laudable end. Besides, the writer
though entirely unable to form any judg-
ment which he could conmiend to the belief
of others, much doubts whether any priest
could trace more than a few conversions, if
any at all, not to his church music, which
may partly be very ecclesiastical, but to his
florid or orchestral music, as to their ori-
gin."
We need to add little to this. The
impressions left upon the mind after
being subjected to any one of such
performances is well known to all who
have suffered. What religious feel-
ings might one reasonably expect to
have pervaded (may we not say the
audience?) or what devotion could
possibly be excited in the hearts of
any unfortunate worshippers present
on the occasion of which the follow-
ing is a report :
" Haydn's Mass No. i6 was the great se-
lection. The Kyrit was coldly given, the
alto and bass, in the soli parts, being hardly
strung up to tune. In the Gloria, however,
both chorus and soloists warmed to their
work, and several of the finest choral passa-
ges were given with great power and preci*
sion. The Credo was not taken up firmly,
but every praise is due to the manner in
Church Mttsic.
405
'vrHich the choir acquitted themselves at the
finish, and in the exquisite Et Incarnatus
and succeeding quartette the four principal
voices blended beautifully together, and the
alto (Miss ) told well in the delivery of
the leading and interwoven subject, the Std>
J^ontio, The most critical would have been
satisfied with the evenness with which the
principal voices were balanced in this and
the subsequent soli passages. The Sanctus
and Hosanna were very fairly given, the Be-
nrdiciushting perhaps the most telling effort
of all. The opening of the Agnus was not
delivered sufificiently sUiccatOy as the chorus
did not hang well together. The Dona No'
6£s made up fur all, and throughout the
principals acquitted themselves in unexcep-
tionable style, being well supported at the
finish by the chorus."
We are aware that some, while
agreeing with us, as they cannot help
but do, that "masses" in figured
music, and " figured vespers," are in
the style of their composition essen-
tially profane, yet choose them, and
cause them to be performed, on the
plea that the sacredness of the place
and the occasion of the divine office
b a sufficient corrective of their in-
nate profanity, or that, being " mag-
nificent," " sublime," " classic," etc.,
such music may justly be employed
to adorn the grand functions of reli-
gion, and that the theatre ought not
to boast of better music than the
house of God ; that — as one such ad-
mirer of classic music said to us — we
ought to "spoil the Egyptians;" or
again, that Protestants are attracted to
churches where such music is given,
and may be led by the charm of the
music to inquire into the truths of our
rehgion ; and finally, that there is no-
thing else to take its place ; the anti-
quated Gregorian chant being wholly
unfit for the cultivated musical ears
of the nineteenth century, and to
banish this music from Catholic
churches would be to do an irrepara-
ble injury to high art. But all these
pleas fail absolutely in producing any
mfluence up>on our judgment, the
words of Dom Gueranger soimding
so loudly in our ears as they do, and
our own experience to the contrary.
In point of fact, the sacredness of the
place where this kind of music is
sung is no corrective of the unworthy
nature of the music itself. Doubtless
the cantatrice is denied the clapping
of hands and the encore which her
splendid singing calls for, and the
primo basso retires from the front of
the organ-gallery without a bow to
his fashionable auditory — nevertheless
interiorly disgusted, we warrant, by
the lack of some visible appreciation
of one of his best efforts — and a well-
behaved congregation will quietly
resume their attitude of prayer at the
close of some crashing fitiak ; but
are these sufficient evidences of the
ver)' opposite impression being pro-
duced upon the worshippers to that
which the music from its character,
aside from the similar manner of
its rendering, is not only calculated
but is expected to produce ? "I
hold it for certain," said good old
Saint Alphonsus, "that vanity and
the devil usually get more by it than
God."
What those who defend the use of
figured music in our solemn offices
must show is, that it not only edifies
the faithful, but that it edifies equally
with, or more than, the authorized
chant. That it is the source of no
litde disedification ; that it distracts
the soul fi-om the great object upon
which all its powers ought to be con-
centrated ; that it is always more or
less an imperfect performance, and,
in most cases, a mere makeshift ; and
that where the organist and singers
are in power the sacred ministers
play but a subordinate part in a scene
in which, as it has been well said, the
music fi-om the choir gallery is the
magnet which attracts the gold and
silver, there cannot be the shadow
of a doubt.
But this is not all. Is figured
4o6
Church Music.
music in conformity as to its style
with the spirit of the other portions
of the divine office ? Will its most
strenuous adherents claim for it the
tide of being a fair and true expres-
sion of the Church's prayer ? Does
it harmonize with those other parts
of the office performed in the sanctu-
ary ? Here we can speak feelingly.
How often have we not been tempt-
ed to smile at our own voice inton-
ing the per omnia scuula saculorumy
as the echoes of that galloping finale
of an interminable " offertory piece "
or Benedictus were yet resounding
in the aisles of the church! What
feelings of vexation have not arisen in
our breast as the response came back
to our ears in slovenly haste, as if
our inharmonious cadence had too
quickly disturbed the well-merited re-
pose of our choir after, we must con-
fess, their too successful effort to cap-
tivate the attention of the congrega-
tion, and put the priest in the very
pillory of singularity and discord!
Why must our mind at such times
suffer the painful distraction of re-
membering the well-known sarcastic
remark, that '* the Rev. Mr. then
put up a supplication which was one
of the most eloquent prayers ever of-
fered to a Boston audience !"
The second plea, that these classic
harmonies, so rich, so melodious, so
sublime, etc., etc., should not be de-
nied to the greater glory of God, is
of equally small weight, since there
are many other things in nature
and art extremely beautiful in them-
selves, truly classic in their concep-
tion and execution, which, it must be
confessed, would hardly bear trans-
porting to the house of prayer, and
which it would take the heroic virtue
of a saint to refer to the greater glory
of God if exhibited in any place.
We do not object to the offering of
these harmonies to God, but the
question is, Do these harmonies, by
dieir religious tone and devout style,
offer themselves to God ? Does the
Chin-ch judge them to be suitable for
her divine offices ? Let these ques-
tions be answered in the affirmative,
and our own personal judgment and
sentiments shall go to the wall
The plea that the music as now
commonly heard in our churches
allures Protestants, and thus brings
them within sight and hearing of Ca-
tholic truth, has been already well
answered in our quotation from Mr.
Nary. For ourselves, judging from
the behavior of the mass of these
visitors, we are forced to the conclu-
sion that they frequent our churches
where fine music is given because
they can get it at a cheaper rate than
they would have to pay for it else-
where.
That there is nothing else to take
its place, and that the antiquated
Gregorian chant is unfit for our ears
of modem cultivation, is simply the
plea of ignorance. The estabhshed
chant of the Church not only C4in
take its place, as we shall attempt to
show further on, but as a fact it has
never ceded its right to any other
style of music ; and those who know
any thing of the Gregorian chant
scientifically, know that it is our mo-
dem ears that are at fault, per\erted
as they have been in their sense and
appreciation of true religious m^ody
by the sensuous and effeminate spirit
which pervades all modem art
It is strongly urged that the rein-
troduction of the Gregorian chant
in our churches, now wholly commit-
ted to the use of modern music, is
impossible, for the hired singers will
have nothin'j to do with it. To
which we answer that, as the execu-
tion of the Gregorian chant necessari-
ly excludes female vocalists from the
choir in accordance with the sacred
Church Music.
407
canons, the prima donna will un-
doubtedly have to look elsewhere for
an engagement, and very likely the
Cenore and basso who sing in the Mass
on Sunday in our church, and per-
form in the opfra buffa all the rest
of the week, may refuse to employ
their highly cultivated voices in sing-
ing music that affords them so little
opportunity of exhibiting their artistic
powers ; but, we may ask, are these
the only favored beings whom God
has endowed with good voices and
the ability to use them ? We pro-
pose to enter more fully into this
question of difficulty, and think we
shall be able to show that in this as
well as in other matters, "where
there's the will, there's a way."
In the interests of art, it is asked,
ought not the composition, and by
consequence the reproduction of sacred
music be encouraged ? Will not its
banishment from our churches be a
species of vandalism in art. greatly to
.be deplored ? Let us look at this
fairly. What is this so-cal led " sacred "
music ? Is it more or less than the
adaptation of the words of prayer utter-
ed by the church to concerted har-
mony composed as an artistic expres-
sion of the sentiment conveyed by
the sacred words? Surely nothing
more. But what is concerted har-
mony, as • a rule, " sacred " or " con-
secrated " to ? To the words of the
offices of the church ? Bv no means.
There is but one kind of music conse-
crated to that — the Gregorian chant.
And, with our hands upon our hearts,
can we say that modem music has
received such an aid in its develop-
ment through the composition and exe-
cution of Masses, Magnificats, Offer-
tories, Tantum Ergos, and the like,
that its present state of advancement
^^ as much indebted to them as is
popularly supposed, or that their
withdrawal fi-om the service of the
Church would prove any very serious
detriment to it ? As pieces of musi-
cal art, the operas and oratorios of
composers are far superior to the
masses they have written, and
we who may choose would much
rather listen to them. We must not
be understood to decry the composi-
tion of so-called sacred music, or the
singing of it. On the contrary, we
would do all in our power to
encourage it; but we object to its
usurping the place of music better
fitted for the divine offices of the
Church, and vastly surpassing it for
such use in every particular. There
is plenty of time, outside of the hour
or two in which we are present at
Mass or Vespers, to hear all the sacred
music we desire or can bear. All we
ask is, let the Church pray her own
prayers and sing her own divine
song without hinderance, or the in-
trusion of harmonies as ill-suited to
her voice as they are powerless to
express the emotions of her more than
human soul.
This leads us to the utterance of
a grave complaint against modem
sacred music, namely, the absurd set-
tings of words by which the divine
offices are not only prolonged to a
tedious extent, but the Holy Church is
made to stammer, repeat, hesitate in
her speech, and fall at last into an
inextricable confusion of tongues.
Did our pious congregation below
stairs know what their singers are
singing up aloft, they would not un-
firequently be reminded of certain
warnings against "vain repetitions."
The Masses of composers who wrote
in the seventeenth and eighteenth
century are not only open to the
charge of being replete with these
vain repetitions, but are full of the
most ridiculous blunders.
We subjoin a specimen. The
words given are those sung by the
408
Church Music.
leading soprano ; the lines ( — ) show
where the text is broken up by instru-
mental interludes:
**,Glory to God in the highest ^in the
highest to God glory to God glory
—to God glory, glory to God in the high-
est, to God in the highest, to God in the
highest, to God in the highest to God in
the highest ^and on earth peace
peace peace to men, and on earth peace
peace peace to men of good,
good will will of good, good will,
of good, good, good will of good, good
will, of good, good, good will of good
will of good will of good will
We praise, we bless we adore we
glorify we give 'thanks to thee for thy
great glory, for thy great glory, for thy great
glory, for thy great glory thy glory
thy glory O Ix)rd God, God, heavenly
King, God the Father Almighty O God
the Son only begotten Jesus Christ ;
O Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the
Father Son of the Father Son of the
Father Son of the Father O Lord
God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father
O Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the
Father, Son, Son of the Father who
takest, who takest away the sins of the world,
have mercy, have mercy, have mercy on us
who takest away, who takest away
the sins of the world, receive our prayer,
our prayer, our prayer, our prayer, our
prayer who sittest, who sittest at the
right hand of the Father, have mercy have
mercy on us have mercy, have mercy
on us For thou only art holy, thou
only art the Lord only art the highest.
highest Jesus Christ ^Jesus,
Christ ^Jesus, Jesus Christ
-Christ-
j«
-Jcsos
Jesus Christ-
-For thou only art holy
-thou only, thou only art the highest
thou only, thou only art the highest,
Jesus Christ ^Jesus Christ For
thou only thou only art holy, thou only
art highest Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ —
For thou only, thou only art highest,
Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ
For thou only art holy, thou only art
•the Lord thou only art highest, Jesus
•Christ For thou only art holy, thou
•only, only art holy, thou only, only, art the
Lord, For thou only art holy
thou only art the Lord-
■thou only art
holy, thou only art the Lord, only, art
highest For thou only, thou only art holy
■ t hou art the Lord only art high-
est, thou only art highest, Jesus Christ,
Jesus Christ For thou only thou
only art highest ^Jesus Christ, Jesus
•Christ -For thou only, thou only art
With the Holy Ghost
in the glory of God the Father. Amen,
amen. With the Holy Ghost, in the glory
of God the Father. Amen, amen
Amen, amen With the Holy Ghost,
in the glory of God the Fathtr, Amen, in
the glory of God the Father Amen
Amen Amen Amen, amen,
amen, amen, With the Holy Ghost
in the glory of God the Father. Amen.
With the Holy Ghost, in the glory of God the
Father, Amen, amen, amen. With the
Holy Ghost, in the glory of God the Father,
Amen, amen, amen, amen. With the
Holy Ghost With the Holy Ghost,
with the Holy Ghost, with the Holy Ghost,
in the glory of God the Father, of God the
Father, Amen, amen, amen, amen, amen,
amen With the Holy Ghost, in the
glory of God the Father, Amen, amen,
amen—
Amen,
Amen j
Amen ;
Amen—
—in the glory of God the Father,
amen— —of God the Father,
in the glory of God the Father,
in the glory of God the Father,
of God the Father, Amen.
With the Holy Ghost, in the glory of God
the Father, Amen, ame n of God the
Father, Amen of God the Father, Amen,
amen, amen, amen, amen. "
And this fhjm Doctor Mozart's
renowned Mass No. 12, which we
have heard so often, and enjoyed so
much! But he is not alone. Me
quote from an able paper from the
Dublin RrvUw on "Church Music
and Church Choirs :"
" Thus we have a * Credo * beginning with
the four phrases, Cred0 in unum JOrttm^
Genitum non factum — Qui propter fu»s — and
Et ex Patre natum — all sung simultaneously
by the four voices. Again, we have a
* Gloria * beginning with the four phrases,
Gratias agimus (for the soprano) — Dcmmt
Fili (alto) — Domine Dfus (tenor) — Et in
terra pax (bass) — the whole being dispatch-
ed in two short pages of music !
" As for instances of garblings by the
omission of words and clauses in much of
the popular mass music, they are too nu-
merous to be mentioned.
" One of the most grotesquely absurd set-
tings, perhaps, is that of the * Alma Re-
demptoris * of Webbc, The words are dind-
ed into three parts, the first ending with
• cadenti,' the second with * genitorcm,' the
same music bemg used for each, and a repeat
Church Music.
409
and musical interlude coming between. The
consequence is that the adjective * cadenti *
is entirely cut off from its substantive
^pQpulo ; ' and the whole, as sung, is of
course sheer nonsense. The reason is plain.
Wcbbc found an air which, by a threefold
repetition, could be applied to the words of
the antiphon, and for this every thing, even
to the grammar of the piece, was sacrificed.
No doubt this is the history of many of the
absurd adaptations we meet with.
•* Nothing can go beyond the examples we
have quoted, except, perhaps, the instance
of a composer of the * light Italian school,*
who by way of producing an original and
striking musical effect in the * Credo,' made
one voice sing * Genitum non factum,*
and another respond 'Factum non geni-
tiim ! * It will be said that these are extreme
cases, and that many of the pieces are not
likely to be used in our churches. Be
it so ; still they show what it was the fash-
ion of certain composers to provide for the
use of the Church, and what is apt to come
of the theory that it does not matter what
is sung by the choir, provided the people do
not hear it But whether heard or not, the
rules df the Church (and we see how strict
they are on these points) remain the same.
Besides, do we sing merely to satisfy the
ears of an audience ? Rather, is not this
the true principle — In conspectu Angelorum
Psallam tibi, Domine T'
To the ignorance, alas ! so general,
of what the Church is actually saying
in her holy offices, and what the choir
is singing in her name, as well as
of what they are omitting to sing
as in duty bound, may be attributed
in great measure the apparent indiffer-
ence with which the people of our
congregations listen to any musical
production from the choir, be it in
harmony with the season or the festi-
val, as the case may be, or not, pro-
vided only that the voices are in har-
mony with each other. Did they
know better, they would say with
Pope Benedict XIV., who, it seems,
had some of our own abuses to
contend with and reform in Rome
itself, as other popes have had since
his time. Speaking of St. Augustine,
who used to be moved to tears by
the singing (be it well understood,
not of such music as we possess) in
the churches, he says that " the music
moved him indeed, but still more so
the words he heard. But he would
weep now also for grief; for, although
he heard the singing, he could not
distinguish the words."
Let us hear something more of
the opinions of the same holy pope
about figured " sacred music.'* " The
Gregorian chant is that song which ex-
cites the minds of the faithful to piety
and devotion ; it is that music, there-
fore, which,if sung in our churches with
care and decorum, is most willingly
heard by devout persons, and is
justly preferred to that which is called
figured or harmonized music. The
titillation of figured music is held
very cheaply by men of religious
mind in comparison with the sweet-
ness of the Church chant, and hence
it is that the people flock to the
churches of the monks, who, taking
piety for their guide in singing the
praises of God, after the counsel of
the prince of psalmists, skilfully sing
to their Lord as Lord, and serve God
as God with the utmost reverence."
Did we add no more, we think we
have said enough to show that the
employment of figured music for the
divine offices is an abuse. It does
not answer its purpose, and its per-
mission is nothing better than a wink-
ing at our weakness, (the wisdom of
which, considering all things, we by
no means presume to condemn for
the past,) while the prevailing sensu*
ousness and libertinism of the times
has debased and emasculated our
taste in true religious art.
But it is a comfort to know that
• such music has never received from
the supreme pastors and rulers of the
church any thing more than a reluc-
tant permission, that the concessions
they have made in its favor have al-
ways been exacted by the force of
circumstances, and that they have
410
Church Music,
constantiy raised their voice in oppo-
sition to it as an abuse, and urged in
the strongest terms of command and
persuasion its abolition, and a return
to the authorized chant, the universal
song of the Church, ever ancient and
ever new.
Dilettanti talk, with an air of supe-
rior knowledge, of the Gregorian
chant as if it were something obso-
lete, the uncouth production of a bar-
barous and unartistic age. We think
there are not a few other fashions
and modes of religious expression be-
sides her chant, that the Church has
persistently adhered to, which mo-
dem ideas might with equal justice
denounce as obsolete and of unartistic
origin. As has been well remarked,
" This conservatism, if we may so call it,
of the Church, is not confined to plain chant
The same may be said of the language and
the style of her offices, the dresses of her
clergy and religious orders, and many of
her rites, ceremonies, and customs. The
chant is, therefore, no stranger than any part
of the Church system ; and that system be-
ing what it is, the antique character of the
music seems in every way suitable."
To be sure. What would we think
of an archbishop to-day standing be-
fore the altar dressed in a frock-coat
with a stove-pipe hat on his head,
and a pair of patent leather boots on
his feet, giving his solemn benedic-
tion en roulcuie /
What we have said in regard to
the wishes and commands of the
Church, as expressed by the papal
bulls and decrees of councils in re-
gard to this matter, we propose to
prove by referring the reader to seve-
ral of these authorities.
Alexander VII., in his Constitution
36, PiiE soUicitudinis^ 23d April, 1657,
excludes all singing of pieces not
contained in the liturgy or approv-
ed by the Congregation of Rites,
and all profane styles of music. (Bul-
lar. t 6.)
The Congregation of the Apostoli-
cal Visitation, July 30th, 1665, en-
forced and explained more f lUy the
constitution of Alexander VII. The
character of the music at Mass and
Office is to be ecclesiastical, grave,
and devotional. Only what is pre-
scribed for the day or season is to be
sung. It prohibits prolonged solos.
It prescribes that the words are to be
sung as they were written, without
any inversion, addition, or other
change.
The popes, Innocent XI., 1678,
and Innocent XII., 1692, renewed
and enforced similar rules, imposing,
as their predecessors had done, hea^j
penalties on choir-masters for disobe-
dience. (V. Bullar. t. 7.)
In the Council of Rome, i7t5j
Benedict XIII. insists upon the ec-
clesiastical cliaracter of the music to
be used in church. (Tit 15, cap. 6.)
Benedict XIV., in a circular letter,
enters at large into the subject of
church music, and, while he does not
wholly condemn the use of figured
music, yet deplores the bad taste oi
those who employ it, as well as the
great neglect of religion which he at-
tributes to the careless |>erformancc
of the divine offices of the church.
As we have seen already, he distinct-
ly prefers the Gregorian chant, and re-
fers in this letter to the decree of the
Council of Trent in regard to it
Clement XIII., Sept 17th, 1760,
issued an edict against the abuse of
prolonging the music in church " W
the detriment of devotion and of the
approved rites, and in violation of
the canons and rubrics."
The cardinal vicar of Gregoiy
XVI., 1842, inveighs against tiresome
repetition and arbitrary inversion of
words.
Pius IX., June 28th, 1853, sho«-cd
his great wish for the thoroughly re-
ligious character of church music; fttf
in his letters establishing the Semini'
J
Church Music,
411
no Pio, in connection with the Ro-
man Seminary,he ordered that the stu-
dents should be taught the Gregorian
chant, and no other. " Cantus Gre-
gorianus, omni alio rejecto, tradetur.
(Tit. 5, de studior. ratione.)
The latest instruction issued by the
cardinal vicar, Nov. i8th, 1856, de-
nounces the scandals caused by the
introduction of profane theatrical mu-
sic in the churches, and the intermi-
nable length of their execution, and,
"by express command of his holi-
ness," lays down a set of rules which
are to be observed in future. At the
same time the cardinal issued a series
of instructions to composers, from
which it is evident very litde encour-
agement is given them to write for
the Church, and they are so restricted
that we very much doubt if they care
to put their Pegasus in such a cum-
brous harness as the good cardinal
prescribes.
The late Plenary Council of Balti-
more confirms a decree made in the
former one, which reads as follows :
"That aU may be done according to pre-
scribed order, and that the solemn rites
of the Church be preserved in their in-
t^ityt we admonish pastors of churches
to earnestly labor in removing those abuses
which, in our country, have crept into the
church chant Let them, therefore, provide
that the music be subservient to the holy
Sacrifice of the Mass and other offices, and
not the divine offices to the music Let
them also bear in mind that, according to
the ritual of the Church, it is not lawful to
ting hymns in the vernacular language at
High Mass nor at solemn Vespers." *
The wishes of the fathers of the
Council in regard to the Gregorian
chant may be seen in the decree De
Vaperis :
• " Ut omnia juxta ordinem fiant, et solemnes Ec-
cloix ritus intejiri serventur, monemus rectores
^cclesiarum ut ledulo invigilent ad abusus elimi*
B*ndos qui in cantu ecclesiattico in his rsKtonibus in-
▼aluCTunt Curent igitur ut aacrosancto Missx Sacri-
^o et aliis offidis musica, non vero musica; divina
otiScta ifuerviant Nuverint, juxta Ecc'esix ritum,
Oniina Tcmaoilo idionutet inter Missarum snlem-
■b, vel Ttsperas solemnea, decaotare non Ucere."
" Moreover, we judge it to be most de-
sirable that the rudiments of the Gregorian
chant be taught and practised in parochial
schools, and thus, the number of those who
can chant the psalms well increasing more
and more, gradually the greater part, at
least, of the people, according to the usage
of the primitive church yet preserved in
many places, may be able to join with the sa-
cred ministers and choir in singing Vesperi
and other similar offices ; which will be the
source of edification to all, according to
that saying of St. Paul, * Speaking to one
another in psalms and hymns and spiritual
canticles.* " ♦
In the same strain many bishops
in Europe have raised their voices
against the profane music which has
crept insidiously into the holy place,
and urged a speedy return to the use
of the ancient chant.
From the authorities we have ad-
duced we get at the mind of the
Church, and see that it is plainly ad-
verse to the introduction of the mo-
dem style of music in our sacred
offices; and we have not been able to
find one instance where its use has
been officially permitted in any par-
ticular diocese but with the utmost
reluctance, and not without express-
ing at the sam« time an e irnest wish
that the old chant of the Church
might be restored to its primitive
universal use.
There is also a significant fact
not unworthy our notice. Looking
at the Protestant churches around
us, we see that it is only in those
which are fast losing their former
hold upon some form of ritual in
their religious meetings, that elabo-
rate figured music is finding a home,
and garbled portions of "the mass-
• " Insuper valde exoptandum esse censemus, ut
nidimenta cantus Gregoriani in scholia parochialibus
exponantur et exerceantur, sicque numero eorum
qui psalroos bene cantare v i*eant, magis ma^sque ib
crescente, paulatim major saltern pars populi, sxun-
dum primit'ivx e^xlesix adhuc in variis locis vigen-
tem usiim, Vesperas et alia similia cam rainistris et
choro decantare possit Qua ratione omnium aedifi-
catio promovebitur, juxta illud S. Pauli, * Loquentes
vobismetipsis in psalmis et hymnis et canticis spi-
rituaUbus.*"
412
Church Music,
es" of Mozart, Haydn, and other
Catholic composers are being sung
to a nauseating adaptation of Eng-
lish words : while, on the other hand,
those which are with equally rapid
advances returning to the bosom of
unity with the Catholic Church are
cultivating the Gregorian chant to a
degree which ought to put us to the
blush, and imitating, as best they
may, the ecclesiastical and devout
order of Catholic worship, and hold
our figured and florid music in de-
served contempt. Straws show which
way the wind blows.
Sudden revolutions, however, are
not to our mind; and we know
something of the difficulties in the
way of such a refonn in the mat-
ter of church music as the Church
evidently desires, and a general
movement toward the ancient dis-
cipline which she would encourage
and bless. Because we cannot do
all in a day is no reason why
we cannot do something in a week.
In England, the clergy have taken
the whole subject to heart, and
have already accomplished wonders.
There are many churches where the
whole services are given entire. All
that is prescribed de rigutur to be sung
at Mass is sung. Vespers and Com-
pline stricdy according to the brevi-
ary are chanted in more than one
church by the whole congregation.
They have not entirely eliminated
figured music, but are reducing it to
its lowest terms.* Few churches are
• We IT' not a little surprised to see the Rules far
Sinftrs and Comficsem issued by the cardinal vicar
of Rome, only, as f^v as we can learn, ibr Rome itself
taken by certain English musical authors and pub-
ishers as a positive sanction of figured music, which
has resulted in the recent publication of leireral mass-
es both in unison and in parts, named after some
saint We commend most heartily the well-meant
efibrt, but augur for them but a very mediocre suc-
cess. If figured music is to be permitted at all, it will
be found that neither priest nor organist, singers nor
congregation are goii^ to put up with whatus second-
rate.
We hope the pros.-eclus of the publishers will be
fittthfully carried out and the rules of the cardinal vi-
car miU be strictly adhered to. " The masses." al-
without their boy choirs, trained to ang
the devout song of the sanctuary.
The zealous Archbishop of Westmin-
ster has issued an order that no new
church be opened in his diocese unless
provision be made for a sanctuary
choir. He has not thought it right, as
he says, to enforce the orders of the
former vicars apostolic, ^^ Faminca
voces nc audiantur in choro^^ yet he
adds, "All that I can effect by the
strongest expression of desire and bjr
persuasion,! shall endeavor to effect"
Surely we can also do something
toward aiding the Church in liberat-
ing herself from this captivity to an
expression of her majestic offices so
foreign to the true sound of her own
voice. Looking back upon the days
when the untiring voice of prayer
was ascending to heaven from the
holy sanctuaries of religion, when the
festival days were kept and the faith
was strong and the people devout, a
faith and devotion due in a great
measure to the sacredness of liturgical
worship and the inspiration of the holy
chants, may we not justly mourn the
loss of this ancient fervor, and ear-
nestly strive to awaken an interest in
what, for so many good reasons, ap-
pears to hold more than an acciden-
tal relation to it ?
We have no doubt that the com-
ing CEcumenical Council >\ill speak in
yet stronger terms in favor of a re-
form so vital to the interests of reli-
gion in the whole world.
In subsequent articles we propose
to consider some propositions made
to ameliorate the present state of
things, the characteristics of the Gre-
gorian chant as the true song of the
Church, and offer some hints as to the
manner of its execution, and the
means of obtaining and holding a
though baptise 1 with the names of all the sunti ia
the calendar, will soon disappear from the "holy
courts of Christian song,^* where, in our humble jm||*
ment, they have ever done more harm than good.
Early History of the Catholic Church in New York. 4 1 3
j>ennanent chorus of singers who
shall make the divine praises resound
in our consecrated Houses of Prayer
in a manner more edifying to the
faithful, and more becoming the Di-
vine Majesty.
THE EARLY HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH
ON THE ISLAND OF NEW YORK.*
THE COLONIAL DAYS.
The appearance of a new edition
of the brief but valuable and attrac-
tive work which the present Bishop
of Newark issued in 1853, is a mat-
ter of congratulation. The Catholics
of New York City have a history in
this land, and it is too little known.
Bishop Bayley was the first to supply
the want ; he wrote, as the title-page
shows, while still connected with the
diocese of New York as secretary to
the late distinguished archbishop;
and of course with singular advan-
tages for correctness of details and
for a just view of his subject. We
may here ask our readers to pause
and look back with us at the early
history of Catholicity in this busy
metropolis, and trace the progress of
the church from its small beginning
toward its present development, when
we behold it with its archbishop, its
zealous and active secular clergy, its
regular clergy, embracing Franciscans
of the Observance and Capucins,
Dominicans, Jesuits, Redemptorists,
Priests of Mercy, Paulists ; its various
orders and congregations devoted to
the instruction of youth, the care of
the orphan, the foundling, the way-
ward and the erring, whom it shelters
• A Brie/ Sketch of iJu Early History of the Ca-
tkrik Churtk on the Islmnd of New York. By the
Rer. J. R. Bayley, Secretary to the Archbithop of
New York. Second edition. New York: CathoUc
FabUcatioo Society. 1869.
in its asylums, hospitals, and protec*
torates, with a Catholic Publication
Society, and several publishing houses
and journals.
This progress the Brief Sketch of
Bishop Bayley enables us to trace
down to the year 1853, his duties as
bishop depriving him of the leisure
needed to collect and arrange mate-
rials to continue it to the present
time, by including an account of the
progress since the work originally ap-
peared. But even then, as the title
shows, it professed to treat rather of
the earlier history than of that which
is almost contemporaneous.
The early history of the Catholic
Church on the island of New York
is indeed an attractive and interesting
theme. It opens with the romantic
story of the early Jesuit missions;
for of the visits of the Catholic
navigators, Verazzani and Sebastian
Gomez, we have too litde detail to
know whether a priest actually said
mass on our island.
The first priest * who is known to
have set his foot on the island of
Manhattan was an illustrious mission-
ary, who, while on his way fi-om Que-
bec to his mission ground on the
upper lakes, was in 1643 taken by
the Mohawks, tortured almost beyond
the power of human endurance, spar-
ed to become the slave of savages,
414 Early History of the Catholic Church in New York,
bearing their burdens in their winter
hunts, in their fishing trips to Saratoga
Lake and the Hudson, on their trad-
ing visits to the Dutch Fort Orange,
where Albany now stands, bearing all,
enduring all, with a soul ever wrapt
in prayer and union with God, till
at last the Dutch overcame his re-
luctance and saved him from the
hands of his savage captors, as they
were about to put him to death.
Covered with wounds and bruises,
mutilated, extenuated, scarce human
in dress or outward form, such was
Isaac Jogues, the first Catholic priest
to enter our great city, then in its in-
fancy, to meet with respect and kind-
ness from the Dutch, with the reve-
rence due to a martyr from the two
Catholics, sole children of the ancient
faith then in New Amsterdam.
The stay of this illustrious mission-
ary was brief, and his ministry was
limited to the confessional, his chapel
and vestments having fallen into the
hands of the Indians, and greedily
seized as trophies.
Governor Kieft displayed great hu-
manity in his care of the missionary,
and seized the first opportunity to
enable him • to return to Europe.
Panting for martyrdom, Father
Jogues remained in his native land
only to obtain needed dispensations
and permission to return to his la-
bors. On reaching Canada, he found
peace almost made with the Mo-
hawks, and, proceeding as envoy to
their territory, concluded a treaty.
He was invited to plant a mission
among them, as his associates had
done among their kindred, the Hu-
rons. But when he returned to do
so, prejudices had sprung up, a ha-
tred of Christianity as something
baneful had seized them, the mis-
sionary was arrested, treated as a
prisoner, and in a few days put to
death on the banks of Caughnawaga
Creek, on the i8th of October, 1646.
The next priest known to have
visited New York was the Italian Fa-
ther Bressani, who underwent a simi-
lar course of suffering, was captured,
tortured, enslaved, and ransomed by
the kindly Dutch ; and by them sent
to France. Although he subsequent-
ly published a short* account of the
Huron missions, he is entirely silent
as to New Amsterdam, and we know
nothing in regard to any exercise of
the ministry during his stay on our
island.
The first priest who came here ac-
tually to extend his ministry to any
Catholics in the place was the Jesuit
Father Simon Le Moyne, the dliscov-
erer of the salt springs at Syracuse,
and the successful founder of the
Mohawk and Onondaga missions.
His visit was repeated, and there
would seem to be a probability that
he may have actually offered the
holy sacrifice. The real field of
his labors, and those of his associates,
was, however, the castles of the Five
Nations of Iroquois, in which,for many
years, regular Catholic chapels subsist-
ed, winning many to the faith, and sav-
ing many by baptism in infancy or in
fatal illness. The converts at last be-
gan to emigrate to Canada, where
three villages of Catholic Iroquois
still attest the power of the gospd
as preached by the early missionaries.
Political jealousies, infused by the
English, gradually intensified the in-
nate dislike of the pagans to Catho-
licity, and prejudice, debauchery, and
penal laws at last drove the Catholic
missionaries from a field in which
they had labored with such courage-
ous and unremitting zeal.
For years the only Catholic mis-
sionary in their territory was Father
Milet, held at Oneida as a prisoner.
Flying visits alone after this kept up
the faith, and in 1709, Father Peter
Mareuil, on the outbreak of war, le*
tired to Albany, and the mission in the
Early History of the Catholic Church in New York. 415
Iroquois country virtually closed. The
later and tardy Protestant efforts
were in a measure built on these
early Catholic labors, and from Del-
lius to Zeisberger they gladly avail-
ed themselves of the pupils of the
Jesuits to form their own instructions.
This Iroquois -church has its mar-
tyr missionary Jogues; its martyred
neophytes, who died at the hands of
their countrymen rather than re-
nounce Jesus to bow the knee to
Aireskoi; and its holy virgin in Ca-
tharine Tehgahkwita, the Genevieve
of New France. Then came the
growth of mustard-seed in the Dutch
colony. We hear of the freedom of
worship achieved and established by
the founders of the Dutch republic
It is indeed a favorite theme. Ca-
tholic and Protestant alike battled
with Spain, and the blood of both
won the liberty of the Seven United
Provinces. Then as now Catholics
formed nearly half the population of
Holland. But as soon as freedom
was obtained, the Protestants turned
on the Catholics, who had fought by
their sides, deprived them of civil
rights, put their religion under a ban,
expelled them from their ancient
churches. In fact, they halted in
their course of tyranny and oppres-
sion, only when fear dictated a little
prudence.
The very church given to the Eng-
lish Puritans imder Robinson, by the
Dutch authorities, was the church of
the Catholic Beguines, whose residen-
ces encircled tlie chapel of which
Dutch laws deprived them, in order
to give it to foreigners who reviled
the creed that erected it and the
worship of the Most High so long
offered within its walls.
When New Netherland was colo-
'^ized, this fierce intolerance of the
dominant party in Holland excluded
Catholics from the new settlement as
i^orously as Puritan fanaticism ban-
ished them from the shores of New
England. The Catholic Hollander
could not emigrate to the new land.
No worship was permitted but that
of the Protestant church of Holland.
It is well to talk of Dutch toleration,
but it is the veriest myth ever con-
cocted; and in New Netherland,
though men were received who had
denied Christ and been pirates on
Salee rovers. Catholicity was excluded.
Gradually a few Catholics did creep
into the colony. Father Jogues on
his visit in 1643 found an Irishman
and a Portuguese woman, forerun-
ners of the four hundred thousand
now on Manhattan Island. Le
Moyne, as we have stated, subsequent-
ly visited the island, and a Dutch
domine avers that he did so in order
to give the consolations of religion
to some Catholic sailors and resi-
dents ; but the fanaticism of Holland
was here, and as an illustration of the
freedom of worship supposed to ex-
ist, we find that in 1658 a Catholic
in Brooklyn was punished for object-
ing to support a Reformed minister.
By the reduction of New York, in
1664, to the English sway, restric-
tions were really if not explicidy re-
moved. James, Duke of York, was
a Catholic, and his province of New
York was for a time governed by
Colonel Thomas Dongan, also a
Catholic. His character and career
are known to our readers. Under
his administration Catholic priests for
the first time took up their residence
on the island. Unfortunately, we
have little more than the names of
three clergymen and some indication
of the period of their stay; though
hostile fiotices tell us of one terrible
crime they perpetrated — they actually
did erect a "Jesuit colledge," and
taught boys Latin. The King's Farm
was assigned as the place for this in-
stitution of learning ; but before Ca-
tholicity could take an enduring form,
41 6 Early History of tlu Catholic Church in New York,
James II. was hurled from his throne
for trying to make the AngHcan bish-
ops speak a Httle toleration. As has
often hai)pened, intolerance, with the
banner-cry of " Liberty," became the
order of the day. New York soon en-
joyed the benefit of a governor of a
true bigot stamp, grandson of one of
the bloodiest butchers in the blood-
stained annals of Ireland, Coote,
E^l of Bellomont He disgraced
the colonial legislation with penal
laws against Catholics, and character-
istically lied in the preamble of his act.
But he was a stanch Protestant, and
had some curious dealings with Cap-
tain Kidd. The result of this change
in New York affairs was that the
King's Farm slipped into the hands
of the F^piscopalians, and they built
Trinity Church on it There is some
squabbling now about this property ;
why not settle the matter amicably
by devoting it to the object originally
intended — " a Jesuit colledge " ?
Under the harrying that began
with Leisler's usurpation of authority
in the province on the fall of James,
and his mad brain full of plots
and " diabolical designs of the wicked
and cruel papists," such Catholics as
had settled in New York seem gra-
dually to have removed elsewhere;
or, if they remained, reared families
who were strangers to the faith.
Thus far Catholicity in New York
had a strange history. Is it a dream ?
Fact first : Enlightened Dutch Pro-
testants, champions of liberty of con-
science, exclude Catholics, and when
they creep in, tax them to support a
church against the dictates of their
conscience. Fact second: Enlight-
ened English Protestants, after a
great and glorious revolution, and of
course full of toleration, passed penal
laws subjecting Catholic priests to
imprisonment for life with murderers
and criminals. Fact third : Catholics
during the brief period of their influ-
ence gave the colony a legislature, a
bill of rights, freedom of worship to
all Christians, and a college, and first
attempted to elevate and christianize
the Jiegro slave. Bishop Bayley thus
narrates one of these glorious works :
"The first act of the first assembly of
New York convened by Colonel Dongan
was the 'Charter of Liberty,* passed Oc-
tober 30th, 1683, which, among other
things, declares that * no person or persons
which profess faith in God by Jesus Christ
shall, at any time, be any ways molested,
punished, disquieted, or called in question
for any difference of opinion, or matter of
religious concernment, who do not actoaUy
disturb the civil peace of the province;
but that all and every such person or per-
sons may, from time to time and at all
times, freely have, and fully enjoy, his or
their judgments or consciences in matten
of religion, throughout all the province--
they behaving themselves peaceably and qui-
etly, and not using this liberty to licentious-
ness, nor to the civil injury or outward dis-
turbance of others.* By another enact-
ment, all denominations then in the province
were secured in their liberty and discipline,
and the like privilege was granted to other*
who might come into it*'
For fifty years the history of Ca-
tholicity on New York island is a
blank. A priest was occasionally
brought in as a prisoner on some
Spanish ship taken by a privateer;
that is all. Catholics are scarcely al-
luded to. But an awakening came
in 1 741 in one of the wildest excite-
ments in our annals. Cathohcs had,
indeed, nothing to do with it, and for
a long time no breath implicated
the few Catholics with the supposed
daaigers, till a silly letter of General
Oglethorpe put the idea into the
heads of the New York authorities.
Then the negro question and the
Catholic question, which have so
long alternately afforded a topic for
sensation, and have at times been so
oddly combined, met for the fost
time in New York annals.
Bishop Bayley thus describes the
negro plot :
V
Early History of the Catholic Church in New York, 417
^•The year 1741 was made memorable
by one of those popular excitements which
shows that whole communities as well as in-
dividoaU are sometimes liable to lose their
wits. Upon a rumor of a plot made by the
negroes to bum the city and massacre the
inhabitants, the whole body of the people
were carried away by a sudden excitement
The lieuteoant-govemor offered a reward of
one hundred pounds and full pardon to any
free white person who would make known
the author or authors of certain attempts
to set fire to houses in various parts of the
dty. A servant-girl, named Mary Burton,
living with a man named Hughson, who
had been previously condemned for receiv-
ing stolen goods, came forward to claim the
reward, declaring that certain negroes who
frequented her master^s house (he kept a
small tavern) had made a plot ; one of the
accused, named Cuffee, she declared had
said that 'a great many people had too
much, and others too little,' and that such
an unequal state of things should not con-
tinue long.* The pretended disclosures
increased the excitement, and the lawyers
of the dty, to the number of seven, with the
attorney-general, were called together to
take council in regard to the matter. They
certainly manifested very little coolness or
judgment, and may be said to have led on
the unfair and unjust trials which followed.
The accused had no counsel allowed them ;
the attorney-general and the whole bar were
on the side of the prosecution ; the evidence
was loose and inconclusive, and came with-
out exception from the mouths of interested
persons of bad character. Yet, upon such
evidence as this, four white persons were
hanged, eleven negroes were burned at the
stake, eighteen hanged, and fifty were trans-
ported and sold, principally in the West
Indies.! Among those hung was the un-
* The city of New York at this time contained
about 12,000 inhabitants, of which one sixth, in all
probability^ were negro slaves. (Preface to 'second
edition Negro Piat.) The fofdish fears and prejudices
of the inhabitants were not a little Increased by a silly
letter written to them at this time by the good-inten-
tioned but visionary founder of the colony of Georgia,
in which he warned them to be on their guard against
Spajush spies and incendiaries, especially priests,
whom he accused of having made a plot to bum the
chief cities in the Northern colonies.
t Several of the negroes were Catholics. Hors-
Bumden mentions that they held crucifixes in their
hands and kissed them before they died. This act of
fiuth and piety on the part of these poor victims of
prejodioe of course only served to confirm the en-
UKhlened inhabitants of Manhattan in the conviction
tint tbey had a very narrow escape from being deliv-
ered over body and soul to the pope. It is a curious
drcnmstance that a law made against Catholic jmests
ahouJd have been enforced only once, and then result-
ad in the death of a Protestant clergyman.
vou X. — 27
fortunate Mr. John Ury. Whether he
was really a Catholic priest or not, he was
certainly condemned and hung as such.
We have no other evidence upon the matter
than Horsmanden*s account, and from this
it does not clearly appear whether he was
really a priest or a nonjuring clergyman of
the Church of England.* The most con-
clusive fact in favor of his being a priest is
founded upon the circumstance that, when
arraigned as a priest, tried as a priest, and
condemned as a priest, he never formally
denied it, nor exhibited any evidence of his
being ordained in the Church of England.!
" The persons most to blame were the
judges and lawyers. The speech of the at-
torney-general on the trial of Ury, the sen-
tence given by Horsmanden upon certain
of the negroes, and that by the chief-justice
on others, are so harsh, cruel, and abusive
that we could hardly believe it possible that
they had uttered them, if they were not
published with the authority of Horsman-
den himself. It is evident, however, that
their * holy horror of Popery * had as.
much to do with the whole matter as their
fear of insurrection among the blacks."
Of course after this attack of in-
sanity New York was scarcely a
place for a Catholic to reside. There
must have been a few ; but evidently
they avoided attracting attention.
The next Catholic sensation was that
of a poor creature whose life had
been a sad defiance of all religion
and morality, but who, at her death,
sent some money to the Rev. Mr,.
* Campbell, in his Life and Times of Arckbithop
Carroll^ has given a dear and able analyus of the trial
and of the evidence, upon which he concludes that
the unfortunate Ury was undoubtedly a priest.
Horsmanden ahvajrs speaks of him as "Ury the
priest," in his history of the plot. It is my own <^pia*
ion that he was a nonjuror.
t Smith, in his History of New York^ vol. iL
p. 73, says ** that Mr. Smith, his father, assisted at
the request of the government on the trial against
Ury, who asserted his innocence to the last. And
when the ferments of the hour had subsided, and an
opinion prevailed that the conspiracy extended no
further than to create alarms for committing thefts
with more ease, the fiite of this man was lamented by
some and regretted by many, and the iMtKeedin^
against him generally condemned as harsh, if not cru-
el and unjust" Ury was the son of a former secre-
tary of the South Sea Company. He was executed oo
an island in the Collect, near where the Halls of Jus-
tice now stand. ** Hughson was executed on th»
south-east point of H. Kutgers's fimn, on the East
Rivo", not ten rods firom the south-east comer of
Cherry and Catharine streets." — Notes on New York-
in tJke A/Jendixto H^atsoM't Notes on Pkiiaetet^kitu.
41 8 Early History of the Catholic Church in New York.
Inglis, rector of Trinity Church, with
a request that she should be buried
in the church. She was indeed in-
terred there, till a clamor rose fierce
and loud. She was not only a pub-
lic sinner but a Catholic; the latter,
too terrible a sin to forgive, so she
was taken up ; but Mr. Inglis never
recovered from the stigma.
Not long "before the Revolution,
the few Catholics in New York were
again the object of the zeal of the
Jesuit fathers, with whom so much
of our history is connected. The
mission of the sons of St Ignatius,
which in Maryland was coeval with
the settlement of that colony, gradu-
ally extended to Pennsylvania and
New Jersey, aided chiefly by the be-
fquest of Sir John James. The mis-
sion was one involving some danger,
and hence required great caution ;
^but finally a Catholic priest stood in
New York to begin to gather the
faithful, and administer the sacra-
ments of which they had been so
long deprived. The priest who form-
ed this first congregation, the nucleus
of St. Peter's, and thus of all the Ca-
tholic institutions on the Island of
Manhattan, was a German Jesuit,
Father Ferdinand Steinmeyr, known
on the American mission as Father
Farmer. A man of extensive learn-
ing, not only in the theological stu-
dies of his church, but in the natural
sciences, the Royal Society of Lon-
don had been glad to add his name
to their list of members. Here he
would have been a fit associate for
Colden, Franklin, and Barton, but
the gratification of this taste would
have made him too conspicuous in a
prejudiced and hostile community;
and the man of science submitted to
be passed by without notice, anxious
only to do his duty as a missionary,
and gather the lost sheep of Israel.
The reticence required unfortunately
leaves us without any direct informa-
tion as to his visits, and we do not
positively know when or where this
man, whose learning would have
adorned the colony of New York,
first offered the holy sacrifice for the
pioneer congregation of Catholics in
this city. Bishop Bayley has col-
lected the various early notes and
hints on this interesting point, but it
is after all involved in great obscurity.
Yet this founder of Catholicity in
New York City lived so recentiy,
that the writer, who can claim nei-
ther gray hairs nor advanced years,
remembers several who had received
the sacraments of the church at his
hands.
Father Farmer came undoubtedly
with the address of some German
Catholic, and his visit would thus be
less likely to attract attention, as
German clergymen of various de-
nominations often passed through the
city. Mr. Idley, a German of the
early day, claimed that mass was first
said in his house in Wall street, and
the claim may not be unfounded.
Father Farmer continued these oc-
casional visits until the breaking out
of hostilities with England. The de-
feat of Washington on Long Island
threw New York into the hands of
the English, and for the next seven
years his pastoral visits became im-
possible.
So long as the colonial dependence
prevailed, the British government
stimulated anti-Catholic fanaticism,
because while this spirit was fanned
the colonies readily gave men and
money to aid in the reduction of
Canada. That French colony, after
many fruitless attempts, at last fell
under the combined efforts of the
mother country and the colonies ; but
Canada, once reduced, became the
object of sounder and more dispas-
sionate statesmanship. By the sur-
render, the Canadians were guaran-
teed certain rights, as the Irish were
Early History of the Catholic. Chutch in New York. 419
by the treaty of Limerick. Protes-
tant governments have never been
over-scrupulous on such points, and
it was as easy to break faith with the
Canadians as with the Irish, but this
time England was honest. The Ca-
tholic Church was left almost intact
in Canada ; nay, its clergy continued
under British rule to gather tithes
and receive certain traditional honors.
This was too much for the peo-
ple of the older colonies to brook.
They had not lavished blood and
treasure for this. The very bigotry
nurtured by English rule now turned
against it. And what wonder, then,
that the first standard of revolt rear-
ed in New York expressed this long-
cherished feeling, this hatred of Ca-
tholics so long encoiu^aged by go-
vernment, what wonder that the flag
of American freedom that first float-
ed to the breeze in New York bore
the motto, " No Popery " !
How little we can fathom the de-
signs of the Almighty ! Who looking
on that flag could see in it the germ
of a freedom of the church which
she then nowhere out of the patri-
mony of St. Peter really possessed ?
Yet it was there. Down to the
French alliance, this anti Catholic
feeling nerved the Whigs and dis-
couraged the friends of British rule.
Then it changed, and the Tory papers
caught up every occasion to show
how zealously Protestant the British
party was. While the selectmen of
Boston followed a Catholic proces-
sion through the streets, and Congress
went to mass, the British authorities
in New York are pointed out by a
pamphleteer of the day as beyond
>^roach. They showed their anti-
Catholic zeal in this way :
**ln 1778, in the month of February, a
»»gc French ship was taken by the British,
'*^*' the Chesapeake, and sent for condem*
nation into New York, at that time still in
P«»««ion of the Engligh. Among her
officers was a priest, of the name of De la
Motte, of the order of St Augustine, who
was chaplain of the vessel. Being permit-
ted to go at large in the city, he was solicit*
ed by his countrymen, and by those of his
own £uth, to celebrate mass. Being advis*
ed of the existence of a prohibitory law, he
applied to the commanding officer for per-
mission, which was refused ; but M. de la
Motte, not knowing the language very well,
mistook what was intended for a refusal as
a permission, and accordingly celebrated
mass. For this he was arrested, and kept
in close confinement until exchanged. This
was under Governor Tryon's administra-
tion."
Benedict Arnold — for even this pre-
cious worthy may come in as an illus*
tration— when he sat down in New
York in his uniform of a British bri*
gadier, to write his address to his
countrymen justifying the step which
he had taken, and which we are ac-
customed to characterize by the ugly
name of treason, made his strong
anti-Catholic feeling justify his course.
He had entered the movement as a
thorough Protestant ; but when Con-
gress began to favor popery, he fore-
saw the ruin cf his country, and as a
true Protestant made his peace with
England. Strong as the anti-Catho-
lic feeling had been in the hearts of
the colonists, we do not find that this
appeal of Arnold to their prejudices
induced a single man to desert the
American ranks ; it is far more likely
that it may have sent some Irish sol-
diers from the British ranks to swell
Washington's regiments.
We are apt to associate our repub-
lic with the idea of unbounded religi-
ous toleration. As we have shown,
hostility to Catholics was a potent;
element in arousing the people to
declare against Great Britain, and the
State governments as originally framed
bear deeply impressed the traces of
that common feeling which once, in
Lyons, proclaimed in one line free
toleration in matters of religion, and
in the next prohibited the mass
420
Matters relating to th$ Ccuncit.
tinder terrible penalties. If freedom
was dreamed of, it was to be one
which we were not to enjoy.
The anti-Catholic feeling that cha-
racterized the first national move-
ment was displayed in the conven-
tion which in 1777 formed a consti-
tution for the State of New York.
There no less a personage than John
Jay, subsequently minister to Eng-
land and chief-justice of the Supreme
Court of the United States, was the
ardent, fiery advocate of intolerance.
Catholics of New York owe a debt
of gratitude to Gouvemeur Morris and
Philip Livingston for the manliness
with which in that convention they
fought the battle of human freedom
and sought to check the onslaught of
intolerance. But they failed. Un-
der that constitution no Catholic
could be naturalized, and the liberty
of worship granted was couched in
such terms as to justify the legislature
at any time in crushing Catholicity,
and in point of fact they at once adopt-
ed an iron-clad oath that effectually
prevented any Catholic from holding
office.
The Briif Sketch gives the de-
bates on the interesting questions be-
fore the convention ; and it notes how,
in that curious system of language
so common with our public speakers
and writers, this constitution found an
advocate in the late polished Benja-
min F. Buder, of New York, who
praised it in an address before the
New York Historical Society for itt
liberality in containing no provision
repugnant to civil and religious tol-
eration, as though laws excluding
Catholics from citizenship and office
were not slightly repugnant.
In point of feet, however, the hos-
tile feeling of the earlier days was
soon neutralized, and at the close of
the war New York was virtually free
to receive a Catholic Church.
How, then. Catholicity took root
and grew under the protecting work
of men who
*^BaUded better than they koew/*
how it has spread and done its work
of struggle and triumph under the
federal government, will be the mat-
ter of another article.
MATFERS RELATING TO THE COUNCIL.
The following items are coDdensed
from a letter written to the Comspon-
dant^ and from other European period-
icals.
Tribunes have been prepared in the
chapel of SS. Processus and Martinus,
where the council will be held for princes,
or their ambassadors, who will be per-
mitted to attend the sessions, without,
however, enjoying the privileges con-
ceded to them in former councils. It is
in contemplation to cover the chapel
\inth a roof of glass, in order to make
the voices of the speakers more easily
audible, as the chapel is equal in size to
an ordinary cathedral If this is not
done, the ordinary sessions will have \fi
be held in the great hall, where the nun-
datum is performed on Maunday-Thur»-
day. It is probable that the public will
not be admitted, even to the solemn
sessions, although the doors leading into
the basilica will be thrown open. The
entire pavement of the chapel will be
covered by the magnificent carpet pr^
sented by the King of Prussia. It »*
definitely decided that the council shall
be called the First Council of the Vati-
can. The first stone of the monument
of the council was laid on the I4tb ^
Matters relating to the Council.
421
October. It has been determined to
admit the generals of orders and hono-
rary abbots without jurisdiction to seats
in the council. Two of the four legates
'who are to preside in the absence of the
sovereign pontiff have been named, the
CardinaJs Bilio and De Reisach. The
preliminary labors of the theologians
have been completed, the commissions
dissolved, and the results of their work
have been formulated ready for presen-
tation to the council The Holy Father
has declared that the most complete
liberty of discussion will prevail, and
that no decisions will be approved which
have not been passed by a vote ap-
proaching to unanimity. Mgr. Gianelli,
secretary of the permanent congregation
of the council, has said that the session
of the council will necessarily be a long
one, on account of the great number of
questions to be proposed for discussion.
The mode of publishing the decisions
has not yet been determined. Some
propose that the official journal of Rome
publish a daily compte rendu of the
acts of the session; others, that the
Cruilta Caitolica be published more
frequently, with an account of the de-
bates and decrees ; while others think
that no publication will be made until
the close of the council. The report
that the Hofy Father was displeased with
the mandement of the German bishops
assembled at Fulda is contradicted.
On the contrary, he was well satisfied
with it, and a favorable notice of it has
appeared in the Civilta Caitolica, It is
reported that M. PAbb6 Freppel has been
charged with an important commission
in reference to those English Protestants
who may be disposed to come to the
council.
A superb history of the council, illus-
trated in the highest style of art, is to be
published at Rome as a private enter-
prise, in six folio volumes. The first
will contain the life of the sovereign
pontiff Pius IX. ; the second, the bio-
graphies of the cardinals ; the third will
contain a description of all the grand
functions and ceremonies which are
celebrated at Rome ; the fourtli will con-
tain a history of all the preceding coun-
cils ; the fifth will contain the biographies
of all the prelates who assist at the coun-
cil ; the sixth will contain the acts of the
council. These volumes will contain a
great number of lithographic portraits,
and of chromo-lithographic illustrations
of the places, scenes, costumes, etc.
All anxiety which may have been feh
in regard to the disposition of the French
Liberal Catholics toward the council is
completely set at rest by the clear and
emphatic declaration of their principal
organ, the Correspondant, that they
will submit most unreservedly and joy-
ously to all its decisions, as expressing
the infallible judgment of the church.
The Grand Master of the Free-Masons
of France has published a circular call-
ing an extraordinary convention of the
order, to meet on the 8th of December,
in order to issue a manifesto declaring
the principles of universal human right.
The Anti-Council of Free-Thinkers will
also assemble at Naples on the same
day.
422
Foreign Literary Notes.
FOREIGN LITERARY NOTES.
It was simply natural that the uni-
versal desire to hear and learn some-
thing concerning the approaching
(Ecumenical Council — a desire that
with some meant anxiety for serious
knowledge and with others mere idle
curiosity — should be responded to by
writers willing and able to gratify it
We should far transcend our prescrib-
ed limits were we to undertake to do
more than )?ive a list of works on the
subject possessing the mere qualities
of serious treatment and some degree
of merit. Of a large class of works on
the council whose object is to vulgarize
the subject we of course make no men-
.tion. Not to speak of pamphlets with-
out number, France and Germany have
been most prolific in literary produc-
.tions concerning the council Indeed,
in these two countries alone, books of
solid erudition and elevated tone are so
numerous as almost to form a special
encyclopaedia, treating of the council
from the various stand-points of history,
law, politics, social philosophy, liturgy,
and theology. And now, scanning
more narrowly the long list, we find
ourselves obliged to pass over in silence
many of them that present the subject
simply as historical, doctrinal, or spe-
cially theological, and to confine our
brief mention to those which distinguish
themselves from the mere treatise by
an exceptional style and tone that ren-
der them more spirited and militant.
We begin with La SocUU devant le
Candle^ par le Chanoine Martinet, For
the great majority of persons outside of
the Catholic Church in England and
the United States, the mere title of this
work is in itself a surprise. They have
been so absorbingly occupied in ar-
raigning the council before society in
general and before their own little socie-
ties in particular, that it never appears
to have occurred to them that a counter-
arraignment was among modern poss'-
bilities. They have busied themselves,
and for that matter still busy themselves,
in squaring the ability and jurisdiction
of the church by what they are pleased
to call the demands of modem society —
the ideas of modem civilization ; as
though these demands and these ideas
were so perfectly recognized, classified,
and codified as to present a compact
and intelligible system. And yet, ifi
going from one to another of the entire
chorus so loudly chanting the hosannas
of the assumed system, we ask what is
this system, you will find that no two of
them agree. If the (Ecumenical Coun-
cil were to commence its work by a de-
cree that should meet the views of any
given one out of a hundred of them,
there would arise a shout of malediction
from the other ninety-nine. Suppose
the orthodox Episcopalian to be satis-
fied, the Unitarian would inevitably
be discontented. And if the Socialist
could with any reason approve of what
was done, just so certainly it would not
suit his Presbyterian neighbor. Thus,
for instance, take the first fourteen arti-
cles of the so-called ** Papal Syllabus,"
of December, 1864, and will any one
undertake to point out the Protestant
country in Europe or in America in
which one half the community would
not be at once arrayed against the other
half on the question as to whether they
are truth or error? People talk of
modern civilization and the spirit of the
age as though these expressions con-
veyed a clear and definite meaning, and
represented certain ideas distinctly re-
cognized as tmth by all ; as though this
so-called spirit of the age were some-
thing as definite, as tangible, and of as
efficacious an application as a code of
civil law ; and as though its practical
working were one of truth and harmony;
whereas, in reality, no incomprehensible
jargon of words, no jumble f f ideas, no
jungle of thicket is so helplessly con-
fused and impenetrable :ts the maze of
struggling, confused, and contradictory
theories supposed to constitute the
spirit of the age and serve a-* the expo-
nent of modern enlightenmen^ We
are not aware that the author of th^
Foreign Literary Notes.
423
work before as takes this view of the
matter ; but it is one so irresistibly sug-
gested to us by the juxtaposition of
the two statements — society before the
council, and the council before socie-
ty, that we cannot avoid express-
ing it The enemies of the church,
whose fear of her and whose ignorance
concerning her are equally great, have
long announced that she is in her de-
cline ; and yet she is now about to
affirm her existence by a movement
oi prodigious vitality — an oecumenical
council The council, pronounced im-
possible by a great number, wi.i obtain
its first success by showing the £alsity
of the asserted impossibility of the at-
tention of the world. " The council,"
says the Abb^ Martinet, "will do all
that needs ht done to classify and ren-
der coordinate without destroying, all
those ideas whose want of unity dis-
tracts us, whose opposition, real or ap-
parent, creates strife and destructive
collision among social classes and na-
tions. Not only will it place in the
light grand principles, great truths, but
it will show to sill right-minded men
universal Catholic truth, which, In en-
lightening and conciliating all truths,
all principles, prevents them from de-
generating into serious errors in the-
ory, into great iniquities in applicat on.
Possessing the centre of lights that do
not deceive, it will elevate the source of
the vital forces which save individuals,
families, and nations.''
Le ConciU CEcununique ei la Situa^
tioH ActuelU^parM, I ^Abbi Christophe^
presents the main ideas of the preced-
ing work, with more concision.
V Influence Sociaie des Conciles is
by M. Albert Du Boys, already known
as the author of a meritorious work on
jurisprudence.* The work now under
consideration is a historical study in
which the author describes the influence
former councils have exercised upon the
past From a social point of view, the au-
thor shows that the councils have pow-
erfully contributed to the enfranchise-
ment and amelioration of humanity by
* Dh Droit Criminel des PtupUs Ancuns tt Mf
dtmes.
victoriously combating the material and
moral disorders of rude and barbarous
ages, by their promotion of the founda-
tion of hospitals and institutions of
charity, by their denunciation of errors
and superstitions injurious to public or-
der or social well-being, by their gra-*
dual renunciation of clerical privileges
and immunities whenever those immuni-
ties and privileges appeared to have be-
come anomalous in a new social order.
Showing that all the elements of mo-
dern civilizadon come to us from and
through the church, the author coni
eludes that the coming council will not
be less inspired by the spirit of the
gospel than the councils that have pre-
ceded it The work is accompanied by a
complimentary letter of the distinguish-
ed Bishop of Orleans, who says in it
that the council assembles no less for
the good of civil than of religious so-
ciety.
The Lettre sur le Futur ConctU
CEcufnenique, by the Bishop of Orleans,
a translation of which was given in
The Catholic World, has already
reached its seventh edition. The im-
mense notoriety acquired by this small
book in the Catholic world, and the
letter of felicitation received by its au-
thor from the sovereign pontiff, have
made it so generally known as to dis-
pense us from very special mention of
it Bishop Dupanloup thus assigns the
council its place in the firmament of
truth. "It will be," he says, " a rising,
not a setting sun." Addressing him-
self to the human mind separated from
the church, he says, " While you dis-
perse, we unite ; while you lose, we re-
tain." And again, "In all this worlds
only the church and the sun are able to
affirm positively that they will arise the
next day, and this is what the church
does in daring, amid the existing tu*
mult, to announce a council"
Le ConciU CEcumenique^ son Import
lance dans le Temps Prisent, is the title
of a work equally well known in Ger-
many and in France. It is translated
from the German, and is from the pen
of the Bishop of Mayence, Rt Rev. Dr.
Ketteler. He demonstrates, with his
424
Foreign Literary Notes.
well-known learning and eloquence,
than for eighteen centuries the inialli-
ble teaching of the church has had no
eclipse.
Another work not less remarkable is
by Monseigneur Deschamps, Arch-
bishop of Malines, and entitled, Vln-
faillibilitk et le Concile GkniraL 1 1 dis-
cusses the question of the infallibility
of the head of the church.
Finally, the Abb^ Jaugey, in his Pe-
tit Traits Thiologique sur le Concile
(Ecumenique^ appears to have address-
ed himself to the class commonly
known as "worldly people.*' In an
easy and pleasant style he explains on
this grave subject all that such people
desire to know, and at the end of his
work groups under five headings the
subjects most likely to be passed upon
by the council These are,
First Speculative truths, or the na-
tural and supernatural orders and their
mutual connection.
Second. Moral truths concerning
civil society.
Third. Truths concernin " marriage.
Fourth. Truths concerning the au-
thority and the infallibility o popes.
Fifth. Truths concerning the rights
of the church, and its relation to the
state.
Catholic England has lately made a
solid contribution to the historic-critical
literature of the Pentateuch in The
Book of Moses ^ or the Pentateuch in its
Authorship^ Credibilityy "ttd Civiliza-
tion. By the Rev. W. Smith. Vol. I
London. 577 pages. It is highly spo-
ken of by the best German biblical cri-
tics, and specially commended for its
strength in the historical treatment ( f
;the subject
Some two years since, Alfred Ritter
•von Ameth edited a volume of the cor-
irespondence between Maria Theresa
and her daughter Marie Antoinette, and
a collection of the letters of the unfor-
tunate queen of France to her brothers
Joseph and Leopold. Both these works
were not only valuable contributions to
history, but of the most touching inte-
rest to every class of readers. The
same author has now published * at
Vienna, the remarkable correspondence
between Catharine, Empress CMf Russia,
and Joseph II., Emperor of Austria.
Better than the most eloquent essay or
the most erudite history, these letters
show us these two personages in the
truest of colors, and they form edifying
reading for any one not fully and blind-
ly committed to the belief in the ** right
divine of kings to govern wrong." Un-
der profound assurances of esteem and
the most hyperbolical compliments, 3rou
see an utter absence of respect or oi
belief in the honesty, the one of the
other. Each had his or her designs to
accomplish — that is to say, the stealing
of other people's land and the annihiU-
tion of other people's rights ; the roan-
neii of the transaction proposed being
similar to the disposal of a flock of
sheep or the transfer of a turnip-field.
Of their sincerity, take a single speci-
men. Joseph writes to Catharine, Jan-
uary 9th, 1781, and forwards the letter to
his prime minister Kaunitz, with the fol-
lowing confidential note :
" MoN CHER Princk : Void ma Icltrc i
rimpfcratricc; jc vous pric d*y ajouter ou
retrancher ce que ^ ous voudrez, mais il faut
savoir qu'on a i faire avec une femme qui
ne se soucie que d'elle et plus de Kussic que
rooi ; ainsi il faut la chatouiller. Sa vanitf
est son idole ; uii bonhcur enrage et Thorn-
mage outr6 et 4 Tenvic dc toute TEuropeTa
g&t6e. II faut df j^ hurler avec les loups :
pourvu que le bien se fasse, il importe pea
de la furme sous laquelle on robtient"t
Death could not wait for the fruition
of most of their selfish combinations.
Even at this day, nearly a century later,
several important projects discussed
between tliem have not yet received a
solution,
* Jos*^ II' und CathAri$u von RussUmd, dkr
Brie/weckitl, Wien. 1869.
t " Mv Dear Princb : I send you my letter to tHt
emprcM. Make such alterations in it as you pleaaCi
bctfing in miod that we have to do with a womaa
who cares only for herself, and more for Russia thaa
for me. So then tickle hsr vanity wtiich is her ido).
An insane good luck and the exaggerated haroafs of
all Europe have spoiled her. We must bowl whea
others ytU ; provided good is effected, it matters Bttls
how or in what manner it is obtained.'*
Foreign Literary Notes.
425
An elaborate work oq China is France
et Chine, VU Publique it PrivU des
Chinois Anciens et Modernts^ etc, etc.
Par M. O. Girard. 2 vols. 8vo. This is
not a mere book of travels, but a work de-
scriptive of the political, social, civil, mili-
tary, and religious institutions of China,
its philosophy, literature, science, and
art It appears to be the joint result of
personal observation during a residence
io the country, and of long and careful
study of Chinese history and literature.
Coining from an ecclesiastic, we might
naturally expect to find a large portion
of the book filled with accounts of the
missions of the church in China. That
subject, however, receives scarcely more
than mere mention, the author evi-
dently thinking that such information is
already elsewhere accessible, and that it
is now of more importance to make the
country known in its more peculiar as-
pects. The book is too ambitious in its
scope to be thorough, and we think it is
to be regretted that the author did not
rather give us an account of his resi-
dence (if residence he had) in China,
grouping about facts and incidents as
they arose the varied and extensive
knowledge he appears to possess of the
Flowery Kingdom.
In accordance with the desire of seve-
nd American bishops of the Catholic
Church, and under the auspices of the
Bishop of MQnster, (Westphalia,) the
college of St Maurice, near MUnster,
was founded in the spring of 1867, ex-
pressly for the education of theological
students destined for the priesthood in
missions of the United States. Not
only young men from Germany but from
America, enter the college, of whose
course of studies the English language
forms an important feature. The insti-
tution has already sent forth seven
priests. Persons desiring special infor-
mation concerning the institution, may
address, « Rev. Mr. Witte, St Maurice,
Monster, Westphalia, Germany."
T*hcre has lately appeared at Venice
* work* equally curiouf* and interesting
on Abyssinia, (Ethiopia,) or rather on its
' UHtrm mtU t^gnisimni clU i VtmMmmi mvf
relations with the republic of Venice.
It shows that centuries ago Abyssinia
had reached as high a degree of civili-
zation as Europe.
On the occasion of the late centennial
anniversary in honor of Macchiavelli,
there was produced a singular literary
work of his, hitherto entirely unknown.*
It is a translation, made by Macchiavelli
himself, of a work written by Saint Vic-
tor, Bishop of Utica, on the persecution
of Christians in Africa, under the reign
of Huneric, King of the Vandals, in the
year 500.
The question so familiar to all Ameri-
cans some dozen years ago, Have we a
Bourbon among us ? is now practically
asked in England,! and one Mr. Augus-
tus Meves disputes the place claimed for
the Rev. Eleazar Williams. For any
one who has seriously exanuned the his*
torical paradox involved in this question
there can remain no doubt that the son
of Louis XVI.— caUed Louis XVII.—
died in Paris, and was buried in the
cemetery of the church of St Margaret,
in the Faubourg St Antoine, on the
loth of January, 1795. There can also
be as little doubt that Messieurs Wil-
liams and Meves were, with more less
sincerity, impostors.
The great and justly celebrated work
of the Chevalier Rossi on subterranean
Rome has just been published in Eng*
land in a translated abridgment^ It is
a superb volume, beautifully and pro-
fusely illustrated. All that is essential
in Rossi's work has been preserved in
the present, and important additions
made. The work is especially full and
satisfactory concerning the frescoes
of the catacombs, the transition from
pagan art to Christian symbolism, the
sarcophagi, the ceremonies of the primi-
* NicccU MacckiavtUi td U smo c«nttnari0^ C0H
una sua vertiont storka mm mai fublicata.
t Th4 Anthtrntk Hist&rkmi M*9HPirs of Lonii
ChmrUt^ Princt Royml^ Datt^in of Franct, m*
condtoH cf Louis XI' I. and Mario Antointtte^ ttc,
tic. TMo Memoirs written by tAo voritahio Louis
XVI Ly etc. London 8to.
X Roma SoUtrrenea. Coropllecl from the Works
of Corametidatore RomL By J. S. NorUicote, D.D.,
and Rev. W. Brownlow, M. A. London : LoognMo.
426
New Publications,
tive churchy and other similar subjects.
MM. Northcote and Brownlow estab-
lish irrefutably that the catacombs were
never used as a burial-place for any but
members of the Christian church, and
moreover, conclusively show that the
objections presented to this hypothesis
will not bear examination.
M. Athanase Coquerel ills is well
known as a preacher in one of the
Protestant churches of Paris, and as
the author of two or three works on
literature and the fine arts. During
the past year he delivered a series
of lectures at Amsterdam, Strasburg,
Rheims, and Paris, which, being revised
and corrected, have lately appeared in
a small volume under the title of Retn-
brandt tt V Individualisme dans PArt
M. Coquerel is troubled — and very
much troubled — by the superiority of
Catholicity in art — is desirous of con-
vincing the world that it labors un-
der a mistake, and, if we will consent to
look through M. Coquerel's spectacles,
we will see that it is not only doubtful
if Catholicity possesses the superiority
so generally attributed to it, but rather
certain than otherwise that Protestant-
ism rightly claims it Here are two of
the processes by which M. Coquerel
arrives at the results mentioned, and
they are remarkable for their simplicity.
First. Rembrandt was a great genius,
and he owes his greatness to the liberal
element, to the spirit of individualism
of the reformation. Second. Leonardo
da Vinci, says M. Coquerel, ** was cer-
tainly great in the domain of art, and
we cannot say that he was absolutely
a stranger to Christian sentiment."
Really, a very handsome admission on
the part of M. Coquerel when we re-
member that Da Vinci is the painter of
the immortal " Last Supper." '* But
what is there in all this," continues our
author, with an apparently serious coun-
tenance, '^what is there in all this that
is Catholic ? — a Protestant would not
have conceived the subject otherwise !"
And here was the opportunity for M.
Coquerel to mention the names of half
a dozen or so of Protestant da Vincis ;
but, strange to say, he neglects it The
gentlemen referred to have thus for
eluded public observation. One fact in
connection with this subject is very
suggestive. It is that the superiority
of Catholicity in art may sometimes be
disputed by Protestant ministers and
controversialists, but by artists, never.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
A LITTLE Boy's Story. (Memoires
D*UN Petit Garcon.) By Julie
Gouraud. Translated from the
French by Howard Glyndon. With
eighty-six illustrations from designs
by Emile Bayard. New York : Pub-
lished by Hurd & Houghton. Cam-
bridge : Riverside Press. 1869.
This is a pleasant story for children ;
simple, full of real life, and the more
interesting from being apparently writ-
ten by one of themselves. It will inte-
rest American boys and girls to know
how French children live, how they
play and think and study. The illusr
trations are excellent, and will be a per-
fect delight to the little ones.
A Memoir on the Life and Cha-
racter OF THE Rev. Prince Deme-
trius A. de Gallitzin, Founder
OF Loretto and CATHOLicrry 11*
Cambria Co., Pa. ; Apostle of the
Alleghanies. By Very Reverend
Thomas Heyden, of Bedford, Penn-
sylvania. Baltimore: John Murphy
& Co. 1869.
It is impossible that any one at all
interested in the history of the faith io
our country should fail to welcome tbc
New Publications.
427
appearance of this memoir of the great
and good priest Father Gallitzin. A
Russian prince of high rank, baptized
and educated as a child in the Greek
schismatical church, he early became
a convert to the Catholic faith. Though
destined by his father, the Prince
Demetrius, for the military service,
Providence directed his steps to Ameri-
ca, where he had scarcely landed when
he felt himself urged, as he says, ** to
renounce all his schemes of pride and
ambition, and to embrace the clerical
profession for the benefit of the Ameri-
can mission."
Ordained priest by Bishop Carroll in
1795* ^^ ^^s ^^^^ ^ ^ missionary to la-
bor single-handed in the immense dis-
trict of country which how embraces
the dioceses of Pittsburg, Erie, and Har-
risburg. One can easily imagine the
severe hardships and sacrifices that fell
to his lot, and which were nobly sustain-
ed for forty-six years with that apostolic
zeal which always and in every place
distinguishes the Catholic missionary.
Amid the incessant labors and un-
respited fatigues of his career he still
found time to devote himself to literary
pursuits. His Defence of Catholic
Principles, and Letter on the Holy
Scriptures, to-day so widely known, are
clear, logical expositions of the Catho-
lic faith surpassed by few controver-
siaKsts. This litde memoir of the learn-
ed, holy, and self-sacrificing priest needs
no commendation from us to insure its
extensive circulation among the Ca-
tholics of our country, while we would
say to those who are not of us : Read
bere the life and character of a true
priest, and the labors of a real, bond-fide
missionary.
Cantarium Romanum: Pars Prima:
Ordinarium MisSiE. Studio et
sumptibus Monachorum Ord. S. Be-
nedicts Conv. St. Meinradi, Ind.
1869. Benziger Brothers. New
York and Cincinnati. Harmonized
edition.
We are sorry not to have had this
volume before our eyes when called
^pon to notice the same work, in sim-
ple melody without accompaniment. Is-
sued some months ago. The harmo-
nies enable us to interpret the move-
ment, which alone we deemed ill regu-
lated. We are aware that it is extreme-
ly difficult to express in musical nota-
tion the melodic movement of Gregorian
chant, and that even the same phrase
is dependent^ as to the style of its exe-
cution, upon the spirit of the season or
festival when it is sung. Pure Grego-
rian chant is not rhythmical in its mea^
sure, yet we think that a work intended
for the use of our singers and organists,
who, as a class, are utterly ignorant of
its traditional expression, might very
well be so arranged as to afford an ap-
proximative notion of it. The notation
in this work does not make any such
attempt, but gives a simple transla-
tion of the ancient Benedictine melody
into semibreves and crotchets, with-
out further direction. If sung rigidly
according to the relative length of
the notes as they are written, most
certainly the singer would fail to g^ve
the true expression either of the Latin
or of the melody in several phrases,
A careful study would perhaps correct
this in many* instances. Since our re-
ception of the book we have had the
pleasure of hearing this chant rendered
by one perfectly competent to give its
true meaning, and must confess that it
disarmed all adverse criticism. On
principle we object to the introduction
of the sensible note which prevails
throughout, but do not wish to quarrel
with those who, contrary to us, deem it
only a matter of taste. Every organist
would do well to procure and study
this most praiseworthy contribution to
the much to be desired reformation in
our church music
German Tales. By Berthold Auer-
bach. With an introduction by C.
C. Shackford. Boston : Roberts
Brothers.
This volume, containing five short
German tales, is a charming book, re-
plete with life and spirit, full of beautiful
descriptions of quaint German customs,
and overspread with wise and gentle
teachings that are '* like apples of gold
in pictures of silver."
428
New Publications.
Pure morals, kindliness, and heart-
felt interest in the brotherhood of man
breathe through these pages.
It is entirely free from that vein of
self-conceit so visible in Villa Eden^
by the same author, and the pages are
not sullied by the infidel opinions which
n^ar that volume ; opinions ^' that have
no sure, firm soil out of which they
grow, but skip about like a ' will-o'-the-
wisp' in the blue ether, very readily
changing from transcendental to nonsen-
sical.'* Indeed, we think these early
German tales a great improvement on
his later works.
Auerbach displays a keen power of an-
alyzing hearts and motives, bringing to
light the hidden springs of action ; and
in these stories it is done with such
kindliness and evident desire to look on
the best side of human nature, that his
searchings of the heart leave no sting.
The book is in excellent type and
paper, and, being of the " Handy Vol-
ume Series," would make a most com-
fortable and pleasing travelling com-
panion.
The Mysteries op the Ocean.
Translated, edited, and enlarged
from the French of Arthur Mangin,
by the translator of The Bird, With
one hundred and thirty illustrations
by W. Freeman and I. No^l. Lon-
don : T. Nelson & Sons, Paternos-
ter Row ; Edinburgh and New York.
1868.
M. Mangin has chosen a grand sub-
ject, and treated it in a masterly and
comprehensive manner. He takes us
back to the very beginning of Old
Ocean, when *^ Darkness was upon the
face of the deep, and the Spirit of God
moved upon the face of the waters."
These ages of chaos give him an oppor-
tunity of setting forth innumerable
theories— enough to suit even the most
scientific ; and fancies enough to please
the most imaginative. Here is his pic-
ture of the primeval ocean : ** Imagina-
tion not unwillingly pictures to itself
the strange and superb spectacle of a
limitless ocean seething over its volcan-
ic bed, and heaving in every direction
its contending billows, kindled here amd
there by the blood-red lustre of a glow-
ing sky, struggling through a dense and
stifling mist ; while in its waves ni}Tiads
of invisible beings, embryos of future
organisms fighting for life, and rising to
the surface in quest of inspiring light,
wait expectant, amidst the throes of the
terrible stir and tumult all around them,
the dawn of the true day upon a com-
pleted world." However, fi-om the time
that ocean becomes the ocean that we
know it, he gives innumerable facts re-
garding its tides, circulation, convid-
sions, atmosphere, winds, and tempests.
The living sea-weeds, the plant animals,
the fishes of the, ocean and even the
sea-birds, are not forgotten in this study
of the mysteries of the ocean.
The relations of man to the ocean
are also treated of—navigation, whale
and seal fishing, etc Altogether the
book is most interesting, is finely got
up, and is fully illustrated with excel-
lent engravings.
Adventures on the Great Hunt-
ing Grounds of the World. By
Victor Meunier. Illustrated with
twenty-two wood-cuts. New York:
Charles Scribner & Co. 1869. i vol
i2mo, pp. 297.
This is another volume of the inter-
esting series of Library of Wonders^
the object of ^hich is to present to the
reader a collection of well-authenticated
facts illustrative of the nature, habits,
and various modes of capturing some
of the largest and fiercest of the animal
world, and to describe some of the nu-
merous adventures, terrible fights, and
hairbreadth escapes to which the hunt-
ing of the animals has given rise.
The Desert World. From the
French of Arthur Mangin. Edited
and enlarged, by the translator of
The Bird, With 160 illustrations.
London, Edinburgh, and New York:
T. Nelson & Sons. 1869.
This is a companion book to the
Mysteries of the Ocean^ and the best
notice we can give this elegantly printed
and illustrated volume is to let the au-
thor, in his prefiu:e, speak for himself:
New Publications.
429
" The area of our present work would
be very limited if we understood the
word desert in its more rigorous signi-
fication ; for we should then have only
to consider those desolate wildernesses
which an inclement sky and a fertile
soil seem to exclude for ever from man's
dominion. But by a license which
usage authorizes, we are able to attri-
bute to this term a much more extended
sense ; and to call deserts not only the
sandy seas of Afiica and Asia, the icy
wastes of the poles, and the inaccessi-
ble crests of the great mountain-chain,
but all the regions where man has not
planted his regular communities or per-
manent abodes ; where earth has never
been appropriated, tilled, and subjected
to cultivation ; where nature has main-
tained her inviolability against the en-
croachments of human industry."
The author has made a most interest-
ing and instructive work, one that can
be read with much interest and profit
His description of the mountain re-
gions of the world is especially good.
New York Illustrated. New York:
D. Appleton & Co.
A very good description of New York
City. The illustrations of its churches,
public and other buildings, are well exe-
cuted, and the description of each must
prove a valuable assistance to strangers
visiting our city.
An Historical Sketch of the Or-
der OP St. Dominic ; or, A Memo-
rial to the French People. By
the Rev. Father Lacordaire, Member
of the same Order, of the French In-
stitute, etc New York : P. 0*Shea,
27 Barclay street 1869.
AH that was mortal of the great La-
cordaire sleeps in the grave ; but men
wch as he are not born to die—they be-
J?og to all time ; their spirit for ever
"ves and breathes in their works. His
^^ the eloquence that possesses the
^c trumpet ring that stirs men*s souls ;
«vcn when read, it is powerful
The work before us was first publish-
W in 1839. In a masterly manner it
•eposes the absurdity of liberty pro-
scribing liberty ; of giving license for
all things save serving God in the most
perfect manner, and according to the
very ^eau ideal of Christianity. Then,
in a summary and graphic manner, it
sketches the history, and points out the
great names and the eminent services
of one of the great bodies of the church
militant — an order from whose ranks
have been taken four popes, seventy
cardinals, archbishops by hundreds, and
bishops by thousands ; which has pro-
duced theologians, artists, and archi-
tects who rank with the first; ^hich
has sent forth tens of thousands of
missionaries, who have preached the
Gospel in every language under the
sun, and which has the glory of being
able to point at the same time to Aqui-
nas, the Corypheus of theologians, and
to Las Casas, the slave of the enslaved
Indians.
This book is especially i fropos at
the present, when Uie dogs of the press,
after scouring the world through years
of famine and lack of popish horrors,
have just dropped the sorry bone pick-
ed up four thousand miles away in Cra-
cow, hungrily passed from mouth to
mouth, and found, alas ! to be in reality
without a vestige of consolatory meat
— dry bone, " and nothing more."
Let those who love " fair play " read this
short defence of a religious order by
the Bossuet of the nineteenth century.
The Book of Moses ; or. The Penta-
teuch in its Authorship, Credi-
bility, AND Civilization. By Rev.
W. Smith, Ph.D. For sale by the Ca-
tholic Publication Society. (Second
Notice.)
At the time of writing our first notice
of the first volume of this g^eat work,
we had merely glanced at its contents,
and were only able to give a first im-
pression of its merit Since that time
we have read it carefully, and made use
of it in giving a course of lectures to a
theological class. We deem it, there-
fore, due to the author and to the inter-
ests of sacred science that we should
express our deliberate judgment that it
is a work of the highest erudition and
merit. The Mosaic authorship of the
430
New Publications.
Pentateuch is proved by the learned
author with all the cogency and conclu-
siveness of a complete moral demon-
stration. Not only is it by far the best
work on the subject in the English lan-
guage, but it is admitted by Dr. Reusch,
the learned editor of the Bonn Littera-
tur Blati, to be equal to the best of
the German treatises, and acknowledg-
ed by the Katholik of Mayence to be
superior to any of them. The latter
periodical criticises Dr. Smith for the
statement made by him that Moses
imitated several things in the Egyptian
sacred rites in his ritual laws. The
critic admits the similarity between
them, but asserts that Moses prescribed
these rites by divine revelation. We
venture to suggest that this is an irrele-
vant remark. The inspiration of the
Divine Spirit may have directed him to
imitate whatever was really excellent in
Egyptian institutions, whether sacred or
secular.
We hail this admirable work with
the greatest joy, and await with anxious
expectation the publication of the suc-
ceeding volumes. No professor of sa-
cred science or student of the Holy
Scriptures should be without it Neo-
logians and ir rationalists are being
crushed by the very science of criticism
which they have so loudly vaunted as
tlieir own peculiar and irresistible en-
gine of destruction for the overthrow of
revelation. It is perhaps needless to
add that Dr. Smith is a young, hitherto
unknown priest of a small country mis-
sion in Wales.
Lange's Commentary on Romans.
New York : Charles Scribner & Co.
This is one volume of a commentary
on the Old and New Testament, pre-
pared by several learned Protestant di-
vines of Germany, and translated by
competent scholars into English. It is
esteemed among the orthodox Protes-
tants as the ablest work of the kind
which they possess. It is certainly far
superior to the dull, old-fashioned com-
mentaries which were formerly used to
produce compression of the brain in
their unfortunate readers. To a Catho-
lic scholar the work may be useful in so
far as it throws the light of patient
German investigation on critical and
historical questions. Its exposition of
doctrine is chiefly interesting as show-
ing the views at present prevziling
among the sounder portion of Protes-
tants, which we may add are a decided
improvement on the original doctrines.
In the volume on Genesis we were sur-
prised to see two ridiculous statements
dictated by anti-Catholic bigotry, one
that a pope condemned the doctrine of
the antipodes, the other that Cardinal
Cullen denounced the Copernican sys-
tem. This is not creditable to a profes-
sor in Bonn University.
Moral Tales. By Maria Edgeworth.
With original designs by Darley. A
new edition. Baltimore : Kelly, Piet
& Co. 1870.
Popular Tales. By Maria Edge-
worth. With original designs by
Darley. A new edition. Baltimore:
Kelly, Piet & Co. 1870.
The Parent's Assistant; or, Sto-
ries FOR Children. By Maria
Edgeworth. A new illustrated edi-
tion. Baltimore: Kelly, Piet & Co.
1870.
These are new editions of what were
m their day among the best known and
most popular of books. They deserve
to become well known and popular
again. When Miss Edgeworth, at the
beginning of the present century, com-
menced her series of novels, the public,
says one of her later critics, " was sur-
prised by novels which contained nei-
ther ruinous towers, terrible subterra-
nean cells, nor mysterious veils, and in
which the characters were neither peers
nor foundlings." The works, too, were
remarkable for their humane sympa-
thies and their moral tendencies, as well
as for their disregard of the materials
out of which it was then the fashion to
construct romances. The same writer
mentions the fact that among the most
ardent admirers of them was Sir Wal*
ter Scott, who avows that it was h^f
humorous, tender, and admirable delin-
eations of Irish character which prompt-
ed him to attempt similar portraitures
of his own country.
New Publications:
431
We trust that the publishers will con-
tinue the series thus begun, and give us
others of her numerous and excellent
works.
Minor Chords. By Sophia May
Eckley. London: Bell & Daldy.
1869.
The poems of Mrs. Eckley have re-
ceived some very high encomiums from
the British press, more flattering though
no truer than what we ourselves are
disposed to award them after a suf-
ficiently careful perusal. They pos-
sess a pure, elevated tone, are deeply
religious in sentiment, smooth in their
rhythm, with here and there a rhyme a
trifle too mechanical, yet abounding in
evidences of poetic genius.
Manual of the Third Order of
St. Francis of Assisi, called
also the Order of Penance. 2
vols. London : Burns, Oates & Co.
For sale by the Catholic Publication
Society.
This manual has been compiled in
onier to enable members of the Third
Order of St Francis to follow the pre-
cepts and the spirit of their rule. They
sure, we believe, quite numerous in this
country, and many of them will be very
giad, no doubt, to obtain this book, well
calculated as it is for their instruction
2nd edification.
Caseike: being Rural Meditations.
By Joseph Fitzgerald, A.M. Cincin-
nati : John P. Walsh. 1869.
To those persons especially who
have a leisure hour to while away in
reading a pleasant, chatty book, we com-
mend this volume with hearty good-will.
The first paper, "Concerning Boys,"
abounds in sallies of wit, with a good
deal of what we would call " wholesome
thought," The author need not have
given us an apology for its publication,
*s he does in his preface ; but we think
the one he offers deserves more than a
iavorable notice on account of its singu-
^ty. We reproduce it, therefore, in
this place, hoping that many will pur-
cl>a»e Father Fitzgerald's little work,
not only because of its intrinsic merits,
but with a view to thereby increase
their own :
" I must build a church for a poor and
sparse congregation, and I propose to get a
portion of the necessary funds from the
sale of my book. .... I do not rush
into print because I judge that these, my
literary wares, of themselves and on their
own merits, have any valid claim to accept-
ance ; nor because I suppose that I have
any thing novel or striking in point cither
of expression or matter to offer. Far from
me be such presumptuous thoughts ! In'
sending forth this little volume I do but, as
it were, don my beggar's garb, and take my
stand in public places, which any beggar
may do without offence. It is by this
view of the case alone that I justify my
cause, which else would surely require an
ampler apology. This consideration alone
led me to address a circular to the reve-
rend clergy which, I doubt not, was by
many regarded as the height of impudence.
Now, however, after this explanation, I
hope I shall be pardoned my intrusion, and
aided in a good work, in spite of my awk-
ward presumption. I will say this, how-
ever, that I was encouraged to try this
means of collecting money for my church
by two considerations. The first was, the
well-known generosity of the clergy as pa-
trons of books ; and then the novelty of the
thing, which could hardly fail to get me
some subscribers."
The First Class Book of History.
Designed for pupils commencing the
study of history. With questions.
Adapted to the use of academies and
schools. By M. J. Kerney, A.M.,
author of Compendium of AncUnt
and Modern History^ Columbian
Arithmetic^ etc. etc. Twenty-third
revised and enlarged edition. En-
larged by the addition of Lessons in
Ancient History. Baltimore: John
Murphy & Co. 1869. Pp. 396.
In this small volume we have an
abridgment of the world's history, an-
cient and modem, sacred and profane.
Qommencing with the creation, it brings
its well-digested record of events down
even to the present day. We are posi-
tive that there has not been, and we are
morally certain that there never will be
an abridgment of history satisfactory to
all. This being premised, we can satifely
432
New Publications.
assert that this little book is, of its class,
as nearly perfect as is possible. While
as a text-book this work has deservedly
enjoyed a very large circulation in its
previous editions, the present one has
several additional and weighty claims
to general approval. We are told in the
preface 'Uhat the portion embracing
sacred and ancient history has been, in
a measure, rewritten. In modern histo-
ry, the chapters on Greece and Switz-
erland, and portions of other chapters,
are new, the whole being brought down
to the present time. Errors and inac-
curacies of whatever kind have been
carefully rectified. Superfluities have
been retrenched, and facts equally im-
portant to be known as those already
stated, introduced." After a thorough
and careful perusal of the book, we can
fully indorse the above, and give the
publishers our best wishes for its suc-
cess, trusting with them that "it will
now find its way into a still wider circle
of institutions than those in which it
has been heretofore known and appre-
ciated."
The Patriot's History of Ireland.
By M. F. Cusack, author of Thtlllus-
trated History of Ireland New
- York : Catholic Publication Society,
126 Nassau Street 1869. Pp. 320.
This History of Ireland has been
written in order to comply with a very
generally expressed desire that the au-
thor of The Illustrated History of Ire-
land would furnish a compendium of
Irish history for the use of schools, and
for the benefit of those who have not
time to read a larger work.
The good sister has, we need hardly
say, well performed her task, and lite-
rally left nothing to be desired. The
book is very neatly got up, well illus-
trated, and sells at a low price. As the
profits are entirely devoted to purposes
of charity in Kenmare, Ireland, we earn-
estly hope for it an extended circulation.
A Text-Book of Chemistry. A
Modern and Systematic Explanation
of the Elementary Principles of the
Science. Adapted to ure In high-
schools and academies. By Leroy C
Cooley, A.M. New York: Charles
Scribner & Co. 1869.
This text-book lacks one important
chapter, no attempt being made to ex-
plain the manner of preparing the neces-
sary articles for successful experiments.
The fundamental principles are well
presented and clearly explained, while
the carefully arranged nomenclature is
all that can be desired in an elementary
work. The series of illustrations are
excellent The book will be found use-
ful to all teachers who wish to give their
pupils a general knowledge of chemistry.
Frederick W. Robertson's Ser-
mons. Popular Edition. 2 vols.
i2mo. Boston : Fields, Osgood &
Co. 1869.
Of the literary merit of these sermons
there can be no two opinions. It is
also undeniable that there is much to
admire in the character of the man, and
much that is true and valuable in his
disccurses. There is too much of the
poison of rationalism in them to make
them profitable or even safe reading for
any except well-instructed theologians.
Clergymen will find them, however,
valuable to themselves as models of
style and of the art of sermonizing, espe-
cially in regard to the use to be made
of the narratives of Scripture history,
and the application of religious doctrine
to the affairs of human life. The por-
trait of the author presents him before
us as a man of strikingly handsome and
prepossessing physiognomy,and accords
perfectly with the idea we have formed
of his manly character.
NOTE.
Thk Life or Fatmk* Fabkh.— W« have »••
ccived Arom Mr. Murphy a oof^ of this work, i**
viewed in our last number, printed oo tinted ptp^*
and very handsomely bound. It is one of the v)f^
tastefully and beautifully executed booka whidi ^
have ever seen from the press of any American po^
lisbcr, and we take occasion with the greatest pto*
sure to make this acknowledgment to Mr. Morpf^f'
the fiivor he has conferred on us and the CsiIm^
public in reproducing an edition of Father Boirdo'*
excellent biography which is worthy of the gifM >^
beloved subject. The portrait of Father Fabcrii
very fine, and adds modi to the vahic of the book.
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
VOL. X., No. 58.— JANUARVV587« v /;/' ^
'rAu-'K
(
•- \
^
THE FUTURE OF PROTESTANTISM AND CAT]
This work of serious and consci-
entioos learning by the Abb^ Mar-
tin, fcmner cur^ of Femey^ noted as
the residence of Voltaire when exiled
from France, has been written main-
ly for the purpose of making known
to Catholics of the old Catholic na-
tions of Europe the real character
and tendencies of contemporary Pro-
testantism — a work not uncalled for,
since those old Catholic popula-
tions, seldom coming into personal
contact with Protestants, have not
kept tiiemselves well posted in the
changes, developments, and transfor-
inations that Protestantism has un-
dergone during the last two centuries,
and are hardly able to recognize it
in its present form, or to meet and
combat it with success. The great
controversial works of the seven-
teenth century, excellent as they were
in their time, only imperfectly serve
^ present wants of Catholic pole-
DMcs; for the dogmatic Protestan-
tism they met and vanquished is,
save in its spirit, not the Protestantism
that now confronts the church. That
pnmitive phase of Protestantism has
* D* tAvenir dm PrrUstmtiiitme tt dm CaiheH'
fMw. Par M. I'AbM Martin. Paris: Tobra et
H«oa. 1869. Svo. pp. 608.
TOL. X, — 28
passed away, never to reappear, and
a new and a very different phase has
been developed, which demands' a
new study and a new and different
mode of treatment.
The learned Abb^ Martin, favora-
bly situated for his task, during seve-
ral years, at the gate of Geneva, the
Protestant Rome, has embodied in his
volume the result of much serious
and conscientious labor devoted to
this new study, and has so well ac-
complished his task as to leave no-
thing to be desired, till Protestantism
undergoes another metamorphosis,
which it is not imlikdy to do ; foj to
assume new forms or shapes accord-
ing to the exigencies of time and
place, is of its very essence. For
this reason, the labor of refuting or
even explaining it can never be re-
garded as finished.
It is the characteristic of Protestan-
tism to have no fixed and permanent
character, except hatred of Catholicity.
It has no principles, doctrines, or
forms, which in order to be itself, tl
must always and everywhere maih«-
tain. It may be biblical and dogr
matic, sentimental or sceptical, con>-
bine with absolutism or with the re-
volution, assert the diivwc right oC
434
The Future of Protestantism atid Catholicity.
kings and passive obedience with the
old Anglican divines, or shout, h bos
Us roisy and vive U peupU / vive H-
bertky Sgaiiti^ et fratemiik I with the
old French Jacobins and contempo-
rary Mazzinians and Garibaldians,
as it finds it necessary to carry on its
unending warfare against the church,
without any change in its nature or
loss of identity. It is not a specific
error, but error in general, ready to
assume any and every particular form
that circumstances require or render
convenient It, like all error, stands
on a movable and moving founda-
tion ; and to strike it we are obliged
to strike not where it is, but where it
will be when our blow can reach it.
The abb^ is well aware of this fact, and
sees and feels the difficulty it creates.
Hence he regards Protestantism as
imperishable, and holds that our con-
troversy with it must, under one
form or another, continue as long as
error or hostility to the church con-
tinues, which will be to the end of
the world.
To those of us who were brought
up Protestants, who have known
Protestantism in all its forms by our
own experience, the Abb^ Martin
tells litde, perhaps nothing that had
not previously in some form passed
through our own minds, and not
much that had not already been pub-
lished among us by our own Catho-
lic writers. It is not easy to tell an
American Catholic any thing new of
Protestantism. There is no country
in the world where Protestantism is
or can be so well studied as our own ;
for in no other country has it had so
free a field for its development and
transformations, or in which to prove
what it really is and whither it goes.
It has suffered here no restraint from
connection with the state, and till
quite recently the church has been
too feeble with us to exert any ap-
preciable influence on its course. It
has had in the religious order
thing its own way, has followed its
own interoal law, and acted out its
nature, without let or hinderance.
Here it may, therefore, be seen and
studied in its real character and cs-
sence.
But if the Abb^ Martin has not
told us much that we did not already
know, or which American writcfs
had not already published, he has
given us a true and full account of
the present aspects and tendencies
of Protestantism throughout Europe,
very instructive to those Cathc^ics
who have had no personal acquain-
tance with it, and not unprofitable
even to those who, though converts
to the church, were familiar with it
only as seen in some one or two of
the more aristocratic sects, in which
large portions of Catholic tradition
have been retained. We in fact won-
der how a man who, like the abb^,
has had no personal experience of
Protestantism, who has never had
any internal struggle with it, and has
been brought up from infancy in the
bosom of the church and in the Ca-
tholic faith, can by study and obser-
vation, by prayer and meditatioo,
make himself so fully master of its
real character, and come so thorough-
ly to understand its spirit, its inter-
nal laws and tendencies. No doubt
one who has been a Protestant,
and knows thoroughly its language,
can find in his work proofs that Pro-
testantism was not his mother tongue,
and that he knows it only as he has
learned it ; but learned it he has, and
knows it better than it is known by
the most erudite and philosophical
Protestant ministers themselves, and
the Catholic reader may rely with
full confidence on his expositions.
The work is, in fact, an admirable sup
plement alike to Bossuet's VariaAens
and to Moehler^s Syinbolik,
It will startle some Catholics, no
The Future of Protestantism aud Cat/wlictty,
435
doubt, to hear the well-informed au-
thor assert, as he does, that Protes-
tantism is not dead or dying, that it is
imperishable, its principle is immortal,
and never was it a more formidable
enemy to the church than it is at this
present moment; but they will be
less startled when they learn what
he means by Protestantism.
"Protestantism," he says, "differs es-
sentially from all the heresies that have pre-
viously rent the bosom of the churdi. It
is not a particular heresy, nor a union of
heresies ; it is simply a frame for the recep-
tion of errors. Vinet, one of the most dis-
tingnished Protestants of the day, softens,
indeed, this expression, and says that ' Pro-
testantism is less a religion than the place
of a religion.' He would have been strictly
exact, if be had said Protestantism is less
a religioQ than the place of any negation of
religion under a religious garb. It is a cir-
cle capable of indefinite extension, of being
enlarged as occasion requires, so as to in-
dnde any and every error within its drcum-
lerence. A new error rises on the horp^n,
the drde extends further and takes it in.
Its power of extension is limited only by its
last denial, and is therefore practically illi-
mitable. What it asserted in the beginning
it was able to deny a century later ; what it
maintained a century ago it can reject now ;
and what it holds to-day it may cUscard to-
morrow. It may deny indefinitely, and
still be Protestantism. It can modify,
change, metamorphose, turn and return it-
sdf without losing any thing of its identity.
Grab, caterpillar, chrysalis, butterfly, it is
transformed, but dies not" (Pp. I, 2.)
All this is perfectly true. Protes-
tantism undoubtedly differs essentially
irom all the particular heresies of
former times, such as the Arian, Ma-
cedonian, Nestorian, Eutychian, Pe-
lagian, etc ; but we think it bears
many marks of affinity with an-
cient Gnosticism, of which it is per-
haps the historical continuation and
development. Gnosticism was not a
particular or special heresy, denying
a particular article, dogma, or propo-
sition of faith. The Gnostics held
themselves to be the enlightened
Chrfetians of their times, men who
had attained to perfect science, been
initiated into the sacred mysteries
concealed from the vulgar, professed
to be spiritual men, spiritually illumi-
nated, and looked down with contempt
on Catholics as remaining in the
outer court, sensuous and ignorant,
knowing nothing of the Spirit. This
is no bad description of contempora-
ry Protestants. They call themselves
the enlightened portion of mankind,
claim to be spiritual men, spiritually
illumined and instructed in the pro-
foundest mysteries of heaven and
earth ; while from the height of their sci-
ence they look down on us Catholics
as simply sensuous men, having only
a sensuous worship, and hold us to
be a degraded, ignorant, superstitious,
and besotted race. We are very
much disposed, for ourselves, to re-
gard Protestantism as Gnosticism mo-
dified to suit the taste, the temper,
the mental habits, and the capacity
of modem times. '.
The author makes Protestantism
not a special heresy, nor yet a union
of heresies, but the receptacle of illimi-
table denials ; yet he throughout dis-
tinguishes it from absolute unbelief in
Christianity, and maintains that eveii
as so distinguished it b imperishable,
and its principle ^mmortal. We con-
fess that we do not see how he can
make this distinction without giving
to Protestantism a specific character
and making it a positive heresy, and
not simply a fi-ame for the reception
of heresy or heresies. Assuming it
to be a positive heresy, and not the
general spirit of error adapting itself
to any and every form of error, his
reasoning is far from satisfying us
that it is imperishable. The assertion
that "its principle is immortal," can
in no case be accepted ; for -all error
must ultimately die, and only truth
survive, if our Lord is to overcome
all his enemies, and God, who is
truth itself, is to be all in all. It is
436
Tlu Future of Protestantism and Catholicity.
not to be supposed that they who
are eternally lost continue to err
and to sin for ever. They know
and confess the truth at last, and it is
their severest hell that they Jcnow
and confess it when it is too late for
it to liberate them. Understanding
Protestantism to be the general spirit
of error, we can concede it to be im-
perishable, in the sense that the world
is imperishable; for men will hate
Christ and deny him as long as the
world stands; but in no other sense
are we prepared to concede it.
The author defines the essence of
Protestantism to be hatred of the
church, and. yet throughout his book
distinguishes it from absolute infide-
lity or unbelief. We do not see the
propriety of this distinction, nor un-
derstand how he can consistently ex-
clude from Protestantism any form
of error that hatred may assume. He
makes Protestantism not a particular,
a specific heresy, but the firame in which
any negation of religion imder a religi-
ous garb may be set. We see no ground
for this restriction, and it seems to
us that it contradicts his own assertion
that Protestantism is a circle capable
df indefinite extension, and practical-
ly illimitable; for if the circle can
include only the denials of religion
that wear a religious garb, it is not
illimitable, or capable of indefinite ex-
tension.
The learned abbe, we suspect, has
l^n led into this real or apparent con-
tradiction by neglecting to distinguish
sharply between Protestants and Pro-
testantism. Protestants are of all
shades, fi'om the Calvinist down to
the unitarian or rationalist, firom the
high-churchman down to the no-
churchman. The great majority of
them retain some shreds of Christian
belief, read the Bible, look to Christ
as the redeemer of mankind, and are
governed more or less iiC their opin-
ionsy sentiments, and conduct by
Christian tradition. It would be a
great mistake as well as gross injus-
tice to represent all or even many of
them as actually or intentionally un-
believers in Christ, or to hold thetn
to be, in the way of error, any thing
more than heretics. But Protestan-
tism is not a form of heresy, is no-
thing in itself but hatred of Catholi-
city or hostility to the church of God;
and there are no lengths in the way
of denial it will not go, if necessary
for its gratification. It is potentially
absolute infidelity.
This seems to be in reality the
abb^*s own doctrine, and its truth is
evident from the fact that the gene-
ral tendency of Protestants is not
toward Catholicity, but farther and
farther from it Individuals among
them, in certain times and places^
even in large numbers, manifest de-
cided Catholic tendencies, and ulti-
mately find their way back to the
church; but whoever knows Protes-
tants well, knows that the mass of
them, if driven by Catholic polemics
to choose between the church and
the denial of Christianity, indeed,
of all religion, will not choose ^t
church. " If I can be saved only by
becoming a Catholic, I do not wish
to be saved," said a Protestant min-
ister to us one day. " I would rath-
er be damned than be a Catholic"
We politely assured him he could
have his choice. This minister ex-
pressed only the too common senti-
ment of Protestants, A certain num-
ber among them, when convinced that
Catholicity and Christianity are iden-
tical, will, the grace of God moving
and assisting, became Catholics; but
every day's experience shows that the
larger number of them love Chris-
tianity less than they hate Catholici-
ty, and will become infidels sooner
than they will become Catholics. I"
doing so, are they illogical? I^
they reject Protestantismi or simply
TJie Future of Protestantism and Catholicity,
437
follow out its spirit to its last logical
consequences ?
The learned abW restricts Protes-
tantism to such negations as wear a
religious garb. But with us, in what
is called Free Religion, we have seen
infidelity itself wearing the garb and
speaking the language of religion. In
France there are the positivists, real
atheists, who clothe themselves with
a religious vestment, adopt a ritu-
al, and observe a regular worship.
These, if the author insist on his re-
striction, must be included within the
Protestant circle, and if these are in-
cludedj it will be difficult to say what
class of enemies of Christ and his
church are to be excluded. We see
no good reason, therefore, for any re-
striction in the case. Protestantism
is made up of negations, without any
affirmation or positive truth of its
own ; and no reason can be assigned
why we should not hold it capable
of including within its circumference,
without loss of identity or essential al-
teration, any or all errors against the
Catholic Church, and if as yet only
heretical with the many, why it is not
capable in its developments of becom-
ing downright apostasy or complete
denial of Christianity.
Taken in this sense, we admit that
Protestantism is not dead, nor dying;
but will continue to confront the
church to the end of time. The
church in this world is alwa3rs the
church militant. She will always
have her enemies with whom she can
never make peace so long as she re-
mains faithful to her Lord. " Think
not," said our Lord, -'that I am
come to send peace on the earth;
nay, a sword, rather." The S)ma-
gogue of Satan stands alwa3rs over
against the church of God, and the
world will always hate the church as
it hated our Lord himself; for she
is not of the world as he was not of
it. Yet we attach no great impor-
tance, if this be its meaning, to the
proposition, " Protestantism is imper-
ishable," which the Abb^ Martin la-
bors hard and at great length to
sustain ; for it is only saying in other
words that hatred to the church will
continue till the consummation of the
worid.
But if the proposition means that
Protestantism under its original or
even its present form, as held by the
mass of Protestants, is imperishable,
we can only say, nothing proves it to
our satisfaction. That the essence of
Protestantism, which the author de
fines to be hatred of Catholicity, will
continue as long as the world stands
we do not doubt ; but nothing proves
to us that it may not change its form
in the future as it has done in the past,
or that the great body of Protestants
may not gradually eliminate all that
they have thus far retained of Chris-
tian tradition or Christian belief, re-
ject even the Christian name, and
lapse into pure Gentilism, as they are
already lapsing into carnal Judaism.
The abb^, while he is strictly cor-
rect when telling us what Protestan-
tism is, that it is less a religion than
the firame for the reception of all pos-
sible anti-Christian negations, yet
seems in much of his reasoning with
regard to its future to proceed as if
he held Protestantism to be, not an
immutable system indeed, but, after
all, something definite and positive or
affirmative. He knows as well as
we do, and abundantly proves in his
book, that Protestantism affirms no-
thing, contains .as peculiar to itself
no affirmative proposition whatever.
The affirmative propositions held by
Protestants are simply fiugments of
Catholic truth taught and held fast
in their integrity by the church long
ages before Luther and Calvin were
bom, and constitute no part of Pro-
testantism. The Protestantism is all
in the perversion, comiptioil, or de-
438
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity.
nial of Catholic truth. There is no-
thing in it of its own but its negations
and hatred of the church, her faith,
her discipline, and her worship, to be
continued, or that can be the subject
of any predicate. Protestantism re-
ceives into its bosom one form of er-
ror as readily as another, and com-
plete unbelief as the inchoate apos-
tasy called heresy, though we readily
grant that the majority of Protestants
are not, as yet, prepared to accept in-
fidelity pure and simple ; and many
of them, we trust, are, in their inten-
tions and dispositions, prepared to
accept and obey the truth when made
known to them, and may yet in God's
gracious providence find tjieir way
into the Cathohc communion and be
saved.
The Reformers, or the fathers of the
modem Protestant movement, did
not intend to give up Christianity or
the church. They thought they
could reject the papacy and the sa-
cerdotal order, and still retain the
Christian faith and the Christian
church. But they were not slow to
discover that this was impracticably,
and that, if they gave up the papacy
and the sacerdotal order, they must
give up the sacraments, save as un-
meaning rites, infiised grace, the merit
of good works, the church as a liv-
ing organism, the whole Mediatorial
work of Christ in our actual regene-
ration, and fall back on immedia-
tism, and deny all living or present
Mediator between God and man.
Their successors have found out that
an irresistible logic carries them far-
ther still, and requires them to reject
all creeds and dogmas as superfluous,
to resolve faith into confidoice, and
to rely solely on the immediate inter-
nal illumination and operations of the
Holy Ghost. A new goieration is
beginning to discover that even this
is too much, and is preparing to at-
tribute to nature and the soul ni^at
its predecessors had attributed to the
immediate supernatural operatioDS of
the Spirit There is but one step far-
ther, and you have reached the goal,
that of resolving God hinoself into the
human soul, or the identification of
God with man and man with God,
and not a few have already taken it
Protestant experience has proved
that the Catholic system is homoge-
neous, self-consistent, all of a piece,
so to speak ; woven without seam, and
not to be parted; that it must either
be accepted or rejected as ^ whole.
We do not say that all or the majori-
ty of Protestants see this ; but many
of them see it, and their vanguard
loudly proclaim it, and declare the
issue to be. Catholicity or rationalism,
that is, naturalism. There is no mid-
dle ground tenable, to a logical mind
with a courage equal to its logic, be-
tween the two. It must be either
the church or the world. Catholicity
or naturalism, God or atheism. Wc
know great bodies move slow, and
the great body of Protestants will not
come to a full conviction of this to-
day nor to-morrow; but they are tend-
ing to it, and can hardly &U, in the
natural course of things, one day to
reach it Having reached it, wc
think the sincere and earnest Protes-
tants, who love and study the Bible and
mean to be Christians, will be gather-
ed into the Catholic fc^d, aiKl the
others most Ukely, other things re-
maining as they are, will follow their
Protestant spirit into naturalism, and
give up Christian baptism and Chris-
tian £iith altogether.
The audior tells us that there are
two very obvious t^idencies among
Protestants: the one a tendency
to return to the church, and the
odier a tendency to rationalism and
complete infidelity; bat he thinks
there will alwajrs remain in the non-
Cadiolic body a certain number of
honest, pious souls who shrink from
The Future of Protestantism and Catfwlicity.
439
unbalie^ and yet, while they hold on
to certain shreds of Christianity, will,
from ignorance, prejudice, and other
causes, continue to protest against the
Catholic faith. He supposes that
among Protestants there are large
numbers of such persons, who really
believe in Jesus Christ, who really
love his rdigion as far as they know
it, who have real Christian piety, and
actually believe themselves to be
true Christians in faith and practice.
These, he contends, preserve to Pro-
testantism a certain religious and
Christian character, and will prevent
it firom ever lapsing into complete un-
belief and irreligion. They will al-
wa3rs insist on some form of Chris-
tianity ; and whatever the form they
adopt, it will be Protestantism. He
may be right ; but we think, in dis-
cussing the future of Protestantism,
he makes too much account of these
pious persons ; for if as well disposed
as he assumes them to be, they can
hardly £ul, as time goes on and the
real character of the Reformation be-
comes more and more manifest, to
follow out their Christian tendency,
and return to the communion of the
Catholic Church.
Looking at the two tendencies
among Protestants, studying them as
thoroughly as we are able, and con-
sidering especially the essential nature
of Protestantism, together with what
we may call the logic of error — ^for er-
ror as well as truth has its logic — we
think Protestantism as pretending to
be Christian will, as we have said,
finally disappear, and prove itself
practically, as it is logically, the total
rejection of the Christian religion, and
dierefore of Christ himself. In point
of fiact, Protestantism in its spirit and
essence, as the author shows beyond
contradiction, is only the revival un-
der a modem form of the great Gen-
tile Apostasy that followed the build-
ing of the Tower of Babel, and must,
if it run its course, lapse either into
no-religion, as it has already done
with our modem scientists, or into
demon-woiship and gross idolatry and
superstition, as it is actually doing
with modem spiritists right under our
eyes. We look, as we have already
intimated, for a separation of the
wheat from the chaff, and believe the
time will come when the real issue
will be made up, and the battle we
must wage be not with heresy, but
with imdisguised and unmitigated in-
fidelity, rationalism, naturalism, or
piu« secularism.
We cannot give a complete analy-
sis of the Abb^ Martin's work ; for it
is itself little else than an analysis.
But an interesting and important
portion of it is devoted to the Pro-
testant revival and propaganda, be-
ginning in the latter haJf of the last
century, and continued so vigorously
in the present. Protestantism, seek-
ing from the first the aid and protec-
tion of the princes, soon assumed in
each country that adopted it the
form and state of a national religious
establishment, defended and govern-
ed by the secular power. Having no
true spiritual life within, and defended
without and provided for by the gov-
ernment, it fell, as soon as the reli-
gious wars occasioned by its origin
had subsided, into a state of torpor,
and the people under it fell almost
universally into a religious somno-
lence. The establishment was sus-
tained even with rigor, but personal
religion was generally unknown or
disregarded. Some individuals, see-
ing this, applied themselves to awaken
in the torpid masses a personal inter-
est in religion. From them began a
religious revival, or a movement in
behalf of personal religion, known in
Germany as Pietism, in Great Britain
and elsewhere as Methodism, which
holds principally from John and
Charles Wesley, George Whitefield,
440
The Future of Protestantism aud Catholicity.
and Lady Huntington. This revival,
which has done much to increase indi-
vidualism, and to weaken the influence
of dogma and church principles, and
which has developed a q)ecies of
evangelical illuminism resulting in a
sort of infidel illuminism, as seen in
our American transcendentalists and
firee religionists, has, upon the whole,
the author thinks, injured more than
it has advanced Protestantism. Such,
we are sure, has been the fact in this
country, unless we identify Protes-
tantism with pure unbelief and indif-
ference. Not one fourth of those as-
sumed to be " hopefully converted "
in revival seasons stay converted,
while the backsUders are worse Chris-
tians, and those who remain pious
are no better Protestants, than they
were before their conversion.
The revival has, however, given
birth to a vigorous propaganda in
pagan and Catholic countries, and
even in Protestant cotmtries them-
selves, by means of Bible societies,
tract societies, home and foreign mis-
sionary societies, supported on a large
scale and with apparently inexhaus-
tible means. The author discusses
this Protestant propaganda in rela-
tion to infidel nations ; to mixed na-
tions, or nations composed of Protes-
tants and Catholics; and finally to
old Catholic nations. In infidel or
pagan nations he maintains that it
has thus far been null. He main-
tains also that in all those Protestant
nations, or nations in which Protes-
tantism became the established
church, but in which some remnants
of the old Catholic population still
remained and adhered to the Catho-
lic faith and worship, the propaganda
has, upon the whole, proved a failure,
and in nearly all of them Catholicity
has gained, and is still gaining, on
Protestantism. This, counting from
the date of the institution of the Pro-
testant foreign and liome missions
in the beginning of the present centu-
ry, is certainly true in Great Britain
and Irdand, in Holland, Switzeriand,
especially in Sweden and Norway,
and in this country ; though the prin-
cipal gains in England, Scotland, and
the United States are due to the im-
migration of Catholics fit>m coun-
tries under Protestant governments,
or governments not friendly to the
church. In the United States we
are almost wholly indebted for die
astonishing growth of the church to
the migration hither of Catholics
fix>m Ireland and Germany. We
have numerous conversions, indeed;
but they form hardly an appreciable
element in our entire Catholic popu-
lation. In the English-speaking
world Aere have been many conver-
sions firom the upper classes and
fix>m the ranks of the Protestant min-
istry, especially of the Anglican and
Protestant Episcopal communions;
but very little impression is as yet
made on the middle and lower classes,
who must be converted before much
progress is made in the conversion of
a nation. We have certainly gained
ground in Protestant nations, but pro-
bably not much more than we have
lost in old Cadic^ic nations.
While the Protestant propaganda
has failed with infidel or pagan na-
tions, and with the Catholic popula-
tions of Protestant nations, the author
maintains that, allied with rationalise
and the revolution, it has not been
wholly unsuccessful in old Catholic
nations, as France, Italy, Spain, Aus-
tria, and Hungary. It is, he main-
tains, ''worse than idle to pretend
that Protestant missions in these
nations are wholly barren of results,
or have met with only insignificant
success. Their success has been
considerable, not perhaps in making
Protestants, but in unmaking Catho-
lics. Their missions are generally
favored by the press, by the highar
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity,
441
Ktemture, and by the governments,
whidi, even though nominally Ca-
tholic, are always jealous of the
chorch, and ever encroaching on her
rights and restraining her freedom.
The success of the Protestant pro-
paganda in these old Catholic na-
tions, the author thinks, is due to the
reputation Protestant nations have
of surpassing Catholic nations in ma-
terial well-being; of having found-
ed civil and religious liberty; and
diiefly to the unpopularity of the
^^^^rgy* the supin^ness of Catho-
lics, and the ignorance of the Ca-
tholic clergy of the real character
of contemporary Protestantism. All
these causes no doubt are operative ;
but the real cause, we apprehend, is
to be sought in the ascendency ac-
quired by the world in tiie fifteenth
century, and which has invaded Ca-
tholic nations hardly less successfully
than Protestant nations. Protestan-
tism is the child of this ascendency,
and its legitimate tendency is to place
the world above heaven, and man
above God ; or the complete supre-
macy of the secular over the spiritual.
In its origin Protestantism seemed
to be an exaggerated supernatural-
ism, denying to the natural all moral
ability since the fall, and consequent-
ly assigning to the human will no
active part in the work of justifica-
tion or sanctification. But extremes
meet ; and the exaggerated super-
naturalism in relation to the world
to come proved to be only an exag-
gerated naturalism in relation to this
worid. To deny all activity of the
natural in the work of sanctity is only
emancipating the natural ft-om the
supernatural, from the moral law,
and leaving it therefore fi-ee from all
moral accountability, to follow with-
out restraint its own inclinations and
tendencies ; for what is incapable of
meriting is necessarily incapable of
sinning. As the affections of the na-
tural fasten on this world and the
goods of this life, Protestantism
soon lost practically all sense of the
divine, as it is now rapidly losing it
theoretically, and turned the whole
activity of the nations that embraced
it to the cultivation of the material
order and the acquisition of material
goods, leaving the spiritual order be-
hind as a popish superstition, or an
invention of priestcraft for enslaving
the soul and restraining the natural
freedom of mankind.
The spirit that generated and ope-
rates in Protestantism, and which its
doctrine of firee or sovereign grace
only fortifies, is, in £eict, only the old
heathen spirit that seeks only the
goods of this life, and so pointedly
condemned by Christianity. It re-
verses the word of our Lord, " Seek
first the kingdom of God and his jus-
tice, and all these things shall be add-
ed unto you;" and says, "Seek first
these things — ^the goods of this life —
and the kingdom of God and his jus-
tice shall be added; if, indeed, such
kingdom or justice there be." This
spirit was not originated by the Refor-
mation. It had preceded it It had
originated the great Gentile Apostasy^
and caused the carnal Jews to misin-
terpret the prophecies and to expect
in the promised Messiah a temporal
prince instead of a spiritual redeemer
and regenerator. It had even enter-
ed the garden and induced the fall of
our first parents. It has always sub-
sisted in the world ; nay, is what St
Augustine called the City of the
World as opposed to the City of <jod>
and which had its type and represen-
tative in the Roman republic and
empire. It is the purely secular spirit
emancipated fit>m the spiritual, and
substituting itself for it
This spirit is everywhere warred
against by Christianity, therefore by
Catholicity ; and during the temporal
calamities of the barbarous and mid-
442
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity,
die ages was held in check by the
church; but the advancement of
political and social order, the pro-
gress of well-being, the revival of pa-
gan literature and art, the opening
of new or long disused routes of
commerce, and the discovery, in the
fifteenth century, of a new continent
with its untold treasures, gave new
force and activity to the pagan spirit,
and enabled it to pervade and take
possession of the governments, never
very submissive to the church, of the
emperor, of kings, princes, and no-
bles, and, in general, of the upper
classes of European society. Chris-
tendom was well prepared at the
opening of the sixteenth century
for a revival of Gentilism, which
found able and magnificent suppor-
ters in the Medici of Florence, so
dear to modem uncatholic scholars,
but so fatal in their influence on Ca-
tholic interests.
With the revival of Gentilism or
secularism there came the revival of
the quarrel of pagan times between
Germany and Rome; and Luther's
movement derived its chief strength
from its appeal to the old German
hatred of Roman domination, repre-
sented in the fifteenth century, it was
assumed, in part by the pope, and in
part by the emperor, who pretended
to revive the old Roman empire and
to succeed to the Roman Caesars of
the West The Germanic nations,
never thoroughly Romanized, rebel-
led against the church, not because
the secular spirit was more or less
rampant with them than with the
Romanic nations that remained Ca-
tholic, but because the centre of her
authority was the old hated city of
Rome; and they looked upon her
authority as Roman, and incompati-
ble with their own national indepen-
dence. Nothing is farther from the
truth than to suppose that they were
moved by a desire to emancipate the
human mind from its pretended
thraldom under the pope, or to es-
tablish fi-ee inquiry and the liberty of
private judgment; for they 3rielded
from the first to the secular or national
sovereign all the authority in spirituals
which had been previously exercis-
ed by the Roman ponti£ Wherever
Protestantism gained a political sta-
tus, the two powers, as under pagan-
ism — ^unless we except Geneva, Scot-
land, and, subsequently. New Eng-
land — were united in the secular sove-
reign or the state. Calvin in Geneva,
Knox in Scotland, and the Puritans in
New England, though they sought to
imite the two powers in the same
governing body, sought to unite dicm
in the hands of the church rather than
of the state, in consequence of their
misinterpretation of the Hebrew
commonwealth, which, in fact, grave
us the first example in history of the
separation of the two powers, the sa-
cerdotal and the secular, always as-
serted and insisted on by die Catho-
lic Church.
The real character of the Protes-
tant movement was a movement in
behalf of nationalism — the distinctive
feature of Gentilism — revived by the
insurgent worldly spirit Ti^e church
herself, in the nations that adhered to
her, was defended against the so-call-
ed Reformation, except by the theolo-
gians, not on Catholic principles, but
on national principles; and hence
the secular auUiority sought constant-
ly to exercise a supervision over the
church, and, as far as p>ossible, to
convert her into a national church.
The so-called Catholic governments
did not differ in principle from the
Protestant governments, and have
never done so since. They protect-
ed the church, to a certain extent,
from recognized heresies, and provid-
ed for the pomp and splendor of her
worship; but restrained in every pos-
sible way her full freedom of action,
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity,
443
and compelled her to yield to their
respective natioiul policies in order
to avoid a greater evil. The church
could not fully instruct the people in
any CathoUc nation in the principles
which should govern the relations of
church and state without incurring
the persecution of her pretended pro-
tectors. Hence, there grew up in all
Catholic nations a false view of those
relations, which greatly weakened the
church and aided the growth of the
secular spirit Catholicity, having
been supported, not as Catholic but
as a national religion, by Catholic
governments and their courtiers, we
find now, when the governments
cease to defend it even as a national
religion, and are more hostile than
fiiendly to the church, that the Ca-
tholic populations of old Catholic na-
tions, never allowed by the secular
authority to be fully instructed in the
secular relations of their religion, and
never accustomed to act personally
in the intellectual defence of their
faith, incrusted over with the secular-
ism encouraged by their governments,
are almost universally imarmed and
defenceless before the Protestant pro-
paganda, having in its favor the pres-
tige of the worldly power and sup-
posed well-being of Protestant na-
tions, and of the championship of
civil and religious liberty.
Here, we apprehend, is the real se-
cret of the success of Protestant mis-
sions in old Catholic nations ; not in
the ignorance of the Catholic clergy
of the real character of contemporary
Protestantism, as the Abb^ Martin
maintains. He shows, perhaps exag-
gerates, the danger which the church
runs in these old Catholic nations,
and admits that it is becoming appa-
rent, if not to all, at least to many of
the clergy, and asks,
"How could it be otherwise with the
French clergy, so learned, so pious, so vigi-
lant, wad so zealous ? They are preparing
themselves for the struggle ; they proceed
to the battle with the eneigy of faith; they
lack not ability ; but fhey lack a knowledge
of contemporary Protestantism. If they
would struggle with success, if they would
revive the glorious days of the Catholic
apologetic of the seventeenth century, or
rather, if they would create a new apologe-
tic in harmony with the wants and errors of
the times, they must study Protestantism
in its latest evolutions and in its actual
^ysiognomy. " ( Pp. 1 78, 1 79. )
No doubt there is more or less
ignorance even among the French
cleigy as to the various phases and
wiles of Protestantism, and which
their text-books will hardly help
them to dissipate; but what seems
to us to stand most in their way is
precisely their need of studying Ca-
tholic theology more thoroughly in
its relations to human reason and
the secular order — a study they
could hardly prosecute under what
are facetiously termed '^ the Gallican
liberties;" that is, liberties of the
government to enslave the cKiu"ch.
No man who has learned Catholic
theology as catholic instead of nation-
al, who has learned that the church
represents on earth the spiritual or-
der, and has the freedom and courage
to maintain that the spiritual is supe-
rior to the temporal, is, in fact, the
end for which the temporal exists,
and therefore that which prescribes to
the temporal its law, can ever be at
a loss to understand or to know how
to meet Protestantism the moment he
sees it, whatever the particular phase
it may exhibit Protestantism is not
and never was any thing but a series
of negations, and all the advantage it
has ever had or ever will have over
Catholics is precisely in their igno-
rance of the real or intrinsic relation
of the Catholic doctrine or doctrines
it denies to the whole body of Catho-
lic truth.
Protestantism, the author himself
sees,- is simply revived paganism ; but
what he does not see is, that the state
444
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity.
in all European nations has always
been pagan, and never in its princi-
ple or constitution been truly Chris-
tian. Our own political constitution
may be very imperfect, may be des-
tined to a speedy end ; but it is the
first and only instance in history of a
political constitution based on Chris-
tian principles ; that is, on the recog-
nition of the independence of religion
and the supremacy of the spiritual
order. It recognizes, in our modem
phrase, the inalienable rights of man
as its basis; but what the American
statesman calls the rights of man are,
in reality, the rights of God, which
every human authority must hold sa-.
cred and inviolable. We pretend not
that the American people or Ameri-
can statesmen fully understand or ad-
here practically to the American con-
stitution, or that they ever will till
they become Catholics and under-
stand, as comparatively few Catholics
even now do, the principles of their
church in their political and social
applications. Nevertheless, the con-
stitution is based on the independence
and supremacy of the spiritual order,
which the secular order must always
and everywhere recognize, respect,
and defend. This is in direct contra-
diction of the principle of the pagan
republic, which asserts the independ-
ence and supremacy of the state alike
in temporals and spirituals.
But this pagan principle of the su-
premacy of the state has always been
the basis of the European public law,
and the church, though she has al-
ways maintained the contrary, has al-
ways been held in the civil jurispru-
dence to have only the rights accord-
ed her by the civil government This
has always been the doctrine alike of
the Civil Law and the Common Law
courts, always rigidly enforced by
the French parliaments, and not sel-
dom yielded by courtiy prelates afraid,
as in England, of the statute oifntmu*
nire. There have been individual
sovereigns who personally understood
and yielded the church her rights;
but their lawyers never recognized
them save as grants or concessions
by the prince. Hence the intermi-
nable quarrel of the legists and the
canonists, and the sad spectacle of die
bishops of a nation not seldom desert-
ing almost in a body the supreme
pontiff in his deadly struggle with
their civil tyrants in defence of their
own rights, and the freedom and
independence of the spiritual order.
Hence, too, we see Italian statesmen,
while pretending to acknowledge and
confirm religious liberty, confiscating
the goods of the church, and prescrib-
ing in the name of the state the con-
ditions on which the bishops of the
church will be permitted to exercise
their pastoral functions. Hence it is,
also, that we have seen pious and de-
vout Catholics defend the revolution
and preach political atheism in one
breath, and the most rigid orthodoxy
in another.
With all deference to M. I'AbW
Martin, we must think that what is
wanting in the Catholic populations
of old Catholic countries in order to
resist the Protestant propaganda, is
not so much a better knowledge of
Protestantism, as a more thorough
knowledge of their own faith, and
of Catholic principles themselves, in
relation to one another and to the
secular order — a knowledge which has
been hindered, and to a great extent
prevented, by the paganism of the
state, which has disabled the church
from freely and fully giving it Hap-
pily, the European governments by
ceasing to be protectors of the church
have in great measure lost the power,
if not to afflict and persecute, at
least to enslave her. The bishops,
with only here and there an excep-
tion, no longer take the side of Qesir
against Peter, and see that their in-
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity,
445
terests and those of the church can
be saved only by the strictest union
with and submission to the supreme
pastor, the vicar of Christ. The su-
preme pastor himself, without con-
sulting earthly potentates or confer-
nng with flesh and blood, has pro-
nounced in his Encyclical and Sylla-
bus, a rigorous judgment on political
atheism and paganism in modem so-
ciety, and set forth the Catholic prin-
ciples in which the faithful need to
be instructed in order to resist the
Protestant propaganda, supported by
rationalism and the revolution. He
has asserted the independence and
freedom of the church in convoking
by his own authority, almost in defi-
ance of the secular powers, an oecu-
menical council, to be held in his own
palace of the Vatican, in which the
universal church, aided by the Holy
Ghost, will, we presume, deliberate
and pronounce upon the errors of
the times, and indicate the means of
anresting the evils that now so griev-
ously afflict society, both spiritual and
secular. Hereafter, we may hop^,
the ^ithfiil, cost what it may, will be
more thoroughly instructed as to the
relations of the two powers, and of faith
to reason and dvil society, so that an
end will be put to the progress in
Catholic nations of Protestantism, ra-
tionalism, and political atheism.
The Abb^ Martin succeeds better in
describing Protestantism as it is, and in
settmg forth the danger it threatens,
than in pointing out the remedy to be
applied by Catholics, or in assigning
the causes of the delects he finds or
thinks he finds among them. He does
not see that these defects, in so far
as general, are almost wholly due to
the pagan constitution of the state,
which has survived the downfall of
pagan Rome, and to the fact that
the church has never yet in the Old
Worid had her full freedom and inde-
pendence, but has always been more
or less restrained in her action by the
jealousy or hostility of the state.
The lack of individual energy and
self-reliance of Catholics in asserting
and defending the rights of the church,
which the abb^ deplores, has its ori-
gin in the restraint imposed by the
civil authority on the fireedom of the
church.
" Catholics," he says, " relying on au-
thority, full of confidence in its unfailing
promises, are quite ready to think that it is
enough for them to preserve the fiuth in
their hearts, and to perform its works, while
the defence and preservation of the church
is the care of Providence. This sentiment,
very commendable, no doubt, is yet, when
not joined to a masculine energy which
counts no sacrifices, if needed, in sustaining
the work of God, only an enervating sloth.
Catholics — ^may I say it ? — ^necd the activity
of individual forces, not, indeed, of that ex-
cessive individualism which, puffed up by
pride, drives the Protestant over the dark
waves of doubt, but that Christian indivi-
dualism which, accepting by conviction the
compass of authority, knows how to em-
ploy all its personal forces in its service.
This individualism, Protestants reproach us
with lacking ; let us prove to them the con-
trary, and show that individual action is
quite as powerful and far more productive,
when it is well balanced, measured, and
subjected to wise rules,, as when it wanders
without law or discipline, and acts only un-
der the varying impulses of free inquiry.
It is, moreover, necessary to enter into this
way; for the time has come for Catholics to
understand that they can henceforth i^o-
where on earth count on any support but
from God and themselves." (Pp. 175, 176.)
The author adds that Catholics,
not only nominal but even many
practical Catholics, lack the individu-
al energy that
"springs from profound faith, the faith
which goes to the marrow, and enters even
the centre of the soul, and radiates from it
in earnest convictions over all religious prac-
tices, over the entire life, giving to them
their true sense and to it the right direction
and end. Protestants accuse our church of
materialism in her worship
"The charge is false when applied to the
church and her worship, but is only too
true when applied to her members. Hence
446
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity,
the painful inconsistencies in their conduct
They are Catholics in the church, Catholics
in essential religious practices, sometimes
even in works of supererogation, but are
•elsewhere and in other matters hardly
Christians. The ftetit devotion is sterile;
manly, robust piety alone is productive, and
it is it alone that we must labor to diffuse.
We should seek to make it enter into souls
and become fused with their very substance.
Catholic worship is the most admirable ve-
hicle of the spirit of life ; but souls must
comprehend it, and be instructed to draw
the spirit of life from it" (Pp. 176, 177.)
There is no doubt truth in this,
and with but too many Catholics their
religion is little more in practice than
a lifeless form ; but this, so far as due
to the clergy, is due rather to their
want of earnestness and zeal, which
the author says they do not lack, than
to their ignorance of contemporary
Protestantism. We pay litde heed
to the reproaches of Protestants,
more likely to mislead than to instruct
Catholics; biit we are quite willing
to concede that in old Catholic na-
tions there may be a want among
Catholics of the sort of individual
energy defined and demanded by
the author; but, in the first place,
we are disposed to think that his
long study of Protestantism, which
is based on individualism, and his
observation of the part played by
what Protestants call personal reli-
gion, have led him to overrate the im-
portance of this outward individual
zeal and energy in the church ; and
in the second place, he seems not to
have sufficiendy considered that they
can hardly be looked for in a com-
munity accustomed for ages to rely
on the civil power to look out for
the defence of the church, and for her
protection against heretics and here-
sies. In such communities the firee
action of the church has been crip-
pled by the attempt of the state to
do her work and only bungling it, and
in which no call for personal efibrt
m preserving and defending the
church externally has been made «i
Catholics as individuals. The erfl
results naturally fix>m the coDdition
in which Catholics must be foood
when abandoned by the govenuncDt
that had hitherto saved them from xH
necessity of any personal activity in
their own defence against extcxnal
enemies. It can be only tempo-
rary, if the church is left hencefocth
free by the government to appeal to
the individual fruth, love, and exer-
tions of the faithfiil under her direc-
tion.
There is, no doubt, much tepidity,
formalism, and momentary imbecility
in the face of the enemy in old Ca-
tholic populations ; for not the just
nor the elect only are members of
the church ; but abandoned or op-
posed as the church now is by the
governments, and thrown back as
she is everjrwhere upon her own ^^
sources as a spiritual kingdom, forced
to be even in old Catholic nati<»ii
once more a missionary church is
every thing except in outward foia,
and obliged to appeal directly to the
faithful individually, there can hardly
fail to be developed in Catholics the
personal qualities which the author
thinks they do not now possess. The
need of a robust and manly piety to
struggle with the world and the CD^
mies of the church will very soon
call it forth, where religion is free
and faith is not extinct
We cannot but think, if the autba
had experienced the vexations and
annoyances that we have fix)m the
personal and individual zeal and ac-
tivity of Protestants of the revival
stamp, each one of whom acts as if
he were an Adas and bore the wbok
weight of the religious world on w*
individual shoulders, he would m*^
prefer its absence among Catholics to
its presence. Not more troublesome
were the fix)gs of Egypt, that came
up into the kneading-troughs and the
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity.
447
sleepmg-chambeis. It is not easy to
describe the sensation of relief a con-
vert from Protestantism feels on com-
ing into the church and learning that
he has now a religion that can
sustain him instead of needing him
to sustain it With Protestants, the
member bears the sect; with Catho-
lics, the church bears the member.
The sacraments are effective ex op-
ere operato. We are disposed, more-
over, to believe that Catholics best
serve the Catholic cause by each
one's doing in his own sphere his
own allotted work. The imity of
faith, and the imity of the spirit that
works alike in all the faithful to will
and to do, are sufficient to secure
unity of action, and action to one and
the same end, and to effect with mar-
vellous rapidity the grandest and
most magnificent results. This, we
think, is the Catholic method, quiet,
peaceable, orderly, and, if less showy
2nd striking than the Protestant me-
thod, less noisy and prosy, far more
fruitful in results. The Catholic is
sustained, the Protestant must sus-
tain.
For our part, we are grateful to
the author for his masteriy exposition
of contemporary Protestantism ; but
we hope we may be permitted to say
that, while we do not deny the danger
with which it threatens the popula-
tions of old Catholic nations, we
think he exaggerates it, and supposes
Protestant negations are more power-
W than they really are. It may be
that the Catholic populations are not
at present very well prepared to with-
stand the Protestant propaganda, al-
lied as it is with rationalism and the
revolution; but they cannot long
l^in unprepared. The revolution
I^^g, wherever attempted, resulted
1^ the loss of old liberties without
IJl^quisition of any additional civil
^j5^om^ njust gradually lose its cre-
^ with the people, who must ere
long be disillusioned; rationalism is
too cold, too absurd, and too desti-
tute of life to hold them in perma-
nent subjection. Scientists and sci-
olists may adhere to it while its
novelty lasts, but both the reason
and instincts of the people reject it,
and demand faith, rdigion. Protes-
tantism severed from the revolution
and rationalism is too much what
the great Catholic controversialists
met in the seventeenth century and
vanquished for its revival to be able
to gain and hold much new territory.
The real danger, in our judgment,
is in the spread of secularism or the
secular spirit among Catholics them-
selves. This is the only serious ob-
stacle we see to the conversion of the
American people to the church. Ca-
tholics here and elsewhere conform
to modem civilization, and are car-
ried away by its spirit. They follow
the spirit of the age without knowing
it ; and though a Catholic may accept
without scruple all the positive results
of what is called modern civilization,
he cannot imbibe and follow its spi-
rit without great loss on the side of
religion, which requires the renun-
ciation of the world as the end for
which one is to live and to labor.
But there are even among Catholics
very worthy men, men of excellent
parts and rare learning, who virtually
subordinate the spiritual to the secu-
lar. They have so far yielded to the
secular spirit of the day as to place
the defence of the church on secular
rather than on spiritual grounds, and
defend her claims as the church of
God rather as necessary to secure
civil liberty and advanced civilization
than as necessary to save the soul
and secure the beatitude of heaven.
They are, in some degree, affected by
the philanthropy or humanitarianism
of the age, and occasionally confound
it with Christian charity, which loves
God supremely, and our neighbor as
448
Tlu Future of Protestantism and Catholicity.
ourselves in God, or for the sake of
God.
These men pursue a line of argu-
ment that draws off the Catholic
mind from the kingdom of God and
his justice, and fixes it on those
things after which the heathen seek,
secularize it, and lead it to think that
our Lord's mission had for its ob-
ject the multiplication of earthly
goods and securing earthly felicity
They unintentionally play into the
hands of radicals and revolutionists,
by influencing Catholics to strive af-
ter social instead of spiritual progress,
and making them feel that the great
work for the church is less to train
men for heaven than to make the
earth a more pleasant abode for them ;
or that the proper way for men to
work out their salvation hereafter is to
work eamesdy and perseveringly for
the progress of civil and political lib-
erty, and the reform of political and
social abuses. It can hardly have
any but a bad influence on the Ca-
tholic mind to find prominent Catho-
lics urging their Catholic fellow-citi-
zens to make common cause with
the most notorious and irreligious in-
fidel and radical leaders of the revo-
lution, as if there could be any thing
in common between Catholics and
men who demand liberty only to
emancipate themselves from the di-
vine law and to suppress the chutdi,
or at least to restrain her freedom.
But we are forgetting our author.
Of the three causes he assigns for the
partial success in old Catholic na-
tions of Protestant missions, we have
considered only the third and last—
the alleged ignorance of tiie clergy
of contemporary Protestantism, the
supineness of Catholics, and their
lack of individual zeal, energy, and
self-reliance. We have ventured to
difler in some respects with regard to
this alleged cause from the eminent
author, and to take a deeper and a
broader view of the real cause of
Protestant success. We have traced
it to the ascendency of the woridly
spirit which has given birth to Pro-
testantism itself, and, even in Cathdic
countries, deprived liie church of her
rightful freedom of action. We see
the cause in the false relations of
chiurch and state that have hitherto
subsisted in Christian nations, in the
oppression and restraint of the chtscfa
by the state. The other two causes,
the impression that Protestant nations
surpass Catholic nations in material
wealth and weU-being, and that Pro-
testantism has founded and sustains
civil and religious liberty, we must ^^
luctantly reserve for a future article.
1
Hurston Hall.
449
HURSTON HALL,
The great avenue of Hurston was
an aglow with the golden simset
Stray beams trembled among the
shadows of the massive oaks, bath-
ed the stone terrace in a flood of
crimson radiance, and lingered lov-
ingly among the quaint parterres,
where all day long they had given
life and beauty to the flowers. The
^ parting smile of day " illumined lawn
and garden, mellowed the rugged
outlines of the ancient hall, and
threw over its gloomy grandeur a
golden mist that seemed to spiritual-
ize it
But more brightly and lovingly
than elsewhere it rested on the fair
brow and golden curls of young
Lord Hurston, as, reclining on his
couch with his face turned to the
sunset, he watched with boyi^ de-
light the beauty of the scene.
** Close the book, Aunt Caddy,"
he said, turning to a pale, graceful
lady, who, seated on sm ottoman be-
side him, had been reading to the
young mvalid the most beautiful of
the great poet's JtfyUs. "Close the
book; for you are tired, and I want
you to look at the sunset and talk to
>»e. Isn't it beautiful? See that
great oak at the bend'Of the avenue 1
Ercry leaf seems woven with gold
I wonder if that little squirrel has his
nest among the roots yet. What a
pile of nuts I found there long ago,
before I was sick! I wonder if I
^ ever be well enough to hunt
aqmrtdsagain?'* And the little ^[)eak.
^ sighed as he turned resdessly on
bis couch.
"1 hope so, darling," Aunt Caddy
replied fondly. « But we must be
Patient, you know."
vou X. — 29
"Yes, I know. But it is hard
sometimes— only sometimes — ^Aunt
Caddy; for boys are not like girls;
th€y might lie still and not care so
much. But when Lady Raybum
and Percy and George were here,
and I saw how the boys could climb
and ride and jump ; and when I had
Floy brought out from the stable for
them and I heard her call me just
as she used when I could ride — I
wouldn't tell any one but you — ^but
O Aunt Caddy! I cried when I
was all by myself*— cried like a great
baby girl."
Aunt Caddy's eyes were brigtU
with tears of pity.
" My poor pet ! was it so hard for
you? Then grandmamma will not
ask them here again."
" No, no ! dear auntie ; that would
never do. I am not such a coward
as to mind feeling badly; and then, I
would bear it better next time. No,
no ! Hurston Hall must be open to
^very one, as it was in grandpapa's
time, as it would be if papa had lived,
even though its lord is only a sick
boy who can but lie on his cushions
and let his guests amuse themselves
as they please. Only I wish I were
as good and patient as you would
be in my place. You are just like
Elaine. If you were grieved or sor-
rowful, no one would ever know it.
You would only grow pale and quiet
and silent, until some morning you
would float away from us over the
dark waters with the story of your
sorrow folded over your still heart."
The crimson glow of sunset seem-
ed to flush Aunt Caddy's cheek as
she bent to kiss the pale, litde, ear-
nest £u:e.
450
Hurston Hall,
" You are a poet yourself, Arthur.
Who knows but that you may prove
a second Sir Philip Sidney. We
have had so many bold barons of
Hurston that Sir Arthur may well
afford to win gentler fame and more
peaceful laurels,"
The boy was silent fbr a moment ;
then replied with touching serious-
ness,
" Auntie, dear, you are all kind and
loving to me; but you try to deceive
me. I saw Doctor Woodley's face
when he sounded my lungs the other
day, and I know what it meant.
Poor papa did not live to be twenty-
four ; and I — I was reading a book
the other day, and I saw in it the
sentence, * Bom to die.' It seemed
as if it were written for me — ^bom
to die, not to live and win laurels,
Aunt Caddy."
"My darling, you must not talk
so! Think of poor grandmamma,
think of us all if we should lose you.
You are only twelve, and youth
can hope for every thing."
But even as she spoke a flood of
memories welled up from her heart ;
sweet yet mournful voices of the past,
whispering sadly of her youth — its
vanished hopes, its faded dreams.
The sunset radiance had paled now,
and dim shadows were gathering
over the rosy, western horizon as
Aunt Caddy thought of her life, with
its early sunset, its shadowy twilight,
that would be so cheerless did not the
starry gleam of other worids some-
times pierce the gloom.
But Arthur's voice aroused her
from her reverie.
" I don't think it seems so dread-
ful now to die, Aunt Caddy. When
I was well and strong, it seemed so ;
and I used almost to shiver when I
passed the tomb where poor papa
and mamma lie side by side, beneath
die painted window in the chanceL
It seemed so hard that he should not
live long enough to bear the title.
But now I sometimes lie awake at
night and think how strange it will
look to see beside grandpapa's monu-
ment that tells how very, veiy old he
was, another with a broken column, or
something like that, and the inscrip-
tion, Arthur^ seventeenth baron of
Hurston^ aged tTvehe^ or thirtun
— ^not any more I think, auntie."
"My dariing, my darling, these
morbid fancies grieve me sadly."
" I don't want to grieve you, Aunt
Caddy; but why should we fear to
talk of what must be ? I will leave
you here in my place — you and
grandmamma. You will be the lady
of the hall, and hel^ the poor people
around, and keep the old place from
getting ruined and desolate; and
make Johnson spare those oaks that
he wanted to cut down; grandpapa's
oaks must not be touched.
Aunt Caddy! you will always stay
at Hurston, even when I am g(Mie,
won't you?" And the earnest eyes
pleaded eloquently.
"Yoiu- Uncle Charles would be
the owner of Hurston, my darling,"
was the low reply. " He would live
here or send some one in his place.
Grandmamma and I would have a
right here no longer. So you must
get well and strong, if you want to
keep us at Hurston," she added with
an attempt at playfulness.
"My Unde Charles!" said the
young lord in amazement "Why
must he come here? Where is he
now ? Why should he be owner of
Hurston ?"
"He is next heir — ^your £[Ufaei's
younger brother; he has been with
his regiment in Canada for a great
many years," she replied hniriedly.
" But do not let us talk of sad (bjxxs
any longer. You will be strong as
Cousin Percy in the spring, and will
ride Floy as gayly as ever."
"But I want to hear about my
Hurston Hall,
451
Uncle Charles," said Arthur eagerly.
" Did I ever see him ?"
"AVhen you were a little baby, per-
haps. He has been in America ten
years."
"Did you ever see him, Aunt
Caddy ?"
"Very often, dear," was the low
reply.
"But why does he not come to
England ? Why did not grandpapa
hear from him ?" continued the eager
little questioner.
" My dearest, you are too young
to weary yourself with others' trou-
bles. Your grandfather and his
younger son parted in anger. They
were both proud and passionate, and
neither would forgive or yield; and
now death has come between them,"
Aunt Caddy said sadly.
" And would he come to Hurston
if I should die ?"
" I scarcely think so, dear; he has
few pleasant memories connected
with it."
"Then you would stay, dear
auntie ?*•
" No, dearest, I could not," she re-
plied with deepening color. " When
my sister wrote to your grandma
and to me that she was dying, and
we must take her place to her or-
phaned boy ; when your grandfather,
old Lord Hurston, placed you in my
arms, then Hurston Hall became our
home; but when Colonel Charles
Thombury is its master, it ceases to
be so."
"IIow old is my uncle, Aunt
Caddy ?"
" Thirty-one, I think, Arthur."
"Thirty-one," was the thoughtful
fcply. " And he will be Lord Hurs-
ton when I die. I wish I knew him.
Aunt Caddy. Do you think he would
come to England if you wrote him ?
You knew him, auntie. I want
to sec him ; I want to ask him not
to leave Hurston to ruin and desola-
tion ; I want to ask him to let you
stay and take care of the dear old
place that grandpa was sa proud of.
I want to ask him not to let Johnson
cut down the oaks that he wanted to
thin out last fall. Dear, dear Aunt
Caddy, won't you write for me?"
pleaded the earnest little speaker.
" My darling Arthur," she replied
with a deepening blush that freshen-
ed her pale face wonderfully, " I can-
not. It — it — would be impossible."
" But why^ Aunt Caddy ?" contin-
ued the persevering boy. " Is he so
very bad, so wicked, that you never
speak? Is my uncle a bad man.
Aunt Caddy? Has he" — and the
boy's cheek flushed with the pride of
his noble race — " has he disgraced us
in any way ?"
"My dear Arthur," was the hur-
ried response, "oh! no; a thou-
sand times no! Your uncle was
proud, passionate, headstrong; but
he was — he is, I am sure, all that is
noble, brave, generous ; and, Arthur,
he loved your father as fondly as
brothers could love."
" But why did he go away ? Why
do we not hear from him ?"
" My darling," the words came re-
luctantiy, " your grandpapa — in short,
they had some disagreement when
your uncle came of age about — about
a marriage that the old lord had
set his heart upon. But your uncle
was unwilling; that is — the lady was
rich, and he feared he would be
thought mercenary — and — and — we
must speak reverentiy of the dead,
dear Arthur," and she bent to kiss
his pale, pure brow; " but your uncle
was not to blame. Let us talk no
more about it now. See, the moon
is rising. Look how large and beau-
tiful it is! Have you no sonnet for
such a scene, my gentle trouba-
dour ?"
But Arthur was not to be deceiv-
ed. Spite of the gathering twilight,
452
Hurstan Hall,
he could see the large tears brimniing
Aunt Caddy's still beautiful eyes;
could hear the tremor in her play-
tal tone ; could fed, boy as he was,
that some chord had been touched
that thrilled with saddening memo-
ries.
The boy baron almost idolized the
fiiir, gentle aunt who had replaced to
him the mother he had never known,
and it was with a remorseful em-
pathy that he flung his arms around
her neck, kissed her flushed cheek,
and whispered fondly, "Your tire-
some little troubadour knows but
one, and that is for you alone, dear
auntie — ^ faime, je faime; yes,
more than any one in the woild, dear
Aunt Caddy."
He was not prepared for the long,
low sob that shook her slight frame
as she replied, in trembling accents,
"I believe you, my darling, my
own Arthur; the one sunbeam of a
cheerless— but never let us talk again
as we have done to-night"
So Arthur was silent ; but with a
strange, precocious wisdom he " pon-
dered these things in his heart"
And the result was that a letter,
indited in a clear, boyish hand, sped
fike a white-winged messenger of
peace across the broad Atlantic, bear-
ing the address of Colonel Charles
Thombury, — th Dragoons,
And months after that twilight talk,
when the leaves of Hurston Park fell
in showers of crimson and gold on
the broad avenue, when the last roses
breathed their sweet farewells around
Arthur's latticed window, and the au-
tumn winds began to sigh through
the leafless vines, bx away beneath
the clear blue sky of another hemi-
sphere a bronzed, bearded man read
those frank, boyi^ words of wdcome
that bore the proud seal of his an-
cient race, and, with a tear and a
smile, whispered a blessing on " Ar-
thur's bcyr
Chrbtmas snow lay wtiteand poie
on the fields and groves of HiirAon,
and Christmas moonlig^ fell Hke \
benediction on the spotless earth.
The old hall stood boldly out vin
every rugged outline deaily defisaf
against the frosty winter sky. A
strange, irregular old pile, witi^ Iktk
architectural symmetry; for it bad
grown with the fortunes of die net
that had ruled there for genersuioiii
dating its foundation far back b the
mist of centuries before England bsE
to Norman William's sceptre. Tn-
dition pointed to the grove whert
the misdetoe was culled with masr
*
a sacred rite; to the tower wte
the fair bride waited and watched d
vain for her lord, who lay cokl asd
stiff on the lost battle pliun of Hits-
tings ; to the gate whence issued the
stout Baron of Hurston, stem io bi^
demand for right, to the rendcw©^
at Runnymede. The long, low bu3d
ing stretching into the shadows d
the grove was said to have b«3
built by Ethwold the Saxon, vhc
weary of the toils of war, he retkediitf^
the quiet "Hurst,*' beneath whise
leafy shelter his race grew and flou-
rished for generations.
Remnants of feuful tales still were
heard around the cotts^ fires— tate
of awful orgies held by the fierct
Saxon, and of invocations of Woden
and Thor, and rude banquets wbci
the wild chant of the bard and tbf
pledge of Waeshael echoed through
the ancient Hurst It was eves
whispered that these fierce, unUaptii'
ed spirits still lingered around tkcir
earthly haunts, watching the fbrtnoes
of their race and guarding it to
extinction.
But the young Baron of lixt^^
resting in his dainty sick-chambff'
surrounded by all that wealth anda<^
fection could bestow, yet fcdingwJ^
a strange, peacelul resigeatioB that
his young life was isA ebbing &^/'
HurstQH HaU.
453
bestowed little thought on the name
atnd fame of the proud ancestors that
bad ruled Hurston before him.
" I can do nothing, Aimt Caddy,**
he said with gentie sadness; "no-
tliing great, noble, glorious ; I am only
a> sick, helpless boy. But for the little
-inrhile I am with them, I would like
my people to be happy. I would like
every heart to be light and free that
I can render so. I will never Hve to
add any thing to the lustre of the
old name, never win fame or laurels
in camp or court. Only I wouM like,
vrhen I am gone, to have it said that
Sir Arthur, their boy-lord*s rule was
a light and happy one. So don't let me
hear any more of unpaid rents, John-
son," he would add, smiling merrily
at the faithful steward. " What do
I want with poor Farmer Cropper's
few guineas ? Let my heir attend to
all such matters, if he will ; no one
must be troubled while I can pre-
vent it"
They had learned ere this not to
be astonished at these strange, un-
childlike speeches, and all tried to
cany out their young lord's wishes
with almost worshipping fondness and
devotion.
So it happened that this Christmas
the old Saxon hall was decked gayly
wiUi hdly and ivy ; mistletoe boughi
hung temptingly from the dark old
rafters, and the oaken floor was pol^
i^ed till it shone again.
Sir Arthur had determined that the
servants' ball this year should be an
unprecedented success; and he him-
self-— ^' blessings on his sweet young
face/' as the good old house-keeper
said when she announced the great
event-^was " to be present in person."
Scores of wax lights winked merri-
ly between the heavy wreaths of ivy,
and a 3r\ile log, parent of a hundred
oaks, blazed like a royal bonfire on
the spadous hearth.
Akeady the old fiddler, blind of
one eye, and the old harpist, lame of
one leg — a pair of musicians whom
Sir Arthur patronized extensively, had
taken their places; already many
a bright eye and nimble foot danc-
ed expectant, and many a rosy
cheek flushed deeper with anticipate
ed pleasure. Stately Lady Nesbitt,
Arthur's grandmother, was tiiere, smil-
ing benignantly ; Aunt Caddy— -or the
" sweet Lady Caroline," as some of
her devoted pensioners called her —
with her Madonna hxXy waving hair,
and soft silvery robe, looking like
some gentle moonlight spirit; and
Arthur, his fair cheek flushed — ah!
too brighdy — ^his golden ringlets, soft
as a maiden's, clustering on his pale
white brow, his clear blue eyes radi-
ant with pleasure, sat looking on, the
happiest baron of Hurston that ever
reigned in that grim abode.
Old Johnson, the steward and mas-
ter of ceremonies, alone was wanting;
and the impatient dancers began to
grow restless awaiting his signal to
open the ball. "Where can John-
son be ?" questioned Arthur for the
twentieth time ; when the door sud-
denly burst open, and Johnson ap-
peared, not a vestige of color in his
usually ruddy face, and every white
hair on his aged crown bristling with
terror.
" Great heavens !— I beg pardon,
my lord and ladies," panted the cMl
man breathlessly. " But I've seen him
at last! The Lord forgive me I I'll
never doubt that there be spirits return
again. I saw him with these very
eyes — the master, old Sir Ralph him*
self. O my poor blessed lamb 1 I beg
pardon, my lord — Sir Arthur, I mean.
I hope this portends nothing awful.*
And the fiiithful old servitor wiped
the great beads of moisture fit)m bis
brow.
" What do you mean, Johnson ?
What has terrified you ?*' adced Lady
Nesbitt, calming in her stately way
454
Hurston HalL
the excited group that had gathered
around her.
"This, madam — simply this, my
lady," replied the terrified old man.
" I was in the chapel, putting the
last wreath on I^dy Edith's, my young
lord's blessed mother's tomb, when I
felt a sort of cold chill creep over
me, and says I to myself, * It's only
the dampness ' — for I have the rheu-
matics occasionally, as my Lady Ca-
roline well knows. So says I, ^It's
only the dampness;' for I never believ-
ed the stories the country folk tell
about the barons of Hurston leaving
their holy graves to walk on earth
again. And so I was walking slowly
out, when I heard a sort of groan,
and I turned, and, O my lord and
ladies! siu^ as the Lord sees me here,
I saw old Sir Ralph, our young lord's
grandfather, standing beside his own
tomb, with his head bent down and
his arms folded, as I've seen him over
and over again in life. O my dear
young lord ! I couldn't be mistaken ;
it's he himself and no other. I could
take my Bible oath to his back and
legs ; begging your pardon, ladies, I
could indeed," And poor Johnson
paused for breath. •
It was Arthur's clear tone that
broke the silence. " If it be my
grandfether," he said with that re-
verence that pure young minds feel
for the unseen, " it is my place to go
and speak to him; he has returned
from the other worid for some good
purpose, and I will speak to him.'^
"O my blessed Iambi — ^my dear
young lord, I mean," cried poor
Johnson in a fresh fit of terror ; " don't,
for heaven's sake ; don't go near him !
I am only afi^id," and the faithful
old man fkirly sobbed, " it is to take
you away that he has come."
" Yes," and though the boy's cheek
grew pale, his voice was firm, " it
is my place to go. Aunt Caddy," he
whispered, " he died, yoa know,
out having forgiven my unde.**
"Arthur, my dear, this is hoih
sense 1" began Lady Nesbitt ner-
vously.
" Grandmamma, I must go," was
the firm reply.
" Come then, Arthur," said Lady
Caroline in a low voice; " for it is my
place as well as yours, to hear the
message of peace and forgiveness.**
" My lord, my l<Mti!" pleaded the
terrified servants. But he had gone.
With his httle, thin hand clasped in
Aunt Caddy's, he ascended the wind-
ing stone staircase that led to the cha-
pel.
The lords of Hurston had adhered
through poverty, change, and
cution to the ancient faith, and
shipped for centuries beneath their <
roof.
The chapel of Hurston was rich
with quaint carving and mediaeval or-
nament Six graceful columns sop-
ported the Gothic roof^ each column
bearing tablets to the memory of the
lords of Hurston who slept beneath.
Old Sir Ralph's tomb lay in the sha>
dow of the altar, while that of Ar-
thur's parents — a snow-white shafr
supporting a broken pillar — stood in
the full light of the chancel window,
whose richly-colored panes bore wit*
ness to the virtues of the early dead
who slept beneath. Lady Caroline
felt Arthur's hand tremble, and she
herself grew pale with awe ; for there
indeed, in the bright moonlight that
streamed through the painted win-
dow — there, dose to the tomb of old
Sir Ralph, in the shadow of the altar,
there stood a form with bowed head
and folded arms, a form that Arthur's
silver, trembling voice called " Grand-
father!"
" Grandfather 1" and the boy with
his pale face and golden cuds
looked in the falling moonlight like a
Hurstoft HalL
455
seraph. '' Grand^ther, speak to me !
What is it that you wish of me?
Speak, dear grandfather! It is your
little Arthur; he does not fear you.
Grandfather/' and his voice grew
lower and more musical, "is it the
thought of my uncle that disturbs
your rest ? I will tell him that he is
forgiven ; that you sent him the an-
gels' Christmas greeting — ^ Peace on
earth to men o/gpod-wili — ' "
" My brave, my saintly boy ! Ar-
thur's boy!" sobbed a deep, manly
voice; and the young lord found
himself clasped in a warm, living, lov-
ing embrace, while a bronzed, beard-
ed face with great luminous dark eyes
looked almost reverendy into his.
" Nephew, you have done what I
believed no mortal could do. You
have brought tears into Charles
Thombury's eyes, and peace into his
heart!"
"O Aunt Caddy, Aunt Caddy!"
cried Arthur joyfully ; " speak to him.
It is Uncle Charles; dear Uncle
Charles, that I wrote to so long ago !"
Aunt Caddy was pale and speech-
less as the marble shaft against which
she leaned for support ; but Colonel
Thombury had a more potent spell.
" Caroline !" — the low whisper brought
a flush to cheek and brow — " Caro-
line, my long lost love, whose tender
heart I wounded so deeply, can you
too join your voice to tiiis angel
hojr's, and whisper peace ? Caroline,
I was mad with wounded pride and
jealous love — ^love that scorned the
thought of gain, that snapped every
^e when they said it was for your
wealth I sought you. God forgive
me! I cast the words back in their
*€^i and swore I would roam the
worid a penniless adventurer rather
^^^ be enriched by my wife. Caro-
l^e, if my sin was great, my punish-
ment has been bitter. Ten years ; ten
J^g» weary, loveless years ! Arthur
*^ welcomed me with the voice of
peace. Have you no Christmas gift
for the penitent wanderer ? None for
the faithful heart that has ever been
yours alone?" Lady Caroline was
pale again ; but a radiance fairer than
moonlight seemed to light up her
brow.
"Arthiu- has given you peace;
and I — I, Charles, have only the love
that has waited for you these long,
weary years — that would have waited
for you until death !"
And the sequel to this little Christ-
mas romance ? Need we tell of the
wild joy and amazement that reecho-
ed through the hoary old hall ? Of
the girlish roses that deepened in
Aunt Caddy's still beautiful cheek,
and the radiant light in the wander-
er's clear dark eye as, a few months
later, the merry peal of wedding-bells
succeeded the Christmas chimes ?
" A blithe bridal for a bonnie bride,"
Arthur had said when the long-part-
ed lovers pleaded his fast failing
health as a reason for a quiet wed-
ding.
" Uncle Charles, if you don't have
a real glorious wedding, I'll marry
Aunt Caddy myself." Brightest and
merriest of all was the lordly young
host as he welcomed his guests with
the princely grace that so well be-
came him, though many a living
heart was sad, and kindly eye grew
dim, as they marked in the glowing
cheek and wasted form the fatal heri-
tage of his youthful parents.
Once only he himself betrayed
amid his graceful gayety the con-
sciousness of his early doom.
Afler their young lord had been
repeatedly toasted by the joyous ten-
antry, some one merrily proposed,,
" Sir Arthur's bride;" and " Our future
lady" was pledged in brimming^
bumpers.
Arthur's face flushed for a moment
as he caught the unthinking shout;
4S«
HutsUm HtM.
then, raising his own glass to his lips,
he bowed to hb unde's bride. " Aunt
Caddy, we drink your health. Long
Hfe and happiness to the future lady
of Hurston !"
A year later, and hushed voices
and noiseless steps alone were heard
around the dying couch of the fair
boy-baron. Patient and gende as
ever, he waited with his own angelic
smile upon his lips the summons that
was to c^ him from life.
His'^uncle, mle with anxiety and
sorrow, «ratched with paternal love
o^r the dyin^ boy's pillow, until an
attendant whispered something which
Arthur's fast failing ear caught
" Bring him here, uncle ; let me
see him before I go ; let me see Aunt
Cadfi/s toy.
Colonel Thombury called the at-
tendant, and they laid a litde slum-
bering babe in the dying boy's out-
stretched arms. "Call him Arthur
for me, dear uncle, and do not grieve.
He has- come to take my palace; to
perpetuate the glorious old name ; to
be all that I would have been if God
had so willed it. I am happy now ;
so very, very happy !" He died with
the words yet on his lips, the smile
still on his face, the li^ scarce £iid-
ed from his eye.
Years afterward, when the proud
spirit of her impetuous boy threaten-
ed to burst from her gentle restraint,
and the fierce blood of his fiery an-
cestors showed itself in his kindling
eye and mantling cheek, the gende
Lady Hurston had one spell that
calmed his angriest moods. She
would whisper of that young cousin
who had breathed his last sigh with
her Arthur's first breath, with the
baby form clasped to his dying
breast, of those last words of hope and
happiness murmured over the slum-
bering babe from the very portals of
eternity. " He said you were to take
his place, dear Arthur ; be worthy of
him and of his name." And the
boy's eye would grow calm and
peaceful as it rested on the snowy
column — the column of which Arthur
had Spoken when he foretold his own
doom :
Arthur,
seventeenth baron of hurston.
born may 2, 183o. died march 5, 1844.
aged 14 years.
BUiudan the pmrt in ktari : /#r (A^ sMaOti* C^
tter Eighth, 1869.
3ER EIGHTH, 1869.
ar, and words were utter
Y and echo cvwraore.
a knot of simple men,
Dk die simple sense they
. never tongue or pen
IT had made before ;
sdom could have planned
: the nations in his hand.
ti.
so spoken, he had been
all dreameis. Wh3t I to
vho had never seen
his Galilean lake
at of its boding mien,
C should fret, no tempest
ming at its feet
3f th«r ceaseless beat I
I shall gainsay 7 Devils
Ir ready dupes. To thes
and dare the worst,
;entle majesty of truth—
to free a world accurst,
irtache, and renew its yo
; universal frost — .
ler natal Pentecost
g to defy,
e to give a falsehoo
chy its stout ally,
an honorable death.
;es rolls a cry—
:t at thegatesoflaith:
Luther heads the Iray ;
rdra of to-day.
458 Decetnber EigJ^ 1869.
V.
And patient Rome sits victor over all :
Her strength in seeming feebleness increased.
She smiles to hear '^ the storm against the wall/'
And lavished names of harlot and of beast.
And prophets raving of her speedy fall :
While Satan counts his failures with at least
The joy that such solidity of rock
Draws none the fewer to the fatal shock«
VI.
Press on, close in, ye gallant ranks of hell !
Concentrating the might ye think to bow.
Stood ever Holy Church, do records tell.
More one, more conscious, more herself than now ?
When was the chair of Peter loved so well ?
Wore ever pontiff a serener brow ?
He calls : earth hears ; her utmost realms resound ;
And lo, a thousand mitres gird him round !
VII.
And they who trembled, and had been content
To scorn with quiet mirth a voice so weak,
Are forced, they find, to yield their panic vent
" Another Trent!" rings out the indignant shriek;
" This nineteenth century, another Trent I"
Tis not so sweet to have the Master speak.
When passion, weary of his peaceful sway.
No longer deems it freedom to obey.
VIII.
But speak he will — the blessed words of life :
How welcome to the soul that thirsts to know, '
Or views alarmed the too successful strife
Of earth with heaven — truth's ebb and error's flow.
We murmur through our tears, " Decay is rife !
The sound, the old, the sacred — all will go !"
Fond fear! Whatever faithless thrones expect,
Christ s kingdom stands : he gamers his elect.
IX.
The serpent writhes — his last convulsions these —
Beneath the foot that tramples his crushed head.
O Lady ! worker of thy Son's decrees.
Thy Rome, thy Pius trust thee. Deign to shed
Vans/ei, the Oriental Scholar and Traveller.
459
Thy gracious light, lone star of troubled seas,
At whose sweet ray the ancient darkness fled I
The serpent writhes beneath thee : deign to show
He is indeed the Woman's vanquished foe I
X.
This day we hymn thy victory ; and claim
Thy prayer omnipotent. Nor let it rise
For us alone, that boast to love thy name,
But those, unhappy, that have dared despise!
Who came for them, by thee it was He came,
Through thee must break unclouded to their eyes.
Ah Mother's Heart ! How long, then, wilt thou wait
Till all thy children sing " Immaculate " ?
B. D. H.
VANSLEB, THE ORIENTAL SCHOLAR AND TRAVELLER.
*' La contraire des bruits qui courent des affiiire* et des homme« est souvent la Writ^.
La justice qui nous est quelqoefbis reluafc pur nos oootemponuos, la post^ti sait nous la rendre.***
La BftuvBiB.
CHAPTER L
Count De Maistre somewhere
says that during the last century a re-
putation was made much in the same
manner as you make a shoe, ^^ Au
dernier Steele ^ on faisait une rkputation
comme on fait un Soulier ^^
The manufacturing process indicat-
ed by De Maistre was known and
practised long before the last centu-
ry, and is even at the present time
by no means to be counted among
the lost arts. This very day the
reader may look around him and
easily find numerous specimens of
the peculiar industry here described.
^Vnd going back two hundred years,
we may, out of many cases, select
that of a learned, laborious, self-sa-
crificing and pious man, who, driven
to a premature grave by ingratitude,
* The truth is frequently the very omtnuy of the
reports current concerning men and things.
Posterity frequently does us the justice reAised us
Dy OUT oootnnponuries.
neglect, and calumny, has been false-
ly handed down to posterity as un-
truthful, dbhonest, brutal, and grossly
immoral. His transmitted reputation
was not the reflection of his deeds.
It was manufactured of shreds and
patches. Dying in the disgrace caus-
ed by the displeasure of the prime
minister of a powerful monarch, it
would have been remarkable, indeed,
had any one at that day so forgotten
himself as to become the advocate of
a cause hopelessly lost And so his
enemies had a clear field.
Writers of history and biography
of the years immediately succeeding
took their word, and subsequent bio-
graphers and historians had merely
to repeat what their predecessors had
said. His story is fraught with more
than one moral, and the impressive
vindication of his character after the
silence of two centuries has some-
thing in it that seems higher than mere
human agency.
46o
Vansleb, the Oriental Sdtotor and Traveller,
John Michael Wanslebcn was
bom at Sommerda, near Erfurth,
November ist, 1635. His father was
the Lutheran minister of the place.
At a proper age he was sent to the
University of Erfurth, and afterward
completed his studies at the Univer-
sity of Konigsberg in 1656. He
held for a short time a position as
private tutor, and entered the army
of the Elector of Brandenburg in
1657, serving as a private soldier
through the campaign of that year.
With some idea of embracing a
commercial career, he then visited
Schleswig, Amsterdam, Gliickstadt,
and Hamburg, but without result,
and returned to Erfurth in 1658. Job
Ludolf, a distinguished savant of Er-
furth, was then in the meridian of his
fame. Ludolf had been sent to
Rome in 1649, to make search for
the memoirs of John Magnus, Arch-
bishop of Upsal, a man noted for
his learning and piety, who, afler an
unsuccessful struggle against the king-
ly power of Gustavus Vasa, and the
introduction of Lutheranism into Swe-
den, retired to Rome, where he died.
Ludolf, failing to find the memoirs
he sought, remained some time in
Rome, occupied in the study of the
Ethiopian tongue. He was, unques-
tionably, a man of remarkable ac-
quirements, and was in his day cre-
dited with knowing twenty-five lan-
guages.
Vansleb* attracted the attention
of Ludolf, and was received by him
partly as a pupil, partly as an assist-
ant, specially devoting himself, by
Ludoll's direction, to the study of
the Ethiopian language. In 1661,
when he was thought sufficiently ad-
vanced, Ludolf sent him to London
CO supervise the publication of his
Ethiopian dictionary. Vansleb per-
* Throogh the Latinization of Wansleben. VamsU-
Mm. hit aanw ■ ub — q oeatl y in Fnmoe took th* foffin
of Vansleb, by which he becaoie knowB as an author,
uul iHuch be retained.
formed his task, and the dictionary
was published the same year. At
this time, the English polyglot edi-
tion (six vols, folio) of the Bible, by
Walton, Bishop of Chester, was in
course of publication. There was in
that day no dearth of imitators of
Cardinal Ximenes. Although bearing
the name of Walton, it was the work
of several learned men, and its orien-
tal versions were copied from the
Bible of Le Jay, (Paris.) Distinguish-
ed among its collaborators was Ed-
mund Castell, Canon of Canterbury,
an oriental scholar, who afterward
published his Lexicon HepU^tton^
the fruit of eighteen hours' daily la-
bor for a period of seventeen years.*
Castell met with Vansleb, and engag-
ed him as his assistant, taking hun
into his house and admitting him to
his table. For three years and a half
Vansleb labored with Castell, who thus
mentions him in the preface to his
Lexicon : " In ethiopicis per idem tern-
pus operant impendebai suam D,M*
WanslebiuSy qui ad perpoHendum in
eisdem ingenium in varias orien tis oras^
tonga atque pericuhsa suscepit itinera. ^\
Returning to Germany, Vansleb
found that Ludolf, as the tutor of the
young princes of Saxony, had ob-
tained great credit and influence
with Duke Ernest, sumamed the
Pious. Ludolf had long cherished
the singular project of bringing about
an alliance between some German
prince and the King of Ethiopia,
(modem Abyssinia,) and by dint of
long conferences on the subject with
the duke, had succeeded in enlisting
*He tpent large sams in its preparatioa, an^
twelve thousand pounds in its publication, to nf
nothing of the sacrifice of bis repoee and hesltk
The success of the work was hx from commensurate
with its merit, or with its author's aacrifioes. AAtf
his death, five bun<b«d copies of it were (bund absa-
doned in a garret, a prey to rain and to rats
t At the same thne Vansleb applied himsdf with
an hu power to the study of Ethiopian, and aAsr*
ward, in order to perfect himself therein, undertook
long and penlous voyages in various oriental coob*
tries.
Vansleb^ the Orimtal Sduflar and Traveller.
461
Ernest's enthusiastic interest in his
plan. This it was :
An ardent champion of what is
called Luther's Reformation^ he was
assiduous in seeking for it moral sup-
port wherever it could possibly be
found. He imagined that he saw a
certain degree of conformity between
Lutheranism and the Coptic rite, and
the idea of the appearance of anti-
quity the new reHgion would receive
from a union with one of the oldest
oriental churches was more than
enough to awaken his warmest en-
thusiasm. Ludolf, nooreover, hoped,
through superior German civilization,
that Protestantism would be enabled
to exercise a decided influence upon
th^ retrograde population of Abjrs-
sinia.
The duke fully entered into all
these views with the most sanguine
hopes.
The better to appreciate LudolTs
project, let us take a rapid glance at
the history of Abyssinia and its con-
dition at that time.
Ethiopia embraced Judaism during
the reign of Solomon, following the
example of Queen Sheba, who, ac-
cording to the best authorities, was
sovereign of that country.
It was also one of the first nations
converted to Christianity through the
baptism of the treasurer of Queen Can-
dace, by the Deacon Philip. (Acts of
the Apostles, viii. 27-38.) And this re-
sult was predicted by God. Ethiopit
^avenUt manus ejus Deo^ (Psalm
bcvii 32.) In the fifth century, Ethiopia
was drawn into the Eutychian heresy,
and, under the name of Jacobites, her
people to this day persevere in it.
In the sixteenth century, the Portu-
guese having rendered some signal
service to the reigning king, they ob-
tained from him authority allowing
Jesuit missionaries to enter the coun-
try. They did so enter, and made
* Ethioina shall toon ttrttch oat bar hand to God.
numerous conversions. But persecu-
tion undid their work. Catholicity
was placed under ban, the faithful
pursued, and the dispersed missiona-
ries put to death. The two last Je-
suits, who remained with thdr neo-
phytes, were taken and hung in 1638.
Others sought to penetrate Abyssinia;
but all who entered the country were
arrested and deo^itated The king,
Basilides, was the most furious in
persecution. He persuaded himself
that the king of Portugal was organiz-
ing against him a league of all the
monarchs in Europe. The very
name of Catholic was made treasona-
ble ; and he sent his own brother to
execution simply on suspicion of le-
niency to the hated religion.
It was mainly from his enmity to it
that he permitted, contrary to law,
the introduction of Mohanmiedanjsm,
and even sent for doctors to preach it
to his people. These so-called " dis-
asters of the papacy " were far from
being a subject of grief to the Ger-
man reformers, particularly to those
inspired with the desire of proselyt-
ism. Duke Ernest was called the
Pious, and was now fired with the
ambition of adding illustration to his
surname.
The circumstances looked favora-
ble in the highest degree. Any thing
was sufficiently recommended to King
Basilides if it were only anti-Catho-
lic ; and therefore, the success of the
Protestant mission was a foregone con-
clusion.
But who could be found capable
of executing such a mission ? He
should be, independendy of the re-
quisite religious qualification, a per-
son of experience and superior edu-
cation — at once a man of the world
and a scholar — and more, an oriental
scholar.
'* I have him here in Erfurth,'' said
Ludolf to the duke ; '* duaUengif^ as
familiar as I am with the language.
462
VattsUbf the Oriental Scholar attd Traveller.
literature, and customs of the Ethio-
pians."
He referred, of course, to Vansleb,
who was already fully advised in the
matter from long conferences with
Ludolf.
Duke Ernest assumed Ull the ex-
penses of the mission, drew up the
necessary instructions, and traced the
itinerary to be followed.
Vansleb was to make his way to
Egypt, and thence to Abyssinia, with
no more apparent object than the or-
dinary curiosity of a traveller desirous
of studying the language and the
natural history of the country. In
case he found influential men favora-
bly disposed, he was to advise them
confidentially that a German prince
named Ernest, who held the Abyssi-
nians in high esteem, as well for their
warlike qualities as for their attach-
ment to the ancient faith of their fa-
thers, had given him letters for them
in their own language, and that he
was willing to make the necessary
advances in money to bring to Eu-
rope a certain number of well-dispos-
ed young Abyssinians desirous of in-
structing themselves as to the condi-
tion of the Christian reformed church-
es, and thus bring about, between the
two peoples and confessions, a sincere
and lasting friendship.
In every respect the proposition
suited Vansleb. The arrangement
was soon completed, and he was in-
vested with all the necessary powers
of an ambassador, but in a disguised
and indirect form, with special in-
structions not to exhibit his creden-
tials until frilly satisfied that his ad-
vances would be met.
The result of this remarkable em-
bassy is soon told. Ludolf himself
relates that he does not know whe-
ther to attribute the failure of a plan
conceived with all possible prudence
to the parnmony of the duke or to
the imprudence of Vansleb. That
Ludolf, who, after this period, never
hesitated to paint Vansleb in the
blackest colors, should make it a
matter of doubt, is quite enough to
justify the latter.
And now let us accompany Vans-
leb on his route to Ethiopia. He
reached Cairo in JaniKiry, 1664, and
spent a year in visiting Egypt, and
in studying and copying Abyssinian
books. The Coptic Patriarch of Al-
exandria, Matthew de Mir, whose ju-
risdiction extended over the church-
es of Ethiopia, dissuaded Vansleb
from attempting to penetrate that
country, and he addr^sed Duke Er-
nest a letter in Arabic, giving the rea-
sons for his advice, which letter is
still preserved in the ducal library of
Saxe-Gotha.
And now the grand project of
Ernest was visited — humanly speak-
ing — with poetic justice. The Cop-
tic patriarch, who was pleased with
Vansleb, obtained firom him an expo*
sition of the history of the reforma-
tion and of Lutheran doctrine, and
Vansleb, instructed in return, could, as
he listened to the patriarch, compare
the German novdties with the an-
tique symbol of the oriental commu-
nions. The result was inevitable, and
he began to see a light that illumi-
nated his mind and made evident his
errors. He soon afterward embari^-
ed for Italy, fully resolved to seek ad-
mission to the Cathdic Church.
Landing at Leghorn, he went to
Florence, where he spent some time,
and was protected by the prince, who
was afterward Cosmo (de* Medici)
III. Hoe, also, he made the ac-
quaintance of the British ambassa-
dor, Finch, whom he subsequently
met at Smyrna. Going to Rome,
he there abjured Protestantism, was
received into the church, and entered
the Dominican convent of the Mi-
I
Vhnslebt the Oriental Scholar and Traveller.
463
nerva. This order, specially devoted
to teaching and preaching, was best
suited to his tastes and habits.
And here, for a period of four
years, Vansleb disappears from the
world and from history. He passed
them in solitude, exclusively occupied
with study and religious exercises.
Meantime, imagine, if you can,
the storm that broke at Erfurth.
Duke Ernest was bitterly disappoint-
ed, as was natural ; but it would be
difficult to describe the fury of Lu-
dolf. It burst forth never to be ex-
tinguished but with his death. Vans-
leb, so warmly recommended by Lu-
dolf to the duke, suddenly became
a monster not only of ingratitude, but
of every other possible vice. There
were no limits to the abuse nor to
the accusations of the angry professor.
All this did not then trouble Vans-
leb, but he was made to feel their
effects long afterward.
CHAPTER II.
At the end of his four years with
the Dominicans of Rome, Vansleb
went to France, where he was pre-
sented by Bosquet, the learned Bi-
shop of Montpellier, to the minister
Colbert, as a man of superior merits
and of great erudition in the oriental
languages. Succeeding Mazarin and
Fouquet in the councils of Louis
XIV., Colbert aimed to distinguish
his administration by fostering let-
ters, sciences, and the arts.
The Royal Library, of sixteen thou-
sand volumes at the accession of the
^lig, contained seventy thousand at
™ end of his reign — an increase
"mainly due to Colbert At once re-
^^^>gttiiing the merit of Vansleb, Col-
bert charged him with an important
scientific mission. * He was instructed
to travd through oriental countries,
*nd especially to visit Mount Athos,
the island of Chio, Aleppo, Mount
•Sinai, Nitria, Constantinople, Tur-
key, Persia, and Baalbec ; everywhere
seeking and purchasing Arabian,
Turkish, Persian, and Greek books
and manuscripts. He was to make
his way to the most remarkable mo-
nasteries for the purpose of obtaining
certain ecclesiastical works ; to collect
rare medals, statues, and bas-reliefs^
besides preparations in botany, natu-
ral history, and mineralogy ; to give
descriptions of machinery, utensils,
costumes, and vestments of the differ-
ent nations he saw ; to copy inscrip-
tions on monuments, pillars, obelisks,
and tombstones. He will keep aloof
— continued his directions — from po-
litical complications, wear such cos-
tumes as he may think proper, and
select the route which to him seems
best
The original of these instructions
was found only a few years since
among the papers of Vansleb. They
bear this singular indorsement in the
handwriting of Colbert himself: " I
do not understand these instructions,
more particularly as you proposed
Vansleb for a mission to Ethiopia,
which country is not even mentioned.
The instructions, as they stand, might
just as well have been given by the
French ambassador at Constantino-
ple."
In point of fact, the instructions
had been drawn up by Carcavy, the
royal librarian, a man of great merit
He saw almost insurmountable ob-
stacles to the success of an Ethiopian
mission, and thought it better to
confine its authorization to merely
verbal instructions, leaving it to Vans-
leb to attempt it or not, as he might
find most advisable.
The dissatisfaction of Colbert was
not at first fully appreciated, but it
was doubtless the germ of the ne-
glect with which Vansleb was after-
ward treated, and of the coolness and
464
VaitsUb, tfte Oriental Scholar and Traveller.
injustice of his reception when he re-
turned.
Vansleb departed on this, his se-
cond journey to the East, in the
spring of 1671, and visited Malta,
Cyprus, Aleppo, Damascus, and a
part of Phoenicia. He readied Da-
mietta in March, 1672, after a jour-
ney marked by delays, dangers,
storms, and sickness; for oriental
travel was not the comparatively
easy and comfortable journeying of
to-day, nor had the brutality and
tyranny of eastern officials toward
Christians been rebuked and correct-
ed as they since have been. Estab-
lishing lus headquarters at Cairo,
Vansleb made numerous excursions
to the Pyramids, the Sphinx, and the
various monuments then so novel,
but now so familiar to Europeans,
and indeed to Americans. After re-
newing his acquaintance with the
Patriarch Matthew de Mir, who had
unconsciously been the instrument of
his conversion to Catholicity, Vans-
leb embarked for Rosetta in May,
1672.
But we do not propose to follow
our traveller through all his wander-
ings. They were full of novelty for
him and for those who, at that period,
read his descriptions of them. In
1673, he visited Upper Egypt and
explored the antiquities of Esneh and
Denderah, and the remains of an-
cient Thebes at Luxor and Kamak.
At Lycopolis, the Bishop Amba
Joannes introduced to him one
Muallim Athanarius, the only man in
all Egypt, he said, who spoke the
Coptic language. Vansleben did not
converse with him, but flattered him-
self on having seen the man with
whom the Coptic language was to
expire. After exploring the The-
baide and its grottos, and visiting the
ruins of Enseneh, the column of Mar-
cus Aurelius and the Triumphal Arch,
be returned to Cairo. Of course he
had not lost sight of one of the main
objects of his mission, the purchase
of rare and valuable works for the
Royal Library. He neglected no
opportunity to obtain them, and up
to this period of his journey he had
purchased and forwarded to Paris
three huijdred and thirty-four vol-
umes, Turkish, Persian, ai^ Arabic
Compelled to deal with people of aU
classes, some of them had spoken of
his purchases, and by the time he re-
turned to Cairo it was reported that
the Frank stranger was gathering all
the sacred books in the country for
the purpose of sending them away to
the infidels. The Mohammedan laws
made it a capital crime for a stranger
to buy, sell, or even have in his pos-
session any of their books, whether
treating of religion or any other sub-
ject. To exemplify the feeling with
which they regard the possession of
their books by infidels, (Christians,)
M. ChampoUion Figeac relates that
during the reign of Louis Philippe a
number of young Arabs were sent to
France by Mehemet Ali, Viceroy of
Egypt, and among them two sons of
the viceroy. While visiting the Roy-
al Library, M. ChampoUion took pains
to show one of the young princes the
magnificent copy of the Koran taken
from a mosque in Cairo during the
French expedition to Egypt WTien
he saw what the book was, the young
Arab turned away his head, covering
his face with both hands.
Under the circumstances, Vansleb
of course understood at once that
he could not remain in Egypt For
two years he had been dealing in
books, and, if arrested, there was evi-
dence enough to take his life a hun-
dred times. Without losing a day,
he at once set out for Constantinople.
Touching at Rhodes and the island
of Chio, he went to Smyrna, where,
to his great astonishment, and contra-
ry to his uniform experience in the
Vans/edf the Oriental Scholar and Traveller,
465
East, his letters of introduction and
his credentials were made light of
by the resident French consul, who
more than insinuated that he suspect-
ed him of bebg an impostor.
Personally wounded, and annoyed
at a circumstance that endangered
his mission and deprived him of the
only legal protector to whom he
could have recourse in case of diffi-
culty, Vansleben sought advice and
assistance of the English consul, Paul
Ricault. Notwithstanding his deci-
dedly French name, Ricault was a
veritable Englishman, bom in Lon-
don within the sound of Bow bells.
He had been secretary of the Earl of
Winchelsea, and ambassador extra-
ordinary of Charles II. to Mohammed
IV. After serving eleven years as
consul of England at Smyrna, Cla-
rendon appointed him, in 1685, his
first secretary for the provinces of
Connaught and Leinster. He was
afterward privy councillor and judge
of the Admiralty, and under William
III. was minister resident for the
HaJiseatic towns. He is the author
of a History of the Present Condition
of the Ottoman Empire^ and other
works of merit The two scholars
Ricault and Vansleb immediately
sympathized, and through Ricault
Vansleb renewed the acquaintance
of the ambassador Finch, whom he
had met in Florence, and who was
then on his way to Constantinople.
Unfortunately for Vansleb, a serious
difl&culty just then arose between the
two consuls, English and French, on
account of some incivility offered by
the latter to the ambassador on his
arrival. Already prepossessed agamst
Vansleben, through some underhand
manoeuvre, Chambon, the French con-
sul, from that moment became his
bitter enemy, alleging as one of the
principal acciisarions against him his
personal intimacy with the enemies
of France. In those days there were
vou X. — ^30
no lines of Mediterranean packet-
boats, and Vansleb was glad to ac-
cept the invitation of the ambassador
to take passage on the man-of-war
which was to transport him and his
suite to Constantinople. This add-
ed fuel to the flame of Chambon's
resentment, and he thereafter left no-
thing undone to injure Vansleb in the
East and in France. Vansleb's desti-
nation was perfectly well known, and
he had hardly set foot in Constantino-
ple when he perceived that Smyrna
had been heard from. The Marquis
de Nointel was temporarily absent
when Vansleb arrived; but the man-
ner of his reception by those in charge
of the ambassador's residence, and by
the merchants of the Company of
the Levant, for whom he had letters,
made it plain to him that these peo-
ple to whom he was a stranger had
already been set against him.
He found lodgings (by no means
gratuitous) at the house of a French
apothecary named Chaber, who dis-
coiused eloquently on the short-com-
ings of the French embassy, criticis-
ing its extravagance, and its want of
consideration for the French mer-
chants of the Levant, who were hea-
vily taxed to maintain its expensive
display.
Vansleb, unfortunately, joined in
the conversation, although saying but
little. He afterward discovered that
his few words were wrested to his
prejudice. With his experience he
should have been more on his guard,
but he could not entirely overcome
his native simplicity of character.
Innocens credit omni verbo. To add
to his annoyances, he was arrested
by a Turkish patiol for wearing his
beard and a turban, thrust into pri-
son, subjected to personal indignities,
and barely escaped the bastinado.
Meantime, his salary was in arrears ;
and as it was his intention to strike
fix>m this point for Ethiopia, it was-
466
Vansleb, the Oriental Scholar attd TtavelUr.
necessary that he should start with
a full purse. He bridged over the
unavpidable delay by excursions to
Broussa and the environs, and a trip
to Chio, in order to witness the cele-
brated ntastu: harvest, which was at
that time made the occasion of a reli-
gious festival. At Chio he had made
several friends, on his former visit —
Dom Georgio, the curate of the ca-
thedral, Dom Matthew, the vicar-
general, and a Dr. Pepano, who was
acquainted with Vansleb*s History of
the Church of Alexandria. The doc-
tor was enthusiastic as to the rewards
he felt certain must await Vansleb on
his return to France, and composed
an acrostic in his honor, which ran
thus:
" < irtuti
> lemannicae
^ imise
w acer
r* udovicus
M xhibebit
W ona
•^ mmensa
O ptimaque." *
" He had not the gift of prophecy,"
calmly writes Vansleb 'years after-
ward, when in poverty and disgrace.
Returning to Constantinople, Vans-
leb visited Mitylene and Tenedos.
In January, 1675, he wrote to Col-
bert that he was in absolute want on
account of the non-payment of his
salary. In April, he received a small
remittance of one hundred and fifty
francs. A letter from Carcavy, of
April, 1674, received July 20th, an-
nounced orders soon to be issued for
the continuance of his mission. But
the orders were as slow in arriving
as his salary. Again, on the 20th of
March, he wrote to Colbert, express-
ing his impatient anxiety to be again
at work, and suggesting various jour-
neys, all of them important, which
■ he was ready to make — ^to Trebizond,
*To the learned Geraun tnvener Looit will be
} gneroue in iaTon, riches, aad meet exoeUent gifb.
the Chersonesus, to Persia, Syria,
Mount Lebanon, Baalbec; or he
would even return to Egypt, where he
would have the advantage of former
experience, and his late acquisition
of the Greek and Turkish languages,
which he now spoke fluently, and
where he could now be protected
against annoyance by a passport from
the sultan. Meantime, Carcavy had
assured Vansleben that his labors
were fully appreciated and praised
by Colbert Finally, on the 2 2d
of October, our traveller received
two letters from the minister, dated
July 4th and August 17th; but the
money orders they contained were
not cashed by the Company of the
Levant unril the following December.
Writing to Colbert in November,
Vansleben says, " And what greater
satisfaction could I have than to
start immediately for the country to
which your excellency sends me?"
So that some new country was desig-
nated by Colbert in his letter. What
was it ? It could only be Ethiopia,
according to the original design, and
Vansleben*s preparations at the time
appear to have been for that direc-
tion. In December, having received
two thousand francs, he writes to Col-
bert on the 1 8th that, but for the de-
lay of waiting for a caravan and the
passport of the sultan, he should al-
ready have started; that he expects
to depart in January ; to pass a month
at Aleppo, in order to see Antioch
and the Euphrates; thence to Da-
mascus and the country of the Dru-
ses ; thence to Jerusalem ; from which
he would take a fresh departure for
Egypt, no longer as a Frank traveller
but as an oriental, and there await a
favorable occasion to penetrate into
Ethiopia.
And now, just at the moment when
a fresh horizon of useful enterprise
was opening before him, when the
thick clouds of envy, malevolence,
Vanslebt the Oriental Scholar atid Traveller.
467
and misfortune were apparently dis-
persed, the bolt fell that for ever shat-
tered his career, forced him back in
disgrace, and sent him bowed down
with sorrows and persecution to a
premature grave.
What had in the mean time taken
place — what reports, complaints, or
insinuations had been brought to Col-
bert's ear, has never been clearly as-
certained; but a dispatch from him
of the thirtieth September, addressed
to Nointel, advised the ambassador
that Vansleb was recalled to Paris.
Docile and respectful, he immediate-
ly prepared to obey. Nointel advises
Colbert in reply, January 5th, 1676,
that Vansleb was just ready to start
on his eastern journey, and had alrea-
dy expended some money in its pre-
paration.
" Unhesitatingly though, and with
apparent satisfaction, he sails to-mor-
row for France, vid Malta."
Forced by storms to stop in the
island of Candia, (ancient Crete,) and
also at Milo, Vansleb continued his
labors of observation and research as
though his mission had just begun.
His return by sea was slow and tedi-
ous, and being moreover detained by
illness at Lyons, he did not reach
Paris until the end of April, 1676. It
was a long time before he could ob-
tain audience of the minister, whose
reception of him was freezing and
curt. The year wore away in expec-
tation, and winter had come again
l>efore he could obtain a second in-
terview with Colbert, which was more
<fccouraging than the first.
Meantime, the arrearages due him,
^ well for his salary as for expendi-
^^ were not paid, and he was
obliged to sell his own Ethiopian mss.
» order to live.
Finally, a vigorous placet dispatch-
^ to Colbert July 15th, 1677, obtain-
^ a third and last interview with the
Jninister.
In this, Colbert, without making
any accusation against Vansleb, in-
trenched himself in a refusal pure
and simple, either to allow him any
indemnity or to pay the amount
claimed by him for his advances.
Meantime, the poor monk's bro-
ther Dominicans who, on his arrival,
had received him kindly, had evident-
ly been affected by the disgrace* to
which an all-powerful minister had
consigned the unfortunate traveller,
and Vansleb's relations with them
soon ceased.
Discouraged and broken-hearted,
he left Paris, and after passing a few
months with Counsellor Langeois at
Atys, accepted the hospitality of M,
Texier, the cur^ of Bourron, a small
village near Fontainebleau. This
kind priesVs ^sympathy and affection
alone, of earthly things, softened his
rapid descent to the grave; for he
only survived by nine months his ar-
rival at Bourron, where he died June
1 2th, 1679, at the age of forty-four
years. *
During his oriental journey, Vans-
leb had scarcely been free from fever
and ague, and he had contracted in
Egypt an ophthalmic affection that
gave him trouble. But neither of
these maladies, ^or both of them to-
gether, were sufficient to have caused
his death. It seemed a sudden sink-
ing of the moral forces rather than
the physical that made him so sudden
a prey to dissolution.
The man Vansleben's enemies re-
presented him to be would not so
easily have succumbed. The liar,
the cheat, the libertine they painted
would have had no heart to break.
Thus, in the obscurity of a small
village, near the solitude of a great
forest, Vansleb silently descended
into the tomb. The earthly sounds
that gathered around his existence
had ceased, and the phantom of his
fame was buried with his earthly re-
468
Vansleb, the Oriental Scholar and Traveler.
mains. As his death had been ob-
scure, so his last resting-place was
hidden from the public gaze. At the
peril of his life, he endowed France
with the scientific riches that may
still be seen in her royal collections;
yet under the most prodigal of her
monarchs he did not receive the re-
cQpipense of a winding-sheet, or the
poor commemoration of a grave-
stone.
Even England was more generous,
at least in appreciation of his merit.
On Vansleb's return from Egypt,
Dr. Bernard, of the University of
Oxford, composed in his honor the
following lines :
** Deseiis iEgypturo spoliis majoribus auctus,
Quam gens Hebraeum sub duce Mose tulit!" *
Of Vansleb*s merits as a savant
there could be no question. Before
he left London, his reputation was al-
ready established as an oriental scho-
lar, although his knowledge at that
time was small compared with what
he afterward acquired. Latin, Greek,
and Hebrew he knew well, and he
spoke and wrote correctly and fluent-
ly the German, French, Italian, Eng-
lish, Arabic, modem Greek, Turkish,
and Ethiopian languages. His prin-
cipal published works are,
1. Conspectus operum ^thiopicorum
qua ad excudendum parata hahehat
Wanslebius, Paris, 1 671, in 4to.
2. Relazione Dello Stato Prestntc
DeW Egitto, In Parigi, mdclxxi.
3. Nouvelk Relation dun Voyage
fait en Egypte par ie F, Vansieb, R,D.^
en 1672 et 1673. Paris, 1677.!
4. Voyage du Caire d Chio^ et de
Chio i Constantinople^ fait de 1673
fusqu^i 1675.
5. Histoire de VEglise dAlexan-
drie, fondke par St Marc^ que nous
appelons celle des yacobites Copies
d" Egypte^ hrite au Caire m^me en
* Yoa bring with you firom Egypt richer tressam
itbiui the HebrewK, led by Moses» took away,
t The Astor Library has a copy of this work.
1672 et 1673. jRir k Ry, M, Vans-
leb, Dominicain du Convent de h Mi-
nerve it Rome. Paris, 1677.
The works on Egypt and on Ac
Church of Alexandria, it will be re-
marked, were published on his return
from the east, precisely at the period
of his severest trials. There is quite
an interesting chapter in the history
of criticism connected with Vandcb's
work on the Church of Alexandria, a
work of great merit, which covered
neariy the same ground as that of a
ffistoty of Abyssinia written by Lu-
dolf. This, of course, was, in Lu-
dolf s eyes, only another and a greater
crime added to those of which he
had already accused Vansleb.
Although Moreri, Le Grand, Mi-
chaud, and Renaudot were all more
or less misled as to Vansleb's pcrao-
nal character, they testify unanimously
as to the positive merit of the woii
in question, and to its superiority
over that of Ludolf. It is remarkable
that Father Papebrock and his illus-
trious colleague Bollandus were led
astray, and indeed deceived, by Lu-
dolf. They had confidence in him
as a brother savant, but leaned too
much upon him. Their error was
naturally shared by the youmai de
TrevouXy and thence exteiuied to
other Jesuits.
Although Vansleb's works were at
first fireely used, they were not freely
quoted. Gradually they sank out of
sight. Only rare catalogues chioni-
cle^ them, and his unpublished mss.
had totally disappeared. Occasional
echoes of his name might, at intervals,
be heard in the sanctuaries of science,
and these, rarely repeated during two
centuries, became at last so feeble as
no longer to be perceptible.
. But sleep is not death, nor is Biglit
an eternal eclipse. The day of repa-
ration was at last about to dawn, and
the memory of Vansleb to arise vm-
dicated fi*om the tomb.
VansUbf tlu Oriental Scholar and Traveller,
469
CHAPTER III.
M. ChampoUion Figeac, the well-
known savant and orientalist, was for
many years conservator of the Impe-
rial Library of the palace at Fontaine-
bleau. One day in 1856* he at-
tended the sale of the library of the
late Marquis de Coulanges. His
daughter relates that on his return
he appeared to be in a state of high
mental excitement, the main symp-
tom of which was the manifestation
of extravagant joy. Convulsively em-
bracing her, he exhibited a volume
he had just purchased, and which ap-
peared to be the cause of his super-
lative satisfaction. The volume was
Vansleb's manuscaip^. Familiar with
Vansleb's published works, M. Cham-
poUion and many other scholars
had long regretted the loss of this
manuscript. His joy at finding it
can readily be imderstood. Finding
an indorsement on the manuscript
that indicated Bourron as the place
<rf Vansleb's death and burial, M.
ChampolUon immediately wrote to
the currf of that village for informa-
tion as to Vansleb, and as to the con-
dition of his tomb. But the deceas-
ed monk had passed so short a time
at Bourron that he had left abso-
lutely no trace in the local traditions
of the place, and no one there had
ever seen or heard of his tomb.
However, on a careful search of the
registers, the entry of his burial was
found, and his last resting-place suffi-
ciently indicated.
In 1859, the church was complete-
ly renovated, and advantage was ta-
ken of th^t circumstance to search for
and find the remains of the poor
monk. After the necessary formali-
ties of identification had been com-
plied with, they were careftdly re-
intenred, and M. ChampoUion, hav-
* He dkd in the podace at F<mt«bebleaa May 9tli,
^67, aged et^ty^nme years.
ing interested the emperor in the
matter, was authorized to have erect>
ed over the grave an appropriate and
elegant monument, bearing the in-
scription of which the following is a
translarion :
To THE Memory of
John Michael Vansleb,
Dominican of the Minerva,
Learned Traveller in the East,
By order of Louis XIV.
Died, Vicar of Bourron,
June 12, 1679.
Restoration of his Tomb
Under the Auspices of the EMrEROR,
Napoleon III.,
In the Year 1861.
But a more important rehabili-
tation remained to be made, and
M. ChampolUon* showed, if possible,
greater zeal in this than in the mere-
ly material one. Vansleb*s mss. and
letters were carefully examined and
found to throw new and important
light on capital incidents heretofore
either totally suppressed or wrested
to his disadvantage.
Too aged and infirm even to un-
dertake a task which would have
been to him only a labor of love,
M. ChampoUion confided the papers
to the Abb^ Pougeois, the present
ciu-^ of Bourron, who, under the in-
spiration of the learned orientalist,
prepared a careful and elaborate
memoir of the forgotten Dominican.
It was eminently fitting, and poetic in
its justice, that Vansleb*s vindication
should come from the double source
of science and the church. On the com-
pletion of the Abb^ Pougeojs* work,
it was, by order of the emperor, sub-
mitted for examination to M. Octave
FeuiUet, member of the French Acad-
emy, and the successor of M. Cham-
poUion at Fontainebleau. The report
being entirely favorable, the Abb^
Pougeois' memoir was ordered to be
published at the expense of the em-
peror, under the title, VamUby savant ^
arieniaUste^ et vcyagmr, Sa Vie, sa
470
Vattsleb, the Oriental Sclwlar and Traveller,
Disgrace^ ses CEuvres, Far M. VAbhh
BcmgeoiSy Cure de Bourron, Paris,
1869. The book is a large and
handsome volume of 481 octavo
pages. It has been freely used in
the preparation of this article.
The current misrepresentations con-
cerning Vansleb were taken up into
the literary history of the period,
and have been ever since repeated
by successive historians and biogra-
phers. Nevertheless, some of them
were apparently struck with the incon-
sistencies and contradictions involved
in the charges against the defenceless
monk, and gradually the most offen-
sive of these were dropped. Among
the modem biographical notices of
Vansleb, that contained in Charles
Knight's English Cyclopcedia (article
" Wansleben ;" nearly identical with
one in the Ptnny Cyclopcedia) is general-
ly fair. It states, however, that Vans-
leb " was called to account for moneys
intrusted to his disposal, and disgrac-
ed for misapplying them.^* Although
the writer of that notice doubtless
had the warrant of half a dozen bio-
graphies for making the statement, it
is utterly devoid of truth; so much
so, indeed, that at the period of his
death Vansleb was the creditor, not
the debtor, of the French govern-
ment. Colbert was to have paid
Vansleb the miserable salary of two
thousand francs per annum, and one
thousand francs for the purchase of
MSB. and valuable curiosities ! Even
allowing liberally for the difference in
the values of money then and now,
two thousand francs still remains a
pitiable sum wherewith to remune-
rate one year's services of sucli a man
as Vansleb.
Witli the miserable stipend of one
thousand francs per annum, he pur-
chased and sent (in 1671-72 and
1673) to the Royal Library, where
they still remain, four hundred and
fifty-seven valuable mss. and books,
Arabic, Turkish, Persian, Coptic, and
Ethiopian, besides a large quantity
of inscriptions on stone and metal,
marbles, medals, and animals, living
and dead.
If we must believe Vansleb's tra-
ducers, we witness the strange spec-
tacle of a defaulter insisting upon
and with difficulty obtaining an inter-
view with his principal And this
not once, but twice and thrice. In
one of his letters to Colbert, written
March 20th, 1677, more than a
month after his return to Paris, Vans-
leb claims as due him — First, The
amount expended in preparation for
the journey he was about to ynder-
take when ordered back by the min-
ister. Second, The balance of his
last account rendered. Third, The
amount still unpaid him for books,
MSS., etc, sent to the Royal Library.
Fourth, His salary up to the time he
was definitely discharged, at the third
and last audience accorded him by
the minister. The letter referred to
is dignified, firm, and moderate — as
unlike as possible in its tone that of
a defaulter and a dishonest man.
Thus, he telb Colbert,
** Perceiving that I have good reason to
expect from your excellency neither manifi-
cence nor liberality, nor even such an hon-
orable recompense as I had every just rea-
son to look for after such long and impor-
tant labors, I at least do not anticipate from
your excellency's justice, since you insist
upon a rigorous settlement, a refusal to pay
the balance due me for expenditures in the
service of his majesty, and which I have not
claimed until now, for the reason that I wtf
warranted in presuming upon Such a fair
remuneration as would cover it. In as few
words as possible, then, my lord, and with
rigorous exactitude, there is due me — " *
* " Voyant que V. E. ne me fiut plus rien eiprffw
qui seute la magnificence et la lib^raHt^, ni intec
quelque honnftte recompense, que je croyais juslf
ment pouvoir esp^rer, aprfcs de si longoes et de o
grandes pdnea, je me promets ponrtant de U ja»-
ticc de V. E., puisqu'elle veut trailer lea choses 4 )»
rigueur, qn^elle ne me refuaera pas le paiement de
quelques restes de d^penses que j'ai £utes conune k*
autres au service de sa majesty et dont je n*ai «^
parler juaqu'i present, dans la pens^e que f avai*
Angela,
471
And here follows the recapitula-
tion already presented.
The injustice and indignity with
which Vansleb was treated by Col-
bert is in marked contrast to the lib-
erality usually displayed by Louis
XIV. and his administration toward
travellers whose merits were far infe-
rior to those of the Dominican monk.
On Ta vernier, who brought 'back
with him from his travels precious
stones to the value of three millions,
distinguished honors and letters of
nobihty were conferred. Sanson, the
geographer, besides honorary titles, re-
ceived a salary of two thousand livres.
Vaillajit, who made a journey some-
what similar to that of Vansleb, was
honored with a position in one of the
academies, and endowed with a pen-
sion. Toumefort, who travelled in the
east un4er order of the court, was
absent but two years, had all his ex-
penses paid, and received a salary (in
advance) of three thousand livres.
He returned in 1702, at a period
when the French finances were far
from prosperous, and was awarded a
recompense beyond his salary. Paul
Lucas, toward the end of Louis XIV. 's
reign, was also an eastern explorer.
His travels were published by the
king's command. They are filled
with amusing but absurd stories,
which diverted the king and made
the traveller's fortune.
Vansleb's solid erudition was not
so profitable. His published works,
which are of a nature to interest none
but the archaeologist, the ethnogra-
pher, and the theologian, may soon
be forgotten, and need no further no-
tice than the few words we have giv-
en them ; but it is eminently proper
that we should, in his case, contri-
bute our mite to the vindication of
truth and the rehabiUtation of a too
long suffering reputation.
TKANSLATBD FROM TOM GSRMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLAKDIN.
ANGELA.
CHAPTER VII.
POISONOUS FOOD.
" Herr Frank has not been here
for four .days," said Siegwart as he
returned one day from the field.
" He will not come to-day, for it is
already nine o'clock. I hope the
young man is not ill."
Angela started.
"III? May God forbid !"
" At least, I know no other reason
4i*vne honoCte r^compente me tiendnit lieu de tout
eiU. En trois mots, M<M)Migneur, parlant dans la
dtnihn rigaear, 3 me reste encore," etc.
that could prevent him from' coming.
He has become a necessity to me ; I
seem to miss something."
Angela concealed her uneasiness in
true womanly fashion. She busied
herself about the room, dusted the
furniture, arranged the vases and
trimmed the flowers; but one could
see that her mind was not in the
work.
"Would it not be well, father, to-
send and inquire after his health ?"
" It would if we were certain that
he was ill. I only made a conjec-
ture. However, if he does not come
to-morrow, I will send Henry over.
472
Angela.
We owe him this attention; he is
sensible, modest, and very intelligent.
We find at present in the cities and
first families few young men of so lit-
tle assumption and so much goodness
and manliness."
Angela pricked her finger. She
had incautiously wandered into the
thicket, as if she did not know that
roses have thorns.
" Many things tell of his kind-heart-
edness," she replied, with averted face.
" He sends five dollars every week to
the old blind woman in Salingen ; he
often takes the money himself, and
comforts the unfortunate creature.
The blind woman is full of enthusiasm
about him. He bought the cooper
a full set of tools, that he might be
able to support his mother and seven
little sisters."
"Very praiseworthy," said the fa-
ther.
As Siegwart came home in the eve-
ning, Angela met him in the yard.
She carried a basket and was about
to go into the garden.
" Herr Frank is not unwell," said
he ; " I saw him in the field and went
through the vineyard to meet him;
but when he discovered my intention,
he turned about and hastened toward
the house. That surprises me."
Angela went into the garden. She
stood on the bed and gazed at the
lettuce. The empty basket awaited
its contents, and in it lay the knife
whose bright blade glistened before
the idle dreamer. She stood thus me-
<iitating, lost in thought for a long
time, which was certainly not her
•custom.
Herr Frank had returned fi'om the
trity, and was roughly received by the
doctor.
" Have you spoken to your son ?"
said he sharply.
"No! I have just alighted from
the carriage," answered Frank in as-
tonishment.
The doctor walked up and down
the room, and Frank saw his face
growing darker.
*^You disturb me, good fiiend.
How is Richard ?"
" Bad, very bad ! And it is til
your fault. You gave Richard those
materialistic books which I threw out
of the window. He has read the
trash — ^not read, but studied it ; and
now we have the consequence."
"Pardon me, doctor. I did not
give my son those books. He was
passing the window when you threw
them out, and took them lo his
room."
"You knew that! Why did you
leave him the miserable trash ?"
" I had no idea of the danger of
these writings. Exj^ain yours^ fiir-
ther, I entreat."
" You must first see your son. Bat
I bind it on your conscience to use
the greatest precaution. Do not show
the least surprise. We have to deal
with a dangerous disorder. Do not
say a word about his changed appear-
ance. Then come back to me
again."
Greatly disturbed, the father passed
to the room of his son. Richard sat
on the sofa gazing at the floor. His
cheeks had lost their bloom, his fece
was emaciated, and his eyes deeply
sunken. Vogt's Physiological LetUn
lay open near him. He did not rise
quickly and joyfully to kiss his father,
as was his custom. He remained sit-
ting, and smiled languidly at him.
Herr Frank, grieved and perplexed,
sat down near him, and took occasion
to pick up the book.
" How are you, Richard ?"
" Very well, as you see."
" You are industrious. What book
is this ?"
" A rare book, fadier — a remaila-
Angela.
An
ble book. One learns there to know
what man is amd what he is not
Until now, I did not know that cats,
dogs, monkeys, and all animals were
of our race. Now I know; for it is
clearly demonstrated in that book."
" You certainly do not believe such
absurdities ?'*
"Believe? I believe nothing at
all. Faith ends where proof begins."
Herr Frank read the open page.
"All this sounds very silly," said
he. " Vogt asserts that man has no
soul, and proves it from the fact that
men become idiotic. If the func-
tions of the brain are disturbed, the
soul ceases, says Vogt. He therefore
concludes that the spirit consists in
the brain. The man must have been
crazy when he wrote that I am no
scholar; but I see at the first glance
how false and groimdless are Vogt's
inferences- Every reasonable man
knows that the brain is the instrument
of the mind, which enables it to parti-
cipate in the world of sense; now,
when the instrument is destroyed, the
participation of the mind with the out-
ward world must cease. Although a
man may be an expert on the violin,
he cannot play if the strings are bro-
ken or out of tune. But the player,
his ideas, the art, still remain. In
like manner the spirit remains, al-
though it can no longer play on the
injured or discordant fibres of the
brain."
" You must read the whole book,
father, and then those others there."
" But, Richard, you must not read
books that rob man of all dignity."
" Of course not. I should do as
the ostrich. When he is in danger,
he sticks his head into the bushes
Bot to see the danger. A prudent
plan. But I cannot close my eyes to
the light, even if that light should de-
stroy my human respect"
Greatly afflicted, Herr Frank re*
turned to the doctor.
" Great God I in what a condition
is my poor Richard!" said the op-
pressed father.
" He will, I hope, be rescued. My
stay at Frankenhohe was to end with
the month of May ; but I cannot for-
sake a young man whom I love,
in this helpless state of mental deli-
rium."
"I do not understand the condi-
tion of my son ; and your words give
me great anxiety. Have the good-
ness to tell me what is the matter
with Richard, and how it came
about"
" It would be very difficult to make
your son's condition clear to you.
In you there is only business, lucra-
tive undertakings, speculative combi-
nations. The bustle of the money
market is your world. You have no
idea of the power of an intellectual
struggle. You know the thoughtful,
intellectual nature of your son; and
here I begin. In the first place, I will
remind you that Richard wishes to
be governed by the power of deduc-
tion. With him fantasies and passions
retreat before this force, although usu-
ally in men of his years, and even in
men with gray hair, clearness of mind
and keen penetration are often swept
away by the current of stormy pas-
sions. Richard's aversion to women
is the result of cool reflection and in-
evitable inference, and therefore on
this question I do not dispute his
views. I know it would be useless,
and I know that the study of a pure
feminine nature would overcome this
prejudice. The same force of logical
inferences places Richard in this un-
happy condition. He read the writ-
ings of the materialist There he
found the physiological proofs that
man is a beast From these proofe
Richard drew all the terrible conse-
quences contained in those destructive
doctrines. As the intdlectual life
predominates in him, and as he has
474
Angela.
a strong repugnance to materialistic
madness, his nature must be stirred in
its profoundest depths. If Richard
succumbs, he will act in his habitual
consistent manner. All moral basis
lost, morality would be foolishness to
him, since it is useless for beasts to curb
the passions by moral laws. As with
immortality disappears man's eternal
destiny, it would be foolish to " fight
the giant fight of duty." If he is con-
vinced that man is a beast, he will
live like a beast — although he might
closdc his conduct with the varnish of
decency — and thus suddenly would
the sensible Richard stand before his
astonished father a ruined man. This
is one view; there is still another,"
said the doctor hesitatingly. " I re-
member in the course of my practice
a suicide who wrote on a slip of paper,
* What do I here ? Eat, drink, sleep,
worry, and firet ; much suffering, lit-
tle joy; therefore — ' and the man
sent a bullet through his head. This
suicide thought logically. This earth-
ly life is insupportable ; it is foolish-
ness to a man who thinks and is at
the same time a materialist"
" What prospects — ^horrible 1" cried
Herr Frank, wringing his hands.
" Accursed be those books ; and I am
the cause of this misfortune !"
"The involuntary cause," said
Klingenberg consolingly. " You now
have a firm conviction of the devas-
tating effects of those bad books.
But how many are there who consid-
er every warning in this connection
an exhibition of prejudice or narrow-
mindedness! How few readers are
so modest as to admit that they want
the scientific culture to refute a bad
book, to separate the poison fix)m the
honey of sweet phrases and winning
style ! How few can see that they
cannot read those bad books without
detriment ! No one would sit on a
cask of powder and touch it off" for
amusement; and yet those hellish
books are more dangerous than a
%:ask full of powder. To me this is
incomprehensible. Poisonous food b
always injurious; yet thousands and
millions drink greedily from thb poi-
sonous stream of bad reading whidi
deluges all grades of society."
"** I will do immediately what most
be done," said Herr Frank as he has-
tily rose.
« What wiU you do ?"
" Take fi-om my son those execra-
ble books."
" By no means," said Klingenberg.
" This would be a psychological mis-
take. Richard' would buy the same
books again at the book-shop, and
read them secretly. A man who has
the resolution of your son must be
won by honorable combat Autho-
rity would here be badly applied
Therefore I forbid you to interfere.
You know nothing of the matter.
Treat him kindly, and have forbear-
ance with his sensitiveness. That
is what I must require of you."
Greatly afflicted, Herr Frank left
the doctor. Overwhelming himself
with reproaches, he wandered rest-
lessly about the house and garden.
He saw Richard standing at the open
window with folded arms, dreamy
and pale, his hair in disorder like
a storm-beaten wheat-field — truly a
painful sight for the father. He went
up to his room, where the small libra-
ry stood in its beautiful binding. A
servant stood near him with a basket
The works of Eugene Sue, GuUkow,
and like spirits fell into the basket
" All to the fire !" commanded Herr
Frank.
The doctor had compared bad li^
erature to poisonous food. The com-
parison was not inapt; at least, it gave
Richard the appearance of a man in
whose body destructive poison was
working. He was listless and ex-
hausted ; in walking, his hands hun^
heavily by his side. His eyes were
Angela,
475
directed to the ground, as if he were
seeking something. If he saw a
snail, he stopped to examine the
crawling creature. He sought to
know why the snail crawls about, and,
to his astonishment, found that the
snail always followed an object;
which is not always the case with
man, animal of the moment, who
goes about without an object. If a
caterpillar accidentally got under his
foot, he pushed it carefully aside and
examined if it had been hurt It
seemed to him logical that creeping
and flying things had the same claims
to forbearance and proper treatment
as man, since according to Vogt and
Buchner's striking proofs, all creep-
ing and flying things are not essen-
tially different from man.
He paid particular attention to the
spiders. If he came to a place where
their web was stretched, he exammed
attentively the artistic texture ; he saw
the firmly fastened knot on the twig
which held the web apart, the circu-
lar meshes, the cunning arrangement
to catch the wandering fly. He was
convinced that such a spider would
be a thousand times more intelligent
than Herr Vogt and Herr Biichner,
with half as big a head as those
wise naturalists. The enterprising
spirit of the ants excited not less his
admiration. He always found them
busy and in a bustle, to which a
market-day could not be compared.
Even London and Paris were solita-
ry in comparison to the throng in an
ant-hill. They dragged about large
pieces of wood, as also leaves and
fibres, to construct their house, which
was laid out with design and finished
with much care. If he pushed his
cane into the hill, there forthwith
arose a great revolution. The in-
habitants rushed out upon him, nip-
ped him with their pincers, and show-
ed the greatest rage agaist the inva-
der of their kingdom, while others with
great celerity placed the eggs in safe-
ty. He observed that the ants gave
no quarter, and considered every one
a mortal enemy who disturbed their
state.
The young man sat on a stone and
examined a snail that crawled slowly
from the wet grass. It carried a gray
house on its back, and beslimed the
way as it went, and stretched out its
homs to discover the best direction.
Its delicate touch astonished Frank.
When obstacles came in its way
which it did not see nor touch, it
would perceive them by means of a
w^onderful sensibility.
How stupid did Richard appear to
himself, beside a homed, blind snail.
How many men only discover ob-
stacles in their way when they have
run their heads against them, and
how many wish to run their heads
through walls without any reason!
He arose and looked toward Ange-
la's home. He was dejected, and
heaved a sigh.
" All is of no avail. 'The activity of
the animal world affords no diver-
sion, the benumbing strokes of ma-
terialism lose their effect. The rare
becomes common, and does not at-
tract attention. There walks an an-
gel in the splendor of superior excel-
lence, and I endeavor in vain to dis-
tract my mind from her by studying
the knimals. I follow wiUingly the
professors* exact investigations, into
the labyrinth of their studied argu-
ments to make it appear that I am
only an animal, that all our sentiment
is only imagination and fallacy. It
is all in vain. Can these gentlemen
teach me how we can cease to have
admiration for the noble and ex-
alted? Here man forcibly breaks
through. Here self, irresistible and
disgusted with error, brings the no-
bility of human nature to conscious-
ness, and all the wisdom of boasted
materialism becomes idle nonsense."
476
Angela.
" Thank God ! I see you again, my
dear neighbor," said Siegwart cor-
dially. " Where have you kept your-
self this last week? Why do you
no longer visit us ? My whole house
is excited about you. Henry is an-
gry because he cannot show you the
horses he bought lately. My wife
bothers her head with all kinds of fore-
bodings, and Angela urged me to
send and see if you were ill."
A new life permeated Frank's
whole being at these last words ; his
cheeks flushed and his languid eyes
brightened up.
"I know no good reason as an
apology, dear friend. Be assured,
however, that the apparent neglect
does not arise from any coolness to-
ward you and your esteemed family."
And he drew marks in the sand with
his cane.
" Perhaps your father took offence
at your visits to us ?"
"Ohl no. No; I alone am to
blame."
Siegwart gave a searching glance
at the pale face of the young man
who, broken-spirited, stood before him,
and whose mental condition he did
not understand, although he had a
vague idea of it.
" I will not press you further," said
he cheerfully. " But, as a punish-
ment, you must now come with me.
I received yesterday a fresh supply
of genuine Havanas, and you must
try them."
He took Richard by the arm, and
the latter yielded to the friendly com-
pulsion. They went through the
vineyard. Frank broke from a twig
a folded leaf.
" Do you know the cause of this ?"
"Oh! yes; it is the work of
the vine-weevil," answered Siegwart
" These mischief-makers sometimes
cause great damage to the vineyards.
Some years I have their nests gather-
ed and the eggs destroyed to prevent
their doing damage."
"You consider every thing with
the eyes of an economist. But I ad-
mire the art, the foredght, and the in-
telligence of these insects."
" Intelligence — ^foresight of an in-
sect !" repeated Siegwart, astonished
" I see in the whole aflair neither intel-
ligence nor foresight"
" But just look here," said Richard,
carefully unfolding the leafl " Wlmt
a degree of considerate management
is necessary to frx the leaf in such
order. The ribs of this leaf are
stronger than the force of the beetle.
Yet he wished to fold the eggs in it
What does he do ? He first pierces
the stem with his pincers ; in conse-
quence of this, the leaf curls up and
becomes soft and pliable to the frail
feet of the insect This is the first
act of reflection. The piercing of
the stem had evidendy as its object
to cause the leaf to roll up. Then
he begins to work with a perfection
that would do honor to human skill
The leaf is rolled up in order to put
the eggs in the folds. Here is the
first egg ; he rolls further — ^here is the
second egg, some distance from the
first, in order to have sufficient food
for the young worm — ^again an act
of reflection ; lastly, he finishes the
roll with a carefully worked point, to
prevent the leaf from unfolding —
again an act of reflection."
Siegwart heard all this with indif-
ference. What Richard told him he
had known for years. His employ-
ment in the fields revealed to his
observing mind wonderful £acts in
nature and in the animal worid. The
wisdom of the vine-weevil gave him
no difficulty. He looked again in
Frank's deep-sunken eyes and notic-
ed a peculiar expression, and in his
countenance great anxiety.
He concluded that the work of
Angela.
A77
the vine-weevil must have some
connection with the young man's
condition.
*• You see actions of reflection and
design where I see only imconscious
instinct."
Frank became nervous.
" The common evasion of superfi-
cial examination !" cried he. " Man
must be just even to the animals.
Their works are artistic, intelligent,
and considerate. Why then deny to
animals those powers which operate
with intelligence and reflection ?"
** I do not for a moment dispute
this power of the animals," replied
the proprietor quickly.
" You find mind in the animals ?"
interrupted Frank hastily. " This con-
viction once reached, have you con-
sidered the consequences that fol-
low ?"— and he became more excited.
" Have you considered that with
Uiis admission the whole world be-
comes a fabulous structure, without
any higher object ? If the spider is
equal to man, then its torn web that
flutters in the wind is worth as much
as the crumbling firagments of art
which remain firom classic antiquity.
Virtue, the carefiil restraining of the
passions, is stark madness. The dis-
gusting ape, lustful and brutish, is as
good as the purest virgin who per-
forms severe penances for her idle
dreams. It is with justice that the
criminal scofi& at the good as bed-
lamites who, with fanatical delusion,
strive for castles in the air. Every
outcast fi-om society, sunk and satu-
rated in the basest vices, is precisely
as good as the purest soul and the
noblest heart \ for all distinction be-
tween right and wrong, good and
eiol, is destroyed."
Angela's father gazed with solici-
tude into the perplexed look and dis-
torted countenance of the young
man.
**You deduce consequences, Hen-
Frank, that could not be drawn firom
my admissions," said he mildly.
"There is no conscious power in
animals — ^no reflecting soul. The
animal works with the power that is
in it, as light and heat in the fire, as
in the lightning the destructive force,
as the exciting and purifying effects in
the storm. The animal does not act
freely, like man ; but firom necessity
— according to instinct and laws
which the Almighty has imposed
upon it."
"A gratuitous assumption! A shal-
low artifice," exclaimed Frank. "The
animal shows understanding, design,
and will; we must not deny him
these faculties."
" If the lightning strikes my house
and discovers with infallible certainty
all the metal in the walls, even where
the sharpest eye could not detect it,
must you recognize mental faculties
in the lightning in discovering the
metal ?"
Frank hemmed and was silent.
" What a botcher is the most learn-
ed chemist compared with the root-
fibres of the smallest plant," continu-
ed Siegwart " Every plant has its
own peculiar life ; this I observe eve-
ry day. All plants do not flourish
alike in the same soil. They only
flourish where they find the necessary
conditions for their peculiar life;
where they find in the air and earth
the conditions necessary for their ex-
istence. Set ten different kinds of
plants together in a small plat of
ground. The different fibres will al-
ways seek and absorb only that
material in the earth which is proper
to their kind; they will pass by
the useless and injurious substances.
Now, where is the chemist who with
such certainty, such power of discri-
mination, and knowledge of substan-
ces, can select fix>m the inert clod the
proper material ? A chemist with
such knowledge does not exist Now,
478
Afigela.
must you admit that the fibres pos-
sess as keen an understanding and as
deep a knowledge of chemistry as
the man who is versed in chemistry ?"
" That would be manifest folly."
" Well," concluded Siegwart quiet-
ly, "if the vine-weevil weaves its
wrapper, the spider its web, the bird
builds its nest, and the beaver his
house, they all do it in their way, as
the root-fibres in theirs."
Richard remained silent, and they
passed into the house.
Angela and her mother looked
with astonishment and sympathy on
their fiiend.
Soon in the mild countenance
of Madam Siegwart there appeared
nearly the same expression as in the
first days after the death of Eliza —
so much did the painful appearance
of the young man afflict her. Angela
turned pale, her eyes filled, and she
strove to hide her emotion. Frank
only looked at her furtively. What-
ever he had to say to her, he said
with averted eyes. Siegwart expend-
ed all his powers of amusement ; but
he did not succeed in cheering the
young man. He continued depress-
ed, embarrassed, and sad, and con-
stantly avoided looking at Angela.
When she spoke he listened to the
sound of her voice, but avoided her
look. Presently a low barking was
heard in the room and Hector, who
had growlingly received Frank at his
first visit, but who in time had be-
come an acquaintance of his, lay
stretched at full length dreaming.
Scarcely did Richard notice the
dreaming animal when he exclaimed,
"The dog dreams! See how his
feet move in the chase, how he opens
his nostrils, how he barks, how his
limbs reach for the game I The dog
dreams he is in the chase."
"I have often observed Hector's
dreams," said Siegwart coolly.
Frank continued,
" Have you considered the conse-
quences that follow fix>m the dreams
of the dog ? Dreams show a think-
ing faculty," said he hastily. ** Ani-
mals, then, think like men ; thoughts
are the children of the mind ; there-
fore, animals have minds. Anitaials
and men are alike."
Angela started at these words.
Her mother shook her head.
"You conclude too hastily, my
dear fiiend," said Siegwart coolly.
"You must first know that animals
dream like men. Men think, reflect,
and speak in dreams. The dreams
of animals are very different from
those mental acts."
" How will you explain it ?" said
Richard excitedly.
"Very easily. Hector is now im
the chase. The dog's sense of smell
is remarkable. By means of the fia-
grant wind Hector smells the par-
tridges miles away. He acts then just
as in the dream ; feet, nose, and limbs
come into activity. Suppose that in
the surrounding fields there is a covey
of partridges. The air would indi-
cate them to Hector's smelling or-
gans ; these organs act, as in the wak-
ing state, on the brain of the animal;
the brain acts on the other organs
Where is there thought ? Have wc
not a purely material effect? The
cough, the appetite, the sneezing, the
aversion — what have all these to da
with mind or thought ? Nothing at
all. The dream of the dog is an en-
tirely muscular process, the mere co-
working of the muscular organs; as
with us, digestion, the flowing of the
blood, the twitching of the muscles-
facts with which the mind has no-
thing to do."
"Your assertion is based on the
assumption that partridges are near,"
said Eachard ; " and I will be obliged
to you if, with Hector's, assistance^
you convince me of this fact."
"That is unnecessary, my dear
Angela,
479
friend. Suppose there are no par-
tridges in the neighborhood. The
same affection of the brain which
would be produced by the smell of
the partridges could be produced by
accident. If it is accidental, it will
have the same effect in the sleep-
ing condition of the dog.* Af-
fections accidentally arise in man the
causes of which are not known. We
are uneasy, we know not why; we
are discouraged without any know-
ledge of the cause. We are joyful
without being able to give any rea-
son for it The mind can rise above
all these dispositions, affections, and
humors; can govern, cast out, and
disperse them. Proof enough that a
king lives in man — ^the breath of
God, which is not taken from the
earth, and to which all matter must
yield if that power so wills."
The dog stretched his strong legs
without any idea of the important
question to which he had given occa-
sion.
"Herr Frank," began Madam
Siegwart earnestly, "I have learned
to respect you, and have oflen wished
that my son, at your years, would be
like you. I see now with painful as-
tonishment that you defend opinions
which contradict your former expres-
sions, and the sentiments we must
expect from a Christian. Will you
not be so good as to tell me how
you have so suddenly changed your
views ?"
" Esteemed madam," answered
Frank, with emotion, " I thank you
for this undeserved motherly sympa-
thy; but I beg of you not to believe
*Tln» aiguroeot b not ooadusiTt, nor is it at all
°******'y. Animals have memory ; and there is no
">«« fcaaoQ why their waking sensations, emotions,
»«d acts should not repeat themselves in dreams
v»>n there U in the case of men. ITie diflference be-
**•« the sool of man and the soul of the bnite is
?U^J»;«ttl by th« pfwtnce of the jpft of reason, or
we acuity of knowing necessary and universal tmths
J the former, and iu absence in the faUter.~Eo.
CatmoucWoma
that the opinions I expressed are my
firm convictions. No, I have not yet
fallen so deep that for me there is no
difference between man and beast. I
can yet continue to believe that ma-
terialism is a crime against mankind.
On the other hand, I freely acknow-
ledge that my mind is in great trouble ;
that every firm position beneath my >
feet totters; that I have been tempted
to hold doctrines degrading to the in-
dividual and destructive to society.
I have been brought into this diffi-
culty by reading books whose se-
ductive proofe I am not able to refute.
Oh ! I am miserable, very miserable ;
my appearance must have shown you
that already."
He looked involuntarily at Angela ;
he saw tears in her eyes ; he bowed his
head and was silent.
"I see your difficulties," said the
proprietor. "They enter early or
late into the mind of every man. It
is good, in such uncertainties and
doubts, to lean on the authority of
truth. This authority can only be
God, who is truth itself, who came
down from heaven and brought light
into the darkness. We can prove,
inquire, and speculate ; but the keen-
est human intellect is not always free
from delusion. As there is in man a
spiritual tendency which raises him
far above the visible and material,
God has been pleased to lead and di-
rect that tendency by revelation, that
man may not err. I consider divine
revelation a necessity which God
willed when he created the mind.
As the mind has an instinctive thirst
after truth, God must, by the reve-
lation of truth, satisfy this thirst
Therefore is revelation as old as the
human race. It reached its comple-
tion and perfection by the coming of
the Lord, who said, * I am the truth ;'
and this knowledge of the truth re-
mains in the church through the
guidance of the Spirit of truth, till the
48o
Angela.
latest generation. This is only my
ultramontane conviction," said Sieg-
wart, smiling; '^but it affords peace
and certainty."
Angela had gone out, and now re-
turned with a basket, in which lay a
little dog, of a few days old, asleep.
She set the basket carefully down be-
fore Frank, so as not to awaken the
sleeper.
" As you appreciate the full worth
of striking proofs, I am glad to be
able to place one before you, in the
shape of this little dog," said she, ap-
pearing desirous of cheering her de-
jected friend. But Frank did not re-
ceive from her cheerful countenance
either strength or encouragement, for
he did not look up.
" This little dog is only eight days
old," she continued ; " its eyes are not
yet open; it can neither walk nor
bark ; it can only growl a little ; and it
does nothing but sleep and dx^eam. I
have noticed its dreams since the
first day of its birth. You can con-
vince yoiunself of its dreaming." She
stooped over the basket and her soft
hair disturbed the sleeper.
For a moment Frank saw and
heard nothing.
"See," she continued, "how its
little feet move, and how its body
jerks. Hear the low growl, and see
Uie hairs round the mouth how they
twitch, how the nose shrinks and
expands — all the same as in Hector.
The little thing knows nothing at all
of the world — no more than a child
eight days old. We certainly, there-
fore, will not deceive ourselves in as-
suming that all these movements are
only muscular twitchings; that neither
the pup nor Hector dreams like a
man.
fi
Frank first looked at the dog in
great surprise, and then gazed admi-
ringly on Angela.
« O firaulein i how I thank you."
^e appeared most lovely in his
eyes. He suddenly turned towaxd her
father.
'^ Your house is a great blessing to
me. It appears that the pure atmo-
sphere of religious conviction which
you breathe victoriously combats ail
dark doubts, as light dissipates dark-
»i
ness.
Angela stood in her room. Sie
knew that the spirit of unbelief per-
vaded the world, taking possession
of thousands and destroying all life
and effort. She saw Richard threat-
ened by this spirit, and feared for his
soul. She became very anxious, and
sank on her knees before the crucifix
and cried to heaven for succor.
Night was upon all things. The
black clouds, lowering deep and
heavy, shut out all light fix>m heaven.
The wind swept the mountains, the fo-
rest moaned, and thunder muttered in
the distance. Klingenberg sat before
his folios. A fitfiil light glimmered
from the room of Richard's father.
Richard himself came home late,
took his supper, and retired to his
chamber; there he walked back and
forth, thinkmg, contending with him-
self, and speaking aloud Before his
door stood a dark figure — ^immovable
and listening.
It knocked at the door of the
elder Frank. Jacob, a servant who
had grown gray in the service of die
house, entered. Frank received him
with surprise, and awaited expectandy
what he had to say.
" We are all wrong," said Jacob.
"My poor young master has now
spoken out dearly. He is not sick
because of the foolish trash in the
books. He is in love, terribly in
love."
« Ah ! in love ?" said Heir Frank
" You should just have heard bote
he complains and laments that he is
not worthy of her. ' O Angela, An-
gela!' he cried at least a hundred
The Philosophical Doctrines of St. Augustine.
481
times, ' could I only raise myself to
your level and make myself worthy !
But your soul, so pure, your charac-
ter, so immaculate and good, thrusts
me away. I look up to you with
admiration and longing, as the trou-
bled pOgiim on earth looks up to
the peace and grandeur of heaven.*
This is the way he talked. He is to
be pitied, sir."
" So — ^so — ^in love, and with Sieg-
wart's daughter," said Frank sadly.
" The tragedy will change into come-
dy. Even if they were not so unap-
proachably high, but like other peo-
ple on earth, my son should never
take an ultramontane wife."
"But if he loves her so deeply,
sir?"
" Be still ; you know nothing about
it Has he lain down ?"
" Yes ; or, at least, he is quiet"
'' Continue to watch him. I must
immediately make known to the doc-
tor this love affair. He will be sur-
prised to find the philosopher changed
into a love-sick visionary."
TO BB COMTINUSO,
TSANSLATBO FKOM THE ITAUAW.
THE PHILOSOPHICAL DOCTRINES OF ST. AUGUSTINE COM«
PARED WITH THE IDEOLOGY OF THE MODERN SCHOOLS.
** St. Thomas treato the peripatetic philoMphT in tacli a mannerthat Plato himaelf ifMld have wiOiiigiy
oepted It a» Platonic."— CTrnijt^ Ed. Rom. t ix. p. 58.
BY THE REV. FATHER CARLO VERCELLONE, BARNABrTE.
HfnODUCTORY MOTS.'
The Dublin Review has recently
commenced a series of articles with
the view of promoting philosophical
unity among Catholic scholars, and
of urging upon them the necessity
of a combined effort against modem
scepticism. We are very glad that
Dr. Ward has turned the powerful
stream of his great literary engine in
this direction. We are in perfect ac-
cord with him on this poin^ that false
philosophy lies at the foundation of
all the worst errors of the day, and
that these errors can only be effectu-
ally subverted by a true and sound
phbosophy. We desire, therefore, as
we have always desired and endea-
vored, to do what we can in this
magazine, both to promote agreement
vou X, — ^31
among Catholics in tiound phdoso-
phical principles, and to refute those-
false principles in modem times so*
generally adopted, which are better
designated by the term pure psycho-
logism than by any other name that
we know of. We desire to make it
clearly known, however, that by this,
term we intend only to designate the
philosophical doctrine of Dies Cartes,,
and that which constitutes the prima-
ry principle of the systems of Locke,.
Hamilton, Mansd, MQI^ Kant, Spen-
cer, and other uncatholic writers. We •
call it pure psychologism, because it
acknowledges no other first principle
of thought and reason than the con-
sciousness which the* thinking subject,
has or seems to have of itself under
various phases or naodifications. We-
4«2
The Philosophical Doctrines of St. Augustine,
do not s^ply the term to any recog-
nized school of Catholic philosophy,
or to the system of any respectable
author whose works are in good re-
pute in the church, and we believe
that there is no one among them who
would not repudiate the epithet if ap-
plied to his doctrine by an opponent
In the sense in which we have defin-
ed it, it is the heresy of nominalism
carried to its utmost logical conse-
quences — ^that is, to complete subjec-
ticism or scepticism in the order of
pure reason. Opposed to it is the
realism sustained in theology by
every orthodox writer, and in philo-
sophy by every one whose philosophy
is not in direct contradiction to his
theology. This realism is the affir-
mation of the objective entity, dis-
tinct firom and superior to the think-
ing subject of that which reason im-
mediately apprehends as intelligible,
necessary, self-evident, universal idea,
together with the objective entity of
that which is perceived as existing
tinder sensible phenomena. It is the
denial or doubt of this objective reali-
ty which nullifies the effect of all rea-
soning firom principles or firom evi-
dence in proof of Catholic dogmas.
We meet with a scepticism in regard
to the real existence of God, of truth,
©f the external world, of the soul it-
self, which renders logic vain. It is
only a return to first principles and to
a belief in reason, therefore, which
can give us a basis on which to rein-
tegrate the rights of faith against the
modem irrationalists and misologists
— that is, haters of reason. The resto-
ration and improvement of philoso-
phy is an object of primary impor-
tance to the religious, moral, and po-
litical welfare of the world. It is in
vain to think of looking for this im-
provement elsewhere than in the in-
vestigation and development of the
philosophical doctrine of Plato, Aris-
totle, the great fathers and doctors
of the church, the scholastic meta-
physicians, and their successors. As
there is no real progress in theologi-
cal science except in the continuity
of scholastic theology, so there is
none in metaphysical science except
in the continuity of scholastic philo-
sophy. As, in theology, all sound
Catholic authors work together har-
moniously in defending and propug-
nating those essential doctrines which
are clearly defined and imiversally ad-
mitted, at the same time discus^ng
among themselves in a firiendly man-
ner those opinions which are as yet
only probable, so it should be m phi-
losophy. The most important thing
is to maintain that philosophical truth
in which all sound Catholic authors
are agreed against the sceptical prin-
ciples of modem gophists. Advance
in the science of this truth ; with that
increase of clearness in conception
and statement, and of unanimity in
opinion, which is its natural conse-
quence ; can only be gained by ex-
haustive study and argumentation of
obscure and disputed questions, car-
ried on in a truly catholic, impartial,
and conciliatory spirit
The author of the article before us
was one who labored most zealously
in this direction. He was a leamed
Bamabite monk, occupying a high
position among the erudite scholars
of the Roman court and schook.
He held the position of consultor to
one of the Roman congregations, and
was a member of the commission on
oriental affairs, preparatory to the
Council of the Vatican, at the time
of his decease. The present essay
was read before the Academy of the
Catholic Religion at Rome, on the
27th of August, 1863, and published
by the Propaganda press. We have
taken it firom an edition of F. Verccl-
lone*s Disscrtazioni Accademiche di Va-
rio ArgpmentOf published at Rome in
1864, and dedicated to Cardinal De
The Philosophical Doctrines of St Augustine,
483
Luca. There can be no doubt of F.
Vcrcellone's competency to discrimi-
nate in philosophical matters between
the doctrine prescribed by authority,
and that which rests only on the judg-
ment of eminent schools and authors,
and on the arguments by which this
judgment is supported. His position
gave him unusual facilities for un-
derstanding the reason and true im-
port of the judgments pronounced
by the holy see on philosophical
questions, so that whatever he has
written with a bearing on points
which have been a subject of contro-
versy among Catholic writers must
have the greatest weight, and be enti-
tled, at least, to be considered as safe
opinion. For this reason, as well as
for the intrinsic value it possesses, we
have thought the essay now present-
ed to the readers of The Catholic
World to be especially worthy of
translation into English, and of care-
ful study by all who are interested in
the advancement of -sound philoso-
phy. — Ed, Cath. World.
DISSERTATION.
In contradiction to that most
grave and deplorable error by which
many unbelievers of our own day,
more than those of an earlier period^
love to confound religion with philo-
sophy, we firmly hold the principle
whidi was efficaciously and unani-
mously sustained by the ancient sa-
ges, pagan as well as Christian, that
religion is the chief end to which
philosophy is directed. If this were
not so, we should never have seen
what forms one of the chief glories
of the holy church. I mean, that the
eagle of all human philosophy, the
incomparable Augustine, claims the
first and most glorious place among
the renowned and venerable company
of the holy fathers ; I mean, that to
the holy fathers generally belongs the
merit of having initiated the whole
Christian world into a philosophy
much more severe, more legitimate,
and more conclusive than that which
was previously a most rare privilege,
one, also, more or less temporary and
successive, of Cortona, of Elea, of
Athens, of Alexandria, and of some
other cities; so that not a few of
these fathers have left us, in their
works, an immense harvest for the
benefit of philosophy, partly the fruit
of their own genius and thought on
various topics, partly in the form of
precious monuments of that admira-
ble wisdom of more ancient times
which was itself, as it existed among
the heathen, not altogether free from
the influence of die true religion, and
therefore descended by a just title of
inheritance to Christianity. And if
philosophy revived and arose from
its ashes two centuries, at least, before
our language and literature, as this
preceded by several hundred years
those of foreign nations, to whom
does the praise more justly belong
than to the renowned BenecUctine of
Aosta, a man whbse genius and meta-
physical power equalled his sanctity ?
If, besides, the philosophy of Aristotle
was exhibited to the world in a Chris-
tian form — that is, piuified, completed,
rigorous, true, irrefutable, as Augus-
tine and the other fathers had done
to the Platonic wisdom — to whom be-
longs the merit but to a seraphic car-
dinal and an angelical Dominican?
Perhaps the modem depredators of
scholasticism, the chief enemies of the
Catholic clergy, the persecutors of
religious orders, have on their side
philosophers worthy to be compared
with an Ansdm, a Bonaventiure, a
Thomas? Whoever has received
firom God the grace of appertaining
to the Catholic Church can easily
see, with his own eyes, if he is not
altogether a faster in science, how
many and great services the true reli-
gion renders to philosophy; by simply
484
The Philosophical Doctrines of St. Augustine.
opening at random any one of the
sacred and precious volumes, either
of the illustrious ancient fathers or of
the venerable princes of the schools.
But those of us who are honored by
the privilege of representing in the
chairs of instruction, or cultivating
and illustrating in books the Catholic
philosophy, have far greater reason
to know and esteem the master-pieces
of the doctors and the fathers. Such
can see, by contrast with these, that
what is called the modem philosophy,
although sustained and kept on foot,
here and there, by some authors of
unusual and vast speculative ability,
nevertheless never satisfies in the
least any one who attempts to revive
it, always lacking a valid direction,
always hable to sudden changes and
vacillations — a sure sign of internal
contradiction — agitated, discompos-
ed, tormented by all the follies of the
most mediocre and turbulent intel-
lects. Such persons as these, not ob-
serving that logic (permit me here
to use the language of St. Augustine)
is properly the intellectual judgment
of entire humanity, that it cannot be
made anew, as it cannot either be
unmade, but only obtained by inheri-
tance and amplified and extended by
felicitous discoveries; not consider-
ing, I say, any of these things, they
believe that out of the present age
there ought to issue a new and mag-
nificent rational philosophy; just as
there certainly has issued a new and
stupendous literature, a geometry to-
tally renovated and enlarged to most
gigantic proportions, and a system
of physics in great part construct-
ed anew, corrected by experiments
and elucidated by better hypothe-
ses. But I pray and hope that the
time of undeceiving has arrived, and
diat the Catholic masters (the others
will turn back when this happens)
will apply themselves in earnest to
pick up again the thread of perfect
and classical tradition in science.
This I come to-day to recommend ;
and I have confidence that I can bet-
ter persuade men to undertake it by
example, and, as it were, by means
of something actually dooe, if you,
with your accustomed benignity, will
deign to bear with my proposition,
and to give it the support and wei^
of your authority.
I invoke the authority of this re-
spectable asembly for an end I have
greatly at heart, and which seems to
me of supreme importance both to
scientific advancement and rdigious
edification; that is, to obtain that our
philosophers, divided, not by thdr own
fault but by that of our ancestors of
die last century, into ontologists and
psychologists, ^ould once for all give
dieir attention and open their eyes to
the history too long belied and alone
worthy of consideration — the history,
I say, ever new, briUiant, and unsur-
passable, of our own philosophy; and
instead of consuming all their strength
in a war among our excellent doctCMS
— which it is high time to break oflf —
should apply themselves rather to lay
a new grasp on the ancient wisdom
of Catholicism with one hand, and
with the other to repulse and discom-
fit the audacious and execrable crowd
of modem errors. Assuredly, when
the doctrine as weU of the fathers
relatively to the Platonic system, as
of the greater schoolmen to the meta-
physics of Aristode, shall have been
first placed in a better light and looked
at in its multiform aspects by means
of various and judicious investigations,
it will be made imiversally manifest
that the Platonism and Aristotdianism
of the heathen were not in any wise
identical with the ontologism and
psychologism of the Catholic mas-
ters; that the war between the Aca-
demics and Peripatetics was annihi-
lated and put aside by the rigor and
integrity of Catholic thought ; that, in
The Philosophical Doctrines of St. At^gustine.
48s
fine, the Plato of the holy fathers does
not disdain the psychologism of St.
Thomas, and that the Aristotle of the
chief schoolmen does not reject the
ODtologism of St Augustine. Since
this may appear to some as a thing
which is more specious in assertion
than capable of solid proof, I will draw
out that exemplification of it which I
have promised, and will come to facts ;
setting forth certain brief considera-
tions in relation to ideology — that is
to say, in relation to the most contro-
verted theme and the most grave
and obstinate question of the modem
schools in rational philosophy, especi-
ally among Catholics. I will describe
and mark out, first, firom original testi-
monies, the Augustinian conception,
or, indeed, the genesis of his ideology ;
in the second place, I will search into
the modem origin of the division be-
tween the ideology of the Catholic on-
tologists and that of the psychologists
equally Catholic ; finally, I will make
evident how the reconciliation of the
children with the father and of the
modem scission with the ancient unity,
suffices to consolidate the hope of a
peace which all desire, and which, by
combining the forces of our best minds,
may render Catholic philosophy more
harmoniously operative against die bet-
ter united forces of the modem enemies
of tmth.
A man who in his whole life had
done nothing except to write the twen-
ty-two books of 77u City of God on^i
justly to he esteemed the first and
most admirable philosopher on the
earth. Never was it better known
or more loudly proclaimed than in
our day, that the philosophy of histo-
ry carries off the palm on the field of
human speculations. In recommend-
ing, therefore, the philosophical excel-
lence of St. Augustine, we can prove
the justice of our opinion by this one
argument, which is by itself sufficient.
Let us compare whatever modem wri-
ters have been able to do in this class
of books with 7^ City of God,' if no
work of modem times, can be found
either so original, so extensive, so era-
dite, or so profound as TTic City of God ^
written fourteen centuries ago, we
must necessarily agree that a retum
to this centre of Catholic wisdom is
the only method of giving impetus and
improvement to philosophical specula-
tions. But we will not now extend
our search so fiir as this. I will con-
fine myself to the eighth book, which
includes a notice and an appreciation
the different systems of the entire pa-
gan philosophy, and forms an introduc-
tion to that long and sublime parallel
between natural reason and revelation,
carried on throughout the succeeding
books in a manner equally novel and
splendid, with a view to the illustra-
tion of the whole field of Catholic
theology by the highest efforts of hu-
man wisdom and the best sentiments
of the pagans themselves. The most
vital part of the preliminary views, in-
troducing the subject of the eighth
and succeeding books, is as follows :
There are two points, he says, which
must be firmly held: that Catholics
ought not to deny that which \& good
in the philosophy of the pagans ; and
that, on the other hand, they are bound
to reject and refute all the falsehood
contained in it The first is proved
by that which the apostle says. What
is known of God is manifest in them ;
for God has manifested it to them.
For t/ie invisible things of him are
beheld from the constitution of the
worlds being understood by means of
those things which are made^ even his
eternal power and divinity. More-
over, at the Areopagus, when he af-
firmed that in him we live and move
and arcy he added, cu some also of
your own poets have said. The second
is proved by another text Beware
486
TIte Philosophical Doctrines of St. Augustine.
lest any one deceive you by philosqpJ^
and vain seduction according to the
elements of the world,*
This being laid down, the duty of
Catholic philosophers is that already
touched upon— the separation of the
good gold in pagan philosophy
rom the counterfeit ; and as all the phi-
losophy is divided into three parts,
natural^ rational, and moral, *<we
shall hold/' continues St. Augustine,
''that natural philosophy for false
which does not place God as the
only principle and true creator of all
other natures; we shall hold as false
that rational philosophy which does
not maintain that God alone is the
intelligible reason of all minds; we
•hall repute as false that moral which
does not prove that God alone is
that good which is worthy to be the
end of a virtuous and perfect couise
of life." Now, the great multitude
of pagan philosophers was far distant
from any recognition or profession
of the three heads we have given ;
scarcely was there a small number of
privileged persons among the disciples,
I hardly know whether to say in pre-
ference of Plato or of Pythagoras,
who made any near approach to Ca-
tholic truth, aided, in all probability,
by some knowledge of Jewish tradi-
tions.
" No one having even a slight knowledge
of these things is ignorant that there are
those philosophers adled Platonists, from
^eir master, Plata"(i) « Perhaps those
who enjoy the greatest celebrity as having
the most clearly understood, and the most
closely followed Plato, who is with justice
esteemed to be far superior to the other
philoaophers of the Gentiles, hold a similar
opinioa concerning God, namely, that in
him is found the cause of subsistence, and
the reason of intelligence, and the regulat-
^RoolL i9,ao; ActsxriLaS; Coloa.iL&i Tb«M
texts are giren according to St Augottine's rendering.
Thb gtvw ** a oomtitatiooe orandi '* tntCMd of ** a
creatun mandi,** as in the Vulgat*. The author, fol*
lowing St Aogostine, TertuUian. and Cardinal Tolet,
Koderstaads St. Paul to say that Ood has been mani-
fcsted to men throng his works erer since the world
\r^Akridgtd/r0m tkt mtU ^tkt muikor.
ing principle of life. "(2) "Ii; therelbre,
Plato has said that the wise man is ooe who
is an imitator, a knower, and a lover of the
one true and supremely good God, Wy a
participation with whom he is Uessed, what
need is there of discussing the rest ?"(3)
"This is, therefore, the reason why
we prefer these to the others; because
while other philosophers have employed
their talents and efforts in searching out the
causes of things, and what is the method
of learning and living, these, having the
knowledge of God, have found where is
the cause of the constitution of the uii-
verse, and the light of perceptible truth,
and the fountain whence we may drink fidi-
^^•"(4) "All those philos<^ers who
have held these opinions concermni^ the
true and supreme God, that he is the h%-
mer of those things whidi are created, ftad
the light of those things which are knowa-
ble, and the good of those things wrhkli
ought to be done, whether they are more
properly called Platonists, Ionics, or Itafica,
on account of Pythagoras, we prefer to the
others, and regard them as nearer to o«r>
selves."(5) *
It is very necessary, he says^ to
exclude all merely verbal qoestioas^
since it is of things not words tlui
he is treating. I wish to
that the philosophy of die
when it is good and true,
wonderfully with Catholic troth,
gives rise naturally to Cadiolic
sophy — that is to say, die
and most excellent philosopfajr
mankind; similarly, I wish to
monstrate that, in so ^u*
gan philosophy is in di:
repugnance to Cathdie tmtii,
false, corrupt, and in need of
and more rational emendations^
No one, certainly, will
me that I make a minute
tion of the innimierable and
systems or opinions of
quity ; it is enough that 1
proposition by confining
the best philosophy of all
If I make good my
ing the best system of
•2)#C^./>#<ra>.riu.:(i)c
«p. 5 : (4) cap- K>: (5} op. 9.
tbridged.—Tnuw.
The Philosophical Doctrines of St. Augustine,
4S7
ever appeared in Gentfle phflosophy,
it will be evident enough that the
same assertion holds even more
strongly in reference to other s)rstems,
more or less inferior to this one.
But this is certain, that gentilism had
no philosophy worthy to be compar-
ed, much less preferred, to the doctrine
of those authors who acknowledged,
and, in the best manner of which they
were capable, proclaimed the exis-
tence of one only supreme and true
God, " from whom we derive the prin-
ciple of our nature, the truth of our
knowledge, and the happiness of our
life."* I turn, therefore, to these authors
with the piupose of examining what
is good and what is bad in them;
''but I find it more suitable to dis-
cuss this subject with the Platonists, be-
cause their writings are better known;
for not only the Greeks, whose Ian-
guage is preeminent among the nations,
have made them celebrated by great-
ly extolling their excellence ; but the
Latins also, moved by their excel-
lence or their renown, have studied
them with greater ardor than any
others, and by translating them into
our language have made them still
more famous and renowned."!
From all this, not a few consequen-
ces, whose value you above all others
are able to judge and appreciate,
are immediately deduced with a clear-
ness greater even than we could de-
sire. The first is, that the noblest
and greatest problem of modem phi-
losophy, to wit, that the protological
and encyclopaedic principle cannot be
placed elsewhere than in the prin-
ciple of creation, understood in con-
formity with the tradition of the Ca-
tholic Church ; this principle, I say,
was stated and solved amply, doubly,
izrefutably, by St Augustine; first, in
his Soliloquies, where one by one the
partial piinciples of all the sciences
* Civ. DH, lib. vtti cap. 9.
t IHd., lib. Till cap. la
are recovered; secondly, in this eighth
book of Tke City of God, where tlie
one only rule is laid hold of and ex-
hibited by which to distinguish the
only true system among various and
opposite philosophical systems. The
second consequence is, that those
persons must cover their eyes with
both hands who will not see and ad-
mit that St. Augustine preferred the
Platonic doctrine, and specifically
preferred the Platonic or Pythagorean
ideology, in the clearest terms in
which it was possible for him to ex-
press his meaning. The third is, that
St Augustine not only derived his
ideology firom the very principle of
creation, in the way of an inference
more or less remote; but held it,
rather, as an integral part of the
principle itself, and made of it a se-
cond cycle, one lying between the
first, which respects the origin of sub-
stances, and the third, which assigns
the good of operations. The final
consequence is, that this second cy-
cle, relating to rational intelligence,
has been passed over by the mo-
dems; which may serve as a use-
ful admonition to them, to convince
them thoroughly that no one can
take St Augustine's place in philoso-
phy; that modem philosophy, with
all its power, lags very far behind the
Augustinian speculations, and that if
all other books are xmderstood and
studied to the neglect of St Augus-
tine, this will tiOTi not to his disad-
vantage but to ours. Thus we see,
by a most striking example, that he
alone not only saved, by the princi-
ple of creation, physics and ethics ;
but moreover, by that middle cycle,
which is as it were central to the
other two, saved rational philosophy^
without which the other two result
less necessarily, and, so to speak, re*
vert back to nullity.
The first of the consequencesi
above enumerated was noted by me
488
Th€ Philosophical Doctrines of St.
in this place many yean ago; and
has been better exhibited for the
benefit of science by the illustrious
F. Milone in his book entided. La
Scnoh di FUosefia RasiomUe JnHtoia-
ki a S. Augustino/ wherefore I will
abstain from considering it any further
at present I will restrict mysdf on
this occasion to taking advantage of
t}>c other consequences which follow
to a marvel fix>m the ideology, but
especiallir from the genesis of the
ideology of St Augustine. Indeed
we have a great number of auth(»^
beginning with the most exalted of
all, that is, the seraphic and angelic
doctors, and terminating with writers
who are still livmg in Italy, France,
and Belgium, who have collected
from the Augusdnian writings a most
extensive list of disputed questions
concerning ideology and human
knowledge; but, above all, we have
two more renuurkable collections in
the works of those two fathers of the
Oratory of France, who are equal to
any in learning and merit — ^Thomas-
sin and Martin.* That which may
perhaps have something new and
original in it, in our own investiga-
tion, is the more exact indication
of the primitive fountain and source
whence these large streams take their
issue; that source, namely, from
which St Augustine derived the logi-
cal moment of that ideology which
he bases, constructs, and amplifies
with such great strength ; which was
the concept, original with him, of that
most vast and sublime theory of hu-
man cognitions formed by him alone.
It appears to me that I have made it
dear to all, from those things which
have been laid down and the testi-
monies adduced, that St Augustine
concentrates and hinges the three
branches of the natural encyclopaedia
• Thoonnin, Dogm, TJUpi, tU Deo. Martin. 5".
i'^L^^'iL ^f^^****- ^>«». PkiUtto^kim, Ed. Jul
F«br«, Parwaa. 1863.
in one sole princ^^ mifoldediatee
members: the princi[^ bdag that
of creation; the three membos hang
physics, logic, and ethics; whidi axe
respectivdy the sole cause of exis-
tence, the sole light of knowledge
the sole end of virtue. Frcnn this
every one can see and touch with the
hand that St Augustine found his
ideology in the principle of oeadoo,
regarded ;t as a part of the pnnqiie
of creation, distinguished it from the
two extreme cycles, and from the two
opposite members of the princ^
of creation. If any one had denied
the ideology of St Augxistine in his
time, St Augustine would have been
bound to say that such a person
denied the principle of creation; if
some one else had vaunted a cootra-
ry system of ideology, he would hare
been bound to judge that system to
be contrary to the principle of crea-
tion ; if any one had demanded from
St Augustine the substantial fonnuk
of his ideology, the origin of that id^
ology, or the proofe of the stability,
security, and irrefutable validity of
that ideology, he would always have
been obliged to answer by appealing
to the universal principle establish-
ed by reason and the Catholic faidi,
that is, to the principle of creation.
Therefore the genesis of the Augns-
tinian ideology, if it had not been al-
ready traced out or properly consid-
ered before to-day, would be nor u
clear and certain as the light, and
with the eighth book oi The Gij (^
Gody we might predict that it would be
immortal
In scientific themes a twofold la-
bor must be undergone; on the one
hand, in ascertaining, and in elucidat-
ing on the other, the matteis to be
treated of; and the one wbo most
apply himself rigorously to one part
of this is rarely able at the stJac
time to attend to the other. This
is the case with myself; for, hav-
The Philosophical Doctrines of St Augustine.
489
ing been obliged to point out the
seat and position of the Augustini-
an ideology in that encyclopaedic
principle which I have above defin-
ed, I could not bring forward the
second cyde except as implicated
and restricted by the other two, the
first and third I am glad to be
able now to supply, at least partially,
thb defect, by alleging one quite
peculiar testimony, which, fortunate-
ly, leaves in the background the two
cycles with which we are not con-
c^ned, and brings forward with ad-
mirable distinctness the one which
specially concerns us in ideology.
"Now, those authors whom we with jus-
tice prefer to all others," (says St Augus-
tine, speaking of the Platonists, Pythago-
reans, and others of the best stamp,) "have
distinguished those things which are per-
ceived by the mind Arom those which are
attained by the sense ; not taking fit)m the
senses those things for which they have a
capacity, or granting to them what is be-
yond their capacity. But the light of minds
by which all things are learned [see here
clearly the second cycle] they affirmed to be
God himself, by whom all things were made."
Lumen autem mentium esse dixerunt ad
discenda omnia eumdem ipsum Deum a
quo facta sunt omniaJ^ The princi-
ple of creation, then, in so far regards
our rational intelligence as it places
on the one hand the sensible percep-
tion we have of it, and on the other
the inteUigence which we have in
addition as oiu: great prerogative.
Rational cognition comes fi-om the
conjunction of intellect with sensibili-
ty; and therefore the greater part of
the ancient philosophers, grossly tak-
ing our cognition for an act tied to
a mere sensible perception, and badly
mixing up sense with intellect and
the sensible with the intelligible, knew
little or nothing of the contra-position
of the one to the other. Some of
them, giving every thing to the sensi-
Me, fell into Epicureanism, into ma-
• Civ. Dei, Hb. viiL c 7.
terialism, into atheism, denying God,
and thus the principle of creation ; oth-
ers, paying attention only to the intelli-
gible, rushed into fatalism and panthe-
ism, denying created substances, and
thus again the principle of creation.
These are the philosophers whom we
Catholics cannot prefer to the others ;
whom St Augustine sa3rs, nonprodest
excutere^ it is lost time to discuss
them. But those, on the contrary,
quos merito ceteris anteponimus^ began
from a fundamental distinction be-
tween the intelligible and the sensi-
ble, and therefore also between the
intelligence and the sensibility; dis-
creverunt ea qwB mente conspiciuntur
ab eis qua sensidus attinguntur/ nor
did they take away from the senses
their proper office and necessary val-
ue in the act of defending as their
principal aim die intelligence, which
is so true that they regarded rational
cognition as a sort of marriage, and a
true cooperation, of the mind with the
senses. If, then, concludes the most
glorious father of CathoHc philoso-
phy, the best sages of antiquity, and
we with them admit and give value
to the sensibility, that is necessary in
order to maintain the principle of
creation, since otherwise all the sub-
stances created by God, which are
sensible natures, disappear. Like-
wise if the same sages, and we as
much as or even more th^ they, ad-
mit and defend inteUigence, this is of
equal if not greater necessity, in order
to keep the same principle of creation.
In fact, with the sensibility alone, non
est discere, we can learn nothing,
as the brutes, certo nusquam discunt
certainly never learn any thing;
but only minds endowed with intelli-
gence, who have as a light ad discen-
da omnia, eumdem ipsum Deum a quo
facta sunt omnia — as a light for
learning all things, that same God
himself who created all things.
Since, therefore, by the principle of
490
The Philosophical Doctrines of St Augustine,
creation, God is the only light of all
minds, so, by denying to minds that
divine, creative light, all rational intel-
ligence is denied, and the principle
. of creation is totally destroyed, just
as much as by taking away all sub-
stances.
But perhaps some one of you, con-
sidering that St. Augustine had been
instructed in the Platonic doctrine,
as we read in the Summa of Aqui-
nas, will remain doubtful whether the
genesis which I have traced out is
not that of the Platonic or Pythago-
rean ideology, whichever we may
choose to call it, rather than of the
Augustinian. I think that I have in
the preceding portion of this disser-
tation cited from the original texts
enough of St. Augustine's own ex-
pressions, which always revert to these
constant formulas, qui nobiscum sen-^
tiunt^ quos merito ceteris anteponimus^
to render it certainly and for ever
incontestable that in these passages
it is St. Augustine who cum istis
sentit; it is he who hos ceteris ante-
ponit; and by consequence he it is
who embraces, explains, and defends
the Platonic ideology, amending
it where it sins, and supplying to it
what it lacks. But, conceding that
there is a difficulty here in our way,
corroborated by an expression of the
angelic doctor, I wish it to be noted
distinctly that I do not resolve it
principally by alleging any solitary
expression whatever of the angel of
the schools himself, but by a series
of formulae as distincdy marked in
their significance as they are harmo-
niously located in the structure of
his thought and of his boundless
learning. Whenever there shall be
for the first time produced a copious
and well-arranged history of our phi-
losophy, we shall see among other
things relating to that most glorious
Aquinas, a fact which gives lustre to
his works, and is a memorable one
in human philosophy; and the fact,
which is one completely manifest and
palpable, is diis, that while he pays
so little deference to the Piatoiiic
philosophy, while he habitually inter-
prets the ideas of Plato only in the
sense ascribed to them by Aristotle
and other philosophers, the most bos-
tile to him ; while, consequently, he
does not notice the Platonic ideology
except to reject and confute it, be
nevertheless gives us to undeistand,
and professes a hundred times, that
he has nothing to oppose to the ide-
ology of St Augustine ; that he agrees
that it is not the secondary truths
which serve as the rule of our judg-
ments, but rather the one only and
primary truth which is the divine
light and God himself; that he agrees
that our soul is an image of God
principally by the intelligence which
we possess, into which the light of
that first and one truth falling produ-
ces there an image of the inteUigibie
things, as like as possible in the spi-
ritual order to that figure which bo-
dies cast upon a mirror by virtue of
the exterior material light; that he
agrees that our intellect is like wax
which receives the impression of the
primary truth as if fix>m a seal ; that
he agrees that those imiversals from
which metaphysics works under the
form of principles, mathematics under
the form of axioms, morals under the
form of unchangeable, imperishable
laws, these uniyersals, (questi generoB^
I say, and nothing else, St Thomas
admits to be eternal, in the eternal
light of the eternal truth, which is
the light of the divine intelligence. •
Is there any great need of certifying
* Nothing U more noteworthf than tins
of the Summa. (Para Prima, Qo. 15, a. i, ad. t)
St aic ctiam Aiistotelea, lib. 3. Metafthys. hnprobat
opinioMm Platonia de ideia, aecundum qnod pcnebat
caa per ae existentea, iu» in intellectu. In maay
other pbcea, St Thomaa dtea the doctrinea of Piaia
on the Cuth cMf Ariatotle. In anpport of tfia aOcp-
tiona of the text, conault the Sumima, P. 1, qo. 1^
a. 6. Ibad, ad. t,etqa.ia,a.a,etqn.88ka.3,ad.v
Hid, qo. 84, a. 5. Jbkl. qo. 16^ a. 7.
The Philosophical Doctrines of Si. Augustine,
491
that these fbrmulas to which St. Tho-
mas agrees are not a single one of
them taken from Aristotle, but are
without exception taken from St. Au-
gustine himself? Therefore St. Tho-
mas, who had to treat the ideology
of Plato, as it was presented to him,
as absurd, sustains and honors as
much as we could wish the Augus-
tinian ideology; that is to say, he
makes Augustinian and not Platonic
the ideology of the eighth book of
TluCityofGod,^
What should hinder us from pass-
ing for an instant to those other
books altogether similar to this one,
Of the Th'nity, Of the Literal Interpre-
tstion of Genesis^ and the Confessions f
The last five books of The Th'nity
are, indeed, a complete ideology which
for novelty, sublimity, insight, and
scientific force cannot be equalled in
the whole range of human science.
I will cite only one passage, however,
which amid so many others is espe-
cially noteworthy, that one, namely,
in which Augustine protects and de-
fends, (who would believe it?) against
Plato himself, that ideology which is
nowadays called Platonic. Here it
may be seen in express words.
" Plato, that noble philosopher, ... re-
lated that a certain boy who was asked some
* F. Milone, in his Neapolitan edition, adds the
foUowinf note; "Throughout this entire passage
«e find a mixture of the IMatoaic and the Augusti-
nian, (p, I, qu. 15* a« 3,) where St. Thomas appears
to intend to collect from St Augustine the true
meaning of Plato» or again to remand to Plato the
adnirabla .design of the ideology of St Augustine.
Sed contra, idea sunt rationes in mente diTina ezis*
tentes, ot per Augustinuro patet ; sed omnium qum cog-
nosdt, Deus habet proprias rationes; ergo omnium qua
cognoecit habet idieanu Respoodeo dkenduro, quod
cam ideae a Platooe ponerentur prindpia cognitionis
rerum et generationis ipsarum, ad utrumque se habet
idea prout in mente dirina ponitur. £t Mcundum
<|aod est prindpiam &ctionis rerum, exemplar did
potest et ad practicam cognitionem pertinet ; secun-
dttv amtem qood prindiMom oognoadtiTum est pro*
prie dicitur ratio, et potest edam ad sdentiam specu-
latiirum pertiocre. There is not, I say, in all our
own MarsUios, a more l e ap e ttfu l and fovorable com-
ment vpoD Plato : but the key is found in that obser-
vation on which the whole thing depends, itt ptr Aw
gmiinnm paUt.^* Worthy of considera ti on under
this bead are also the articles 3, 4, and 5i under the
79th quastkm.
questions, I know not predsely what, in
geometry, answered like a person extremely^
skilled in that branch of study ; whence he
attempted to prove that the souls of men
have lived here before they were in their ^
present bodies. . . . But we ought rather
to believe that the nature of the intellectual
mind was so created that, being naturally
coordinated by the Creator to intelligible
things, it sees them in a certain incorporeal
light sui generis^ in the same way that the
bodily eye sees those things whidi are dr*
cumjacent to it in this corporeal light for
which it has been created with a natural ca-
padty and congruity." *
This passage being only an inci-
dent in connection with the whole
context, we find him saying a little
above that this incorporeal light is
nothing else than the truth; that
these intelligible things are the eter-
nal reasons, and a little below, that
this light and these things are ^ some-
thing eternal and michangeable ;"
that our soul is made natiurally in the
image of God, inasmuch as '' it can
use reason and intelligence to know
and form a conception of God," and
as noted in another place, " although
the mind is not of the same nature
with God, nevertheless the image of
that nature which is more perfect
than any other must be sought and
found in that part of our nature
which is more perfect than any oth-
er." t
Joining together and recapitulating
all this in the Confessions^ he says
in formal terms :
"Behold how much I have wandered
about in jny memory seeking thee, O Lord !
and I have not found thee outside of it;
.... for where I have foimd the truth,
there I have found my God, the truth it-
self."t
Moreover, in those most stupen-
dous books of the Literal Lnterpreta-
tion of Genesis^ he undertakes to dis-
• /V Trhu Ub.xii.fa4. VUk ttimm Rtirmci,
lib. I cap. 4. Amob. C^nirm GtttUs, lib. it. f 14.
TertulL Di AnimOf cap. 24 and aS.
t /)# Trim lib. xil f s, 3, s> xa. 13. /Mi Ub. xv«
f la /^id, lib. xiv. f 6. 11.
t Lib. X. cap. 94,
492
The Philosophical Doctrines of St. Ai^ustine.
tinguish partitively the vision in the
light of the truth from all the other
manners of vision conceded to the
nature of the human soul, and ter-
minates with a final contrast which
presents the fimdamental opposition
between the intelligent soul and its
intellectual light in these words :
" Even in that kind of things seen by in-
tellectoal vision, {mtellectuaiium vis<frum,
understand here that which he is wont to
call intelledum rationale^) those which are
seen in the soul itself, as virtues, the con-
traries of which are vices, are one thing ;
.... the light itself by which the soul
is illuminated, so that it is able to see in a
true intellectual apprehension all things eith-
er in itself (rational knowledge) or in that
(intellectual knowledge;) for that indeed is
God himself; but this created existence, al-
though made rational and intelligent (these
two terms correspond to the two members,
eitiur in itulf, <fr in that) after his image,
when it attempts to gaze upon that light
trembles with weakness, and can do but
little ; yet it derives from thence whatever
it does understand according to its abilit3r.
When, therefore, it is rapt into that region,
and, being withdrawn from the senses, is
brought more directly fece to face with that
vision, not by any Iccal presence in space,
but in a manner peculiar to itself; it even
sees in a way superior to its ordinary power
that by the aid of whidi it also sees whatso-
ever it does see in itself by understanding."*
The few moments which remain to
me will barely suffice for the briefest
possible exposition of the contrast
between the belligerent ideology of
modem Catholics and the certain
and incontestable ideology founded
by the prince of all our philosophers,
of which I have just given a sketch
in his own words. I feel bound to
say one thing here which has proba-
bly not been attended to, but is nev-
ertheless not the less true or the less
demonstrable to a wise critical judg-
ment However much it is to be la-
mented that the modem philosophy
of the Catholic masters, through a
miserable obliviousness of St Augus-
tine and St Thomas, has brought
• DiGtmrndLOt lib. xiL cap. 31* f 59-
once more into vogue and patrcnuzed
so long, in great measure so blindly
also, the Gentile dispute between the
ideology of Plato and that of Ansto-
tie; this most obstinate war, more
bitterly waged in our day thw ever
before, has no right to be con^dered
as excusable. Whoever will look a
little into the interior of this matter,
will be persuaded that the great mass
of questions (^ this kind should ra-
ther be regarded as vain and super-
fluous, than as founded on imreason-
ble or imjust opinions. The Catho-
lic ontologists and the Cathc^ic psy-
chologists sustain one and the same
thing in two contrary parties ; but that
which all in common wish to maintain
appears to the members of one party
to be badly comprehended and woise
defined by those of the other. Afl
say unanimously, We ought to hokl
that theory alone as good and perfect
in which is maintained the capital
distinction between God amd his
creation ; in which is firmly establidi-
ed the knowledge of God on the one
hand, and that of things created on
the other; in which neither the
reality of the divine nature, which is
the principle of every other reality,
nor the reality of that which is creat-
ed, apart from which that principle it-
self is no longer such, and all know-
ledge is overturned and destro3red
from summit to foundation, is com-
promised. This all profess and
maintain. But when it comes to the
definition of a theory sufficient for
such a lofry scope, the one party
divide themselves firom the other
through the diverse aspect in which
they regard, on the one side, that
most sublime and universal tmth
which they hold as anterior to the
mind, and, on the other side, the mul-
titude of created natures which are
perceived by the internal or exter-
nal sensible faculty. To make my
meaning clearer, there are two points
The Philosophical Doctrines of St Augustine.
493
to be made secure in ideology: the
truth by which all things which are
true exist ; and the true things which
furnish the argument by which their
principle, that is, the truth, is proved.
Ilie psychologists observe the follow-
ing maxim, which is irreprehensible.
It is impossible to prove the exis-
tence of the creator without asserting
and proving the existence of the crea-
tion; since we cannot attain to the
scientific notion of the truth except
by the medium of the knowledge of
actualities. The ontologists contem-
plate the matter from another entire-
ly diverse side, reasoning with equal
evidence in this form. To know a
thing to a certain extent, is to distin-
guish to the same extent whether it
be true or false \ but we must neces-
sarily distinguish whether a thing be
true or felse by the light of truth—
the truihy however, is God; therefore,
without an interior and divine light,
neither man nor angel can know any
thing whatsoever. But take care, ex-
claim the psychologists, that you do
not by such a method destroy phy-
sical cognition; in fact, if every
thing is known in the trudi, which is
eternal and immutable, created things,
which are mutable and temporal, can-
not be known at all. You ought ra-
Aer to take much greater care, reply
die ontologists, lest by your mode of
reasoning you deny and destroy me-
taphysical cognition ; in fact, the uni-
versals cannot be any kind of creat-
ed thing, since every creature is com-
pletely individual and particular;
wherefore, it follows, from yoiu: state-
ment, that the universals are no-
thing either physically or metaphy-
sically. The psychologists rejoin by
saying, God in creating things ren-
ders them knowable; therefore, when
we know them, this comes from the
feet that they are thus created — that
is, precisely knowable. The ontolo-
gbts with equal force respond, We
agree entirely that created things are
knowable because they are created ;
but since they would not be created
except for the divine action of the
creator, so they would not be any
more knowable except for the divine
action which creates their knowledge
in the human mind; wherefore, in
the same way as the drawing of
a substance from nothing requires
omnipotence, which is entirely firom
God, the giving of intelligence to
a created spirit requires the truth,
which is entirely from God, and is
God himself. But, reply again the
psychologists, you are obliged to ad-
mit the reality of the created apart
from the divine reality; therefore,
also, its cognoscibility. And you, re-
ply the ontologists, ought further to
maintain the contra-position of intelli-
gence to sensibility. We, who profess
that the intelligibility of ^ings con-
sists in a divine light, easily secure
the contra-position of intelligence and
sensibility by means of the contrapo-
sition of God and created substances
visible in the creation; whereas,
taking away the divine light, the
creation alone remains to form the
object of the sensibility on one part,
and the object of intelligence on the
other. But in that case it is impossi-
ble to secure one's self scientifically,
logically, demonstratively, as is neces-
sary, from confounding intellect with
sense, which results — ^note it well ! —
in the denial of the creation of man
* itself, and the reduction to nullity not
less of revealed religion than of natu-
ral morality.*
•The CwiSa Cmii0iiea, (aeriat t. vol tUI i^)
teem* to have wished to cootiniM tfM teries of
these ofqxwing aigoments of the antagonttdc sdioola,
where, m the name of those whom I call paydiolo-
gitts, it speaks thus: *' To matntaia the essential dis-
tinction be t w e en the sense and the intellect, it is not
necessary to attribute to the latter the immediate per-
ception of a divina object, a% to maintain the essen-
tial distinction b et w een the body and the spirit, it is
pot nccwMiry to ascribe to the second a dnrine ezia-
tence. It sofioes that aa the spirit b ^ffsrentiated
from tfat body by the immaterialiqr ofita eseance^ so tha
494
The Philosophical DoUrinis of St Augustine.
I win not proceed any further, but
win leave it to the historians of Ca-
tholic philosophy to continue, if they
see fit, this chain of paraUd argu-
ments, which describe the whole
cause of combat between the two
great modem schools. The sketch I
have given wiU, I hope, suffice to
convince you, first of aU, of that
which is chiefly commendable, hon-
orable, and worthy of attention in
this dispute, which, in many other
respects, is so excessively wearisome.
I l^ve demonstrated that the two
contrary parties look toward one and
the same end — ^which is, to make valid
in ideology the Catholic principle of
creation ; that both govern themselves
by the same criterion — ^which is, the
genuine and Catholic interpretation
of the principle of creation, more or
less known naturaUy, and perfectly
defined in Catholic doctrine. AU
this is due to the praise of the two
schools, and to the glory of that phi-
losophy to which both pride them-
selves in belonging. This, however,
would go but a little way toward the
attainment of that peace at the pre-
sent day so necessary, and always
so desirable. Since, therefore, aU
truths are in agreement with each
other, and are harmoniously united
in one only and self-same truth, I
have consequendy wished to demon-
strate by actual proofs that, aside
firom human weakness and the errors
of certain teachers on both sides, the
living and substantial arguments on
intellect should be diflmotiated from the tenee by the
imreateriality of its cognosdtive power/* If it be so,
the ontologists will respond, that in the above pas-
•age the word stnu signifies only that with which we
perceiTe bodies ; so that to tense is given as its tenn
or object that which is corporeal, and to intellect that
which is spiritual. Now, S. Augustine had at first
adopted the aame language ; but afterward ho re-
cognized its imperfection, and in his Rttnutaiictu
(hb. i. cap. I, 3, 4) dedarea that the word sense
ought to include abo the itdimatt stnu with which
the soul perceives what passes within itseIC Then
this has as object that which is spirit uaL Therefore
the spirituality of its object cannot any longer serve
to difiierentiate intellect from sense. (Vid. L^i Scti^»
of F. Milone, p. ja, «t seq.)
odier side which are bron^ for-
ward in an opposite sense are not
reany opposed to each other, being
drawn from the difference of terms,
and the fact that they apjH^diend and
contemplate from oppodte sides that
truth which is, above an others, uni-
versal and ccHni^diensive in the prin-
dj^e common to both parties. This
consideration, most powerful for ]m>-
moting the peace we aU desire and
recommend, ought so much the more
to be held as good and sound, as the
Augustinian formula in which aU the
force of Catholic philosophy is coii-
centrated with the most luminous
evidence, appears divided into two
parts, and distributed between the
argumentation of the two opposite
schools. For, while the one sustains
that first clause which forbids to take
away from the senses their pit^>cr
capacity — n^^ue sensibus adimentes id
quodpossunt — the other stands &mly
by the last clause, which declares
that the light of the mind is Godj
lumen autem mentium ad discenda
omnia esse ipsum Deum a quo faeta
sunt omnia. But woiild it not be a
great fault of the ideologists, to what-
ever school they might belong, if
they should wilfuUy dismember and
destroy the organism of Christian pro-
tology ? Is it, perhaps, not true that
the Catholic masters of modem psy-
chologism and ontologism aU com-
pletely agree in that maxim, as new in
itself as it is felicitous for the whole
human encyclopaedia, and clearly dis-
tinct to us ?
" The whole discipline of wisdom pe r t am «
ing to the instruction of roan is the correct
discriminmtion of the creator from the crea-
tion ; the worship of the one as possessing
supreme dominion, and the acknowledge
ment of the simple subjection of the other. ** *
Let us then bring these things
back to their origin, and the philoso-
phers of our times wiU recognize that
* St Aug. Ith. tji Quest ad qo. St.
The Philosophical Doctrines of St. Augustine.
495
they have much the advantage in an-
tiquity and merit of the philosophers
of another class who are the chiefe
of natural science ; the psychologists
wUl observe that they have a psy-
chological formation in St Thomas
against which Catholic ontologism
cannot have any just complaints; on
the other hand, the ontologists will
observe that there is an ontological
form in St. Augustine to which no-
thing is wanting of that which Catho-
lic psychologism can hold as correct.
The time is past for beginning phi-
losophy over again da capo ; whoever
wishes to participate in it, let him
gather it from the most choice, weigh-
ty, and authoritative traditions. That
peace which for so many ages it has
been impossible to conclude, was
already made centuries ago. There
was no ideological dispute, (whoever
maintained that there was?) — ^no!
there was only diversity of method of
exposition and of language, between
St. Augustine and his most faithful
disciple, who was in every sense the
Angelical ; and this was wrought by
the infinite Providence, so that Ca-
tholic intellect might remake philo-
sophy twice over by the two opposite
ways, from intelligence to sense, and
fiom sense to intelligence. It is a
shame to mention the Platonists with
dispraise, when our glory is a Catho-
lic Plato; it is a vile tiling to lose
one's self in reproaches against Aristo-
tle, after that a Catholic Aristode has
filled the whole church with the fame
of his wisdom.
The learned Caramuele afiirmed
that if that ancient Plato of heathen-
ism could have seen the Aristotle
who diverged from him so widely,
as St Thomas re-cast him, corrected
and entirely altered, he would have
been forced to applaud him, and to
declare himself satisfied with him.
Cardinal Sigismund Gerdil announc-
ed and demonstrated* that in the
ideology of St Thomas more than
one principle is encountered wonder-
fully conformed to the principles of
St Augustine. The Scuola di Filoso-
fia Razionale of the excellent F. Mi-
lone is for this reason more precious
and valuable in my eyes, that he,
contrary to Gioberti, who is only one
among numberless others, marks out
a theory of peace between the on-
tological and psychological method,
between St., Augustine and St Tho-
mas. It is a matter of the most
transparent certainty that, if the onto-
logism of Catholic authors is reduced
to a profession of the philosophical
doctrines of St. Augustine, well un-
derstood and better exposed and elu-
cidated, nothing can be more secure
and more respectable among Catho-
lics than ontologism; nor is it less
certain and transparent that, if the
psychologism of Catholic authors
turns to a maintenance of the philo-
sophical doctrines of St Thomas, well
and symmetrically arranged, and with
fine language reduced to science and
made accessible to our age, nothing
can be more adapted to our time, or
more suitable, or more irreprehensible
than the same psychologism. Let
Catholic philosophers follow the ex-
ample of the holy church, who, since
the time of St Augustine and St.
Thomas, has turned toward no one a
regard more steady and fixed than to
Augustine and Thomas.
In the name of these most autho-
ritative and most blessed doctors, I
pray for Catholic philosophy the just
and desired tranquillity, which can
only be obtained fiiom a direction
less arbitrary in the selection of ques-
tions, and more capable of embrac-
ing all the grand problems. Ideolo-
gy distinguishes naturally between
the objective and the subjective ; in
* Difna di MdUhr. diss, pr Jim. f 25.
496
My Christmas Gift.
it the ontologists are accustomed to
establish with sound reasoning the
objectivity of the truth, and likewise
the psychologists the subjectivity of
sigiiis and knowledge. If both the
one and the other desire to become
victors in such a grand combat, let
them make place, as they ought, the
ontologists to larger considerations
respecting the created, nan adimentes
sensibus id quodpossunt; and the psy-
chologists to a greater security of the
intelligibility of things, non dantes sen-
Slims ultra quam possunt. Then, the
choice will be free to all to sdect b^
tween the two opposite methods, and
they can, in respect to that divine
light, quo ilhtstirUur amma^ piofe»
indifferently the original fcnmiila of
Catholic ontdogism in St Augustine,
or the imitative exposition of Ca-
tholic psychologism in St Thomas.
With these peace-makers, so glodovs,
so well-deserving, so venerable, it ap-
pears to me that we ought at once
to treat of peace. May these saints
aid from heaven my humble under-
taking!
MY CHRISTMAS GIFT.
On the eve of Christmas Day,
Ere the moon began to rise,
I fell to dreaming.
When a fairy did display,
Spread before my wond'ring eyes.
Bright jewels gleaming
Like the stars at night
Then to me—" Choose which to send
As a present to your friend,
And thus your fnendship plight"
Ah ! how rare the jewels seemed
Ere those words were spoken.
After, I no longer deemed
Gems a fitting token.
" Jewels may her garments grace:
Tis not there that I would place
Something to remind her thought
Of the fnendship of my heart.
Not all gems that may be bought
Would of that be counterpart."
" Hoity, toity !" said the fairy,
" This is extraordinary !
Don't you know 'tis customary ?"
« Yes," said I ; " but on this mom
Codd I but her heart adorn
With some little gift of mine,
Then 'twould have a fitting shrine."
A Hero, or a Heroine f
497
U
ii
Gadiering up her jewels rare,
Said the fairy, '' Don't despair.
Send her what her heart can wear."
Reaching out my eager hand —
Have you in all fairy-land
Such a boon at my command ?"
Raising up her eyes to heaven —
Only there such gifts are given.
Gifts that make the heart more fair
God bestows. The price — a prayer."
God knows the prayer is said, my friend.
I doubt not He the gift will send.
A HERO, OR A HEROINE?
CHAPTER XVI.
GOOD-NIGHT.
During the latter part of Marga-
ret's stay at Shellbeach, the doctor
noticed that he never saw her alone;
and as formeriy he had observed, with
amusement, Miss Spelman's many ad-
mirable reasons for leaving the room,
he imagined that Miss Lester had
been the cause of the change. " She
wants to prevent my going too far,"
he said to himself; and then with
a rather bitter laugh, " She need not
be afraid." He often met her rid-
ing alone on the Marchioness, or
caught sight of her at sunset on the
beach with her little dog, but they had
very little satisfactory conversation of
any kind together. Once or twice
she made allusions before him to a
"period of importance," or to a "mo-
mentous decision," or to the " tuming-
point of her existence," which was at
hand; but it was always as a joke, and
she seemed to enjoy his surprise and
embarrassment
" She does not want me to forget
vou X. — 32
July 1 8th, the date of our absurd
agreement," he said mentally. " What
k fool I was to allow such a nonsensi-
cal arrangement I I wish I were well
out of the scrape."
At last, on the evening of the ap-
pointed day. Miss Speknan gave a
litde tea-party and Dr. James was
present. He had resolved that he
would decline ; but he was auious to
see what Miss Lester would do and
say, and so, at some inconvenience
to himself, he made his appearance
among the guests. He happened once
to have expressed his dislike to pink
bonnets, and indeed to that color for
any part of a lady's dress; and lo,
on this occasion Margaret came to
meet him, radiantly smiling in rose-
colored muslin, widi delicate roses to
match in her hair and on her breast !
It was extremely becoming, the doc-
tor perceived, and he saw also that
her spirits were at their height. He in-
wardly groaned at the prospect of the
evening before him. It was pleasant,,
however ; even he acknowledged it
Margaret's mischievous remarics were-
1
498
A Hero, or a Heroine?
few, and she seemed to have the pow-
er of drawing people out and making
every one appear his best ; every one,
the doctor felt, except himself. In vain
he exerted himself to be agreeable and
unconscious ; he was grave and pre-
occupied. The thought of that dread-
ful letter which he had promised to
write that very evening weighed on
his mind, and he was perplexed by
doubts and questions concerning it,
himself, and Miss Lester. Was he
not taking her words too literally?
Had she the remotest idea of writing
to him? or would it not end in his
making an utter fool of himself? No ;
never before had she been so hand-
some, so gay, so universally kind. Lit-
tle Miss Spelman caught the infec-
tious cordiality, and beamed upon
her guests with overflowing hospital-
ity.
The windows and doors stood open,
the sweet breath of roses was in the
air, and suddenly ixova the garden
came the sound of instruments. A se-
renade I Miss Spelman and every one
looked at each other in siuprise, for
the music was not such as was ob-
tainable in Sealing. But a glance at
Margaret convinced all that she was
the author of this unexpected plea-
sure. She said in a low voice to her
aunt, " This is my contribution to the
general festivity ;" and it was indeed a
delightful addition. The band played
at intervab through the evening, the
music varying from grave to gay, from
solemn to pathetic
The Shellbeach tea-parties were ear-
ly affairs, and at ten o'clock the guests
reluctantly departed, almost all driv-
ing home to Sealing, and a few from
the neighboring houses walking slowly
along the road, with the sweet notes
of the music still in their ears. Dr.
James lingered. Why, he could not
have told ; and it was with a start that,
turning away from the window, he
saw that he was the very last He
apologized ; but Miss Selina coming to
him, kindly took his hand,
" You are a true friend, you know,
Dr. James," she said, ''and should
feel yourselt" at home."
Margaret was at the door, bidding
good-night to the last guests, when
the doctor, after warmly shaking Miss
Spelman^s hand, came into the hall
for his hat She walked with him
down the little path to the front gate,
while the air of the ''Last Rose of
Summer" came to them from the gar-
den, and for the first time that eve-
ning he saw that her face was serious.
" I would like to walk home with
you, in this lovely moonlight," she
said.
" Well, will you not come ? I will
gladly accompany you back."
" No ; there will not be time. You
forget that you and I have an engage-
ment at eleven o'clock this evening."
Then, as he did not know how to re-
ply, she continued, " I shall send you
a note, to-morrow morning, at seven,
and the boy will bring me back, not
an answer, for it will not be that, bat
a corresponding note from you."
" Yes, Miss Lester, it shall be ready,
if you say so."
"I do. Good night. Dr. James.
Give me your hand ; we are friends,
are we not ?"
" I believe we are. Yes,* Miss Les-
ter, I know we are friends to-night."
" And we shall be friends to-mor-
row ; remember that I say so. Good-
night"
She leaned on the little gate, and
watched him as he walked away
without once tumtng bacL The mu-
sic stopped, and a voice was heard
calling, " Margaret I" She slowly
walked mto the house, and, sitting
quietly down by her aunt on the so&,
told her that Jessie Edgar's marriage
was fixed for the first day of Septem-
ber, and she was going to Newport,
to be with Jessie till the wedding.
A Hero, or a Heroine ?
499
** Yes, my dear," returned Miss Se-
lina rather plaintively. " I must not
be selfish ; but when do you think of
leaving me ?"
** To-morrow."
Poor Miss Spdman was astounded,
shocked, and hurt ; but Margaret pa-
cified and consoled her. She assur-
ed her that it was a great deal bet-
ter than if they had had this separa-
ration hanging over them for weeks,
and if she had been obliged to take a
formal leave of every body.
" Now I have bidden them good-
by in the pleasantest way," she said ;
" they are all pleased with me, and so
must you be, too, dear, dear Aunt Se-
lina ! We are too good friends to dis-
agree about this."
" But you will come back after the
wedding, dear ? You feel this is your
home, do you not ?"
" I will come back, but not imme-
diately. I mean to pass next winter
in New York ; and you will come and
make me a long visit, to make up for
my living on you so long here." And
Margaret drew so bright a picture of
the good times they would have to-
gether in New York that Miss Spel-
noan bade her good- night quite hap-
pily. Margaret's movements were al-
ways so sudden that the quiet old lady
was not, after all, as surprised as might
have been expected.
"It was just like her," she said;
" such decision of mind, such energy
of character r
CHAPTER xvii.
CONQUERED BY CONQUERING.
Margaret, meanwhile, who had qui-
^y completed all her arrangements
*»d packed her trunks, went to her
'oom, and, after laying aside her rose-
colored dress, and putting on her
^^Pper, sat down to her table and
^^e her letter. It did not seem at
all difficult to her to write, though she
once or twice laid down her pen and
thought for a few minutes, with a
grave face.
She wrote no rough copy, and made
no alterations; but went on firmly,
line by line, till she had signed her
name, when she read it careftilly over,
sealed and directed it. It took her
about half an hour, and then she went
directly to bed, and slept as soundly
as a child.
Dr. James's state of mind grew
worse and worse, as he approached
his home, and, after leaving Rosanna
at her stable, he walked up and down
before the house many times, before
he went in to write his letter. Never
before had any letter given him such
trouble. Rewrote and rewrote it;
left it and walked about his room;
took refuge in a book, and then put
it down in despair. At last he re-
solved to try for the last time, and
keep what he should write ; and this
was his letter:
" My Dear Miss Lester : I have a hu-
miliating confession to midce to you ; but be-
fore I make it (afterward it would be impos-
sible) I feel obliged to say to you that your
conduct since you have been at Shellbeach
has compelled my respect and admiration.
I appreciate the courage and earnestness
with which you adopted your change of life,
and, instead of seeking in it only your own
amusement, made your stay here not only
a pleasure to your friends, but a blessing
to persons whose number I can only guess
at, but whom your own heart knows.
" I know. Miss Lester, you are wealthy ;
I knew it long before you came here. And
your wealth, I acknowledge it to my shame,
has been a temptation to me. I believe you
consider all men mercenary, and fortune-
hunters. I think you are mistaken ; and I
wish you to take the humiliation of what 1
am going to say as a proof that you are
wrong. Miss Lester, I know I do not love
you, and here is the proof: If I think of
you at my wife, the thought of what your
money would be to me comes first to my
mind. Having said that, I can say no more ;
but I am, always yours faithfully,
"Francis Jambs.
*'Shbllbbach, July 18, 1868.'*
500
A Htro^ or a lUr&ine t
The clock struck one as the doc-
tor signed his name, tore up the un-
finished letters which lay around him,
and hastened to extinguish his light and
go to bed. He was angry with him-
self, and disgusted with his letter; and
for the first time for years, found that
he could not sleep. One minute he
repented of what he had done, and
called himself a fool; the next, he
said to himselli " I must tell her
the truth ; she deserves it." He then
asked himself what she did deserve ?
It was plain to him what her plan of
action was to be : she wished to part
friends, because she supposed that she
would by her letter give a dreadful
blow to his hopes, and consign him
to despair. At this, he laughed with
pleasure, to think that his letter would
undeceive and disappoint her. Then
rose up clearly before him the always
recurring temptation of his great need
of money, and all the good he could
do with it. What a chance had been
offered him ! Would he ever have such
another ? Might he not, if he had
gone to work differently, won her
heart? Other men had done such
things ; and he was better worthy of
her, he was sure of it, than the socie-
ty-men she had so often spoken of
with contempt Had he not heard
that "any man can have any wo-
man" ? No, that was not right ; it
was, "Any woman can have any
man." Then, had she tried to en-
snare him ? had she really endeavor-
ed to please him ? He could not say
she had; but he remembered, with
some discomfiture, her apparent en-
joyment in shocking and teasing him.
She was an enigma ; but he believed
her honest, and was glad he had told
her the truth.
To tell all Dr. James's reflections of
that night, would take considerably
longer than it took him to make them,
which was two or three hours ; so we
will leave him to his uncomfortable
pillow, and not return to him till he
opened his chamber-door, at seven
o'clock in the morning, and saw Tom-
my McNally waiting with a letter in
his hand. The doctor handed the
boy his own, and walked into his
study, where he sat down at his table
and contemplated the square white
envelope and graceful monogram,
and his own name written in a large,
firm hand. He slowly opened the
letter, struck by its neatness and the
fair, distinct writing, and read as fol-
lows:
** Sweet Brier Cottace, \
July 18, 1868. {
«* My Dear Dr. James rWTien, six months
ago, I promised to write yoa this letter, I
certainly had no idea that I should say in it
-what I am about to say now. Whether, if
this possibility had occurred to me, I should
have made that promise, or whether I should
have come to Shellbeach at all, it is profit-
less to consider.
** \ know you always 5[>eak the truth frank*
ly, and I am resolved, in all my dealings
with you, to do the same ; for I feel that I
shall thus best show my appreciation and
approbation of your diaracter, and of tbe
plain truth which I know you wiU write to
me to-night You deserve honest treat-
ment, and you shall have it. I consider the
time I have spent«here to be the great Icswn
of my life, and one whidi I on no accovnt
regret, though I weigh well the significance
of the words. I hare learned to know and
value the useful and unselfish life and work
of one man, and from him to believe in the
capacity for noble things in other people
whom I once despised. In recognizing your
superiority, I have grown humble ; and froo
your wisdom and good sense, I have come
to be aware of my own ignorance and con-
ceit. I know how strongly you will object
to hearing this, but be patieat a little longer.
You have given me a lesson you will be
glad to hear of, and it is this : I believe
that a useless life will never again content
me, and that to do some active good will be
the only way to make my life happy.
"But you will say all this is not to the pur-
pose, and not in the bond. Yo« arc very
right ; and though I beat round the bush, I
do not mean to beg the question, and I know
very well that honor, esteem, apprcdatioo,
good resolutions, etc, etc., were not to be
the subjects of this letter. Truly tbeo, I
A Hero, or a Heroine f
501
lore you, and I have never loved before. I
bdieve tiiat to be yoor wife, in this little
town, with no society and no excitements,
to share your work and your poverty, (if
poverty indeed it were,) would be a happy
lot I tell you this, because I trust you ; I
know it is not maidenly, but it is honest. I
shall not see yon again ; for I know you do
not love me, and that your letter will tell the
truth. I thank you for your kindness, and
your wise and good advice. I hope it has
not all been lost upon me. I hope you will
sometimes let me know what you are inter-
ested in, and how you are prospering.
**Good-by, and believe me your true
friend, Margaret Lester.
"Once more, I do not regret any thing."
Poor Dr. James ! He read the last
word, and sat like a nAn in a dream
staring at the letter before him. Sud-
denly he started up, seized his hat
from its peg, put it on, and rushed to
the door ; then came back, threw his
hat away from him and sat down
again, burying his face in his hands.
Fool, fool that he had been ! What
had he thrown away ? Was there ever
a woman like this ? What would it not
be for him, for any man, to go through
life with such a companion ; who
would never hold him back from what
was right ; who would not fear to meet
any thing for the sake of truth and jus-
tice ? What woman in a hundred would
have done this ? knowing, too, that her
love was not returned. And how did
she know it ? Oh ! how much more
clear-sighted she had been than he,
with all his wisdom and experience ! If
he had not shut his eyes, if he could
have had the least suspicion of this,
what a difference might it not have
roade? Then he resolved to seek her,
to go through fire and water if need be,
if he could only find her, and bring her
^ck, and never let her leave him
again.
At that moment, the words he had
wntten to her came before him, and
threw him again into despair. No; all
was k)st! He had insulted her, cause-
lessly and needlessly; he had said
that he valued her money more than
herself! Her money! Would she had
not a cent; would she were depen-
dent and friendless, that he might work
for her, share with her all that he had,
and win name and fame for her !
When Mrs. Day, his housekeeper,
put her head into his room, exclaiming
that the breakfast-bell had rung halt
an hour ago, he followed her to the
dining-room and swallowed his cold
coffee without a word, with a meek-
ness that touched the heart of his Gor-
gon. She proposed boiling him an
egg, or cutting a few shavings of ham ;
but the doctor declined her attentions
(to her great relief) and hurried to the
stable for Rosanna. He drove twen-
ty miles away to his most distant
patient, whom he alarmed by his
gloomy face and abrupt manner; he
drove Rosanna back to Sealing at a
rate she was unaccustomed to, and
. walking up the street — it was then late
in the afternoon — encountered Tom-
my McNally, roaring at the top of his
voice, and rubbing his eyes as if he
wished to leave in them no powers 01
vision. Dr. James stopped and asked
rather crossly what ailed him :
" O doctor ! she's gone away, and
she's given me this," holding up
a dollar bill and continuing to cry,
" and one for each of us ; and she's
gone away, and we won't see her any
more !"
" Do you mean Miss Lester ?"
"Yes, doctor," said Tommy, be-
ginning to dry his eyes. " I've been
to the station and seen her go off; and
she told me to be a good boy and
help mother."
"Mind you do it," said the doc-
tor, hurrying away and home to his
cold dinner. That evening he called
on Father Barry, and heard that Mar-
garet had been there on her way to
the cars, and had left directions for
all \itT protighy especially the McNal-
lys. Father Barry seemed quite de-
S02
A Hero, or a Hiroitie ?
jected about her departure, and much
surprised at it; but the doctor, of
course, chose to throw no light on
the subject.
CHAPTER xviir.
"THE HEARTBREAK OF TO-MORROW."
A few days after, as soon as Dr.
James could make up his mind to do
so, he called on Miss Spelman, and
found the house quite as forlorn as
he had expected, and his old friend
very glad to receive sympathy. She
said she had heard from her niece
that very day.
''It was an amusing, affectionate
letter," said Miss Selina, "just like
her. Poor child I she will be easy now
she is with her friend. She was very
much changed, doctor."
" What do you mean ?"
" Why, she had grown so quiet and
so strange — that is, she seemed to me
strange ; she would sit so long with-
out speaking a word; and then she
was much more affectionate — I mean
more demonstrative — than when she
first came; but she seemed to have
lost her good spirits."
'' I thought she seemed much as
usual whenever I saw her."
**Yes, she was gayer than ever
when any one was here; but that was
only put on. Poor child ! she felt
Jessie's marriage, and that she was
so soon to be separated from the
friend of her childhood."
Miss Spelman seemed to think the
doctor needed consolation, and from
little remarks and insinuations, he ima-
gined that she considered him suffer-
ing from disappointment ; he did not
try to undeceive her, for was it not
true?
He found Martha Bumey a great
comfort ; to her he sometimes talked
of Margaret, and from her he learned
to understand things in her character
which had been puzzling to him be
fore. And the more he became con-
vinced that Margaret had spoken the
truth in saying that she loved hira,
the more he wondered at and admir-
ed her for so completely concealing
it from him in their intercourse; and
the better he understood that her ap-
parent levity and exaggerated spirits
were no doubt assumed in order to
hide her deeper feelings. He thought
much of all these things, and won-
dered more; but he kept his secret
and hers, and only suspected some-
times that Miss Bumey knew more
than any one else about the matter.
Dr. Jamei was a disappointed
man, and he made no effort to dis-
guise it from himself; but he was not
a man to sit down in despair and
waste his life in regrets. So, recog-
nizing the fact that he had thrown
away a great chance of happiness,
and been wholly to blame for it, he
resolutely turned the energy of his
thoughts into other channels, and
worked harder than ever. But Seal-
ing became unutterably wearisome to
him ; it was only by iron determi-
nation that he went through with his
daily round of duties, and as for so-
ciety, he confined himself exclusively
to making the calls that he imposed
on himself, and going for relaxation
to Father Barry and Miss Bumey.
In the middle of August he left
Richards in charge, and went for a
week to his mother and sisters in
Maine.
CHAPTER XIX.
A LAST LOOK.
Soon after Dr. James's return from
Maine, he was apprised by his friend
Philip of his approaching wedding»
to take place at Newport, on Sep-
tember first. Philip urged his and
Jessie's wish that he should be a
groomsman; but this Dr. James*
J
A Here, or a Htroine t
503
knowing tfiat Margaret would of
course be a bridesmaid, declared
would be out of the question. He
unwillingly promised to be present at
both wedding and reception, because
he had no reason to give^ for declin-
ing; and he looked forward to the
day with mingled feelings of dread
and impatience. He bought a dress
suit for the first time for years; and
when he was arrayed in state, gloves
and all, surveyed himself from head
to foot with strong disapprobation.
He had spent the night at a hotel in
Newport, and, having completed his
toilet, descended to the parlor, where
he had an opportunity of beholding
his taut ensemble in the long glass be-
tween the windows.
"I look like the ass in the lion's
skin," he said to himself; " only I
suppose that was too big for him,
while every thing I have on is too
small for me. I sha*n*t be myself
again till I get off these vanities."
He arrived at the church full half
an hour before the time, he was so
afraid of being late, and chose his
seat up-stairs, where he could see
better without being conspicuous.
He observed the showy dresses and
latest fashions with wonder and dis-
approval, and speculated on the pro-
bable cost of the ladies assembled
to their husbands and fathers, till the
clock pointed to twelve and the bri-
dal party arrived. First came a troop
of little girls in white, with pink and
Wue sashes, carrying baskets of flow-
ers ; then Mrs. Edgar with Philip ;
the six bridesmaids followed, headed
by Margaret, each accompanied by
her groomsman, and the doctor no-
ticed that Miss Lester's companion
was a tall, handsome fellow, with a
fair mustache; last came the bride,
on the arm of an elderly man, whom
Dr. James supposed to be her uncle.
llie ceremony was soon over, and
the church rapidly becoming desert-
ed, when Dr. James descended from
his post of observation, and got into a
carriage to go to Mrs. Edgar's house.
He found the two handsome pariors
quite full, and stood for a few minutes
at the door observing the scene before
him.
The bride and bridegroom stood
at the end of the room, with the
pretty children playing in the bay-
window behind them. Philip looked
as proud and beaming as might have
been expected, and Jessie was just what
the doctor thought she would be very
pretty and refined, looking timid and
rather flushed at receiving so many
congratulations. His eyes scarcely
rested on her; for he was immediate-
ly conscious of Margaret standings
near her, apparently dividing her at-
tentions pretty equally between three
gendemen. Her dress was white,
very rich and flowing; she held a
beautiful bouquet, and there were rose-
buds in her hair and on her dress.
The next thing he knew, one of the
gentlemen-managers was asking his
name, he was led up and presented,
and found himself embraced by Phi-
lip, and greeted with a sweet smile
by Jessie.
" He is the best fellow in the
world," said the bridegroom; and
Jessie added,
" We are very glad to see you. Dr.
James ; it was very kind of you ta
come."
Then he turned to find Margaret
by his side, with the smile he knew
so well, and the cordial, outstretched
hand. His face flushed painfiilly, but
he was not called upon to speak, for
Philip remarked,
" Oh ! yes, you are old acquaintan-
ces, are you not ? Where is Mrs. Ed-
gar? I want her so much to see him.
Oh ! there she is at the end of the other
room. I suppose it wouldn't do for
504
A Hero, or a Heroine?
me to leave Jessie." And he turned
to his bride with a face full of happi-
ness.
" I will go with Dr. James," said
Margaret at once; and he found him-
self walking, wiUi her on his arm,
through the crowd of people, some
of whom regarded him with curiosity.
"You were at the church, were
you not?" began Margaret at once;
** and was she not a lovely bride ? I
was very much afraid it would be a
showery wedding; but Jessie behaved
very well, only she arrived at home
a perfect Niobe, and had to be con-
soled in private before she could face
all these people."
" Why should she have to be con-
soled ?"
" Now, that's just what I say, Dr.
James ; why does she marry him if
it doesn't make her happy ? Philip,
however, seems to understand her,
and I leave to him the task of com-
forting. She is very fond of her mo-
ther, and it is very hard for her to
live so far away, you know."
** Miss Lester, you look thin and
pale," the doctor said very abruptly ;
he did not mean to say it, the words
came almost involuntarily.
" Yes, this has been a wearing time
for all of us; I am glad it is nearly
over. Here we are. Mrs, Edgar,
this is Philip's friend and mine. Dr.
James."
The doctor received the kind-
est greeting, and was overpowered
with questions about his mother, who
had been a school friend of Mrs.
Edgar, and his sisters. He tried to an-
swer them intdKgibly, thinking, how-
ever, only of Miss Lester, and con-
scious that she had toroed away to
be polite to other guests. Mrs. Ed-
gar then introduced him to Jessie's
sister Isabd, a fresh little girl of six-
teen, who looked full of fun and
mischief, and she in turn presmtcd
him to a friend, a tall }~oung lady.
who immediately began to talk to
him so fast that he could hardly keep
up with her. Mrs. Edgar suggested
that he should get some ice-cream
for himself and them, and then oc-
cupied herself with other people, con-
sidering that her duties of hospitality
to him were performed. Dr. James
went obediently into the next room
and returned, after some difficulties,
with ices and cake, and did his best
to be polite. Soon Isabel was sent
into the other room to see about
the children, and the talkative young
lady became engaged in con venation
with an equally voluble young gen-
tleman, so that Dr. James found him-
self again alone. He put down his
untasted cake, and seeing a glass of
wine near him, which seemed to be-
long to no one, he drank it and fdt
rather better. The solitariness one
sometimes feels in a crowd came
over him, and he looked from one
strange face to another, feeling him-
self completely out of place. Mrs.
Edgar was absort>ed in duties of
hospitality; Jessie and Philip in the
distance, during a pause in the stream
of guests, were engrossed in each
other ; even Margaret seemed to have
completely forgotten him, and he saw
her earnestly talking with her hand-
some groomsman. He regretted that
he had refused to be a groomsman;
no doubt he would have been as-
signed to Margaret, as the corre-
sponding *' best friend," and then she
would have been talking to him in-
stead of to that feDow ; from which
it will be seen that he had already
arrived at a stage of lover-like incon-
sistencv, since his sole motive for
declining his friend's invitation had
been his dread of encountering Miss
He saw that many people were go-
ing, and it came to him as a hap(7
thought that he might go toa He
interrupted Mis. Edgar to shake
A Hiro^ or a Heroine t
505
hands again with her, observed that
Margaret was near the door, and next
made his way to Philip, with whom
he had a little talk, unsatisfactory, of
comse, but one's best friend must
be excused for being preoccupied on
such an occasion. Philip parted from
him with resignation, saying that he
must come to California and settle,
that he would do splendidly there
and make a fortune. Such a prospect
seemed to the doctor dreary in the
extreme ; and owning to himself that
he did not at all begrudge to Philip
his pretty and delicate bride, he bade
her a friendly farewell, and approach-
ed Margaret He was glad to interrupt
the groomsman in the sotto voce re-
marks he was making, and to have
Margaret turn at once to him and
leave her companion to his own re-
flections.
' " Good-by, Miss Lester. I go back
to Sealing this afternoon."
" Good-by, Dr. James. I am very
glad you came." That was all ; how
soon these words were said ! Again
he met the straightforward look of
those clear, brown eyes ; again he felt
the kind pressure of her hand. Her
glove was off and so was his, (not
accident on his part,) and he felt that
her hand was cold. He was on the
point of saying, " How pale you are !"
but remembered just in time, that he
had made that remark before.
In another minute he was outside
the door, and driving to the hotel.
As he drew his tight boots from his
aching feet, and resumed his comfort-
able, familiar clothes, he said to him-
self,
" This episode in my life is closed.
I must shut her completely out of
my existence, and go on as if there
were no such woman as Margaret
Lester."
So he took the five o'clock train,
and arrived safely in Sealing that
night
CHAPTER XX.
MISS BURNEY LEAVES SHELLBEACH.
One evening, two or three weeks
after the weddmg at Newport, Dr.
James was sitting with Miss Bumey
in her little parlor. They often used
that privilege of fast friends, silence ;
and it was after an unbroken pause
of full a quarter of an hour that
Martha looked up from her sewing,
and said :
" Why did you never notice that I
have not resumed my school-work
this year ?"
" I have noticed it ; but supF>osed
you had some good reason, which
you would tell me when you were
ready."
" I am ready now. I have given
up teaching for the present, and per-
haps for ever." The doctor made no
aeply, only showing by his attentive
face that he was listening.
" Margaret has offered me a home,
and I have accepted it"
"I imagined you were too proud
to accept assistance fk)m any body."
" From any body else except her.
In the first place, she is rich and can
afford it ; secondly, it makes her hap-
py to help people; thirdly, I love
her and she loves me, and that is the
best reason of all."
" You are right ; and what decided
you to take this step ?"
"It seems she has had it in her
mind ever since last spring; however,
she only said to me, just before she
left here, that she hoped I would
make no arrangements for the winter,
without first telling her my plans.
Two weeks ago, I received a letter
from her, saying that she had decided
not to live any longer with Mrs. Ed-
gar; but, after passing the month of
September at Newport, to take a
house for herself in New York. She
said she could not live alone, and that
So6
A Hero, or a Herohu t
she must have some one for com-
pany and for the sake of appear-
ances. She begged me to be that
somebody, because there was no one
else with whom she could feel inde-
pendent, and free to do what she
chose. I considered the subject a
week, and then wrote her my consent
to do as she wished, for next winter
at least. It will be a great advantage
to me, of course, as well as a pleasure.
Still I should not think of it on that ac-
count for a moment, if I did not be-
lieve that such an arrangement would
be a good thing for her as well as for
nie. I do believe so, and therefore I
am going to try the experiment."
" You will not repent it, I am sure.
And when do you go ?"
" Next week."
" Has she bought her house ?**
"She has not decided yet, and
wants my help* about furnishing, etc. ;
so the sooner I go the better." •
" Is she in New York now ?"
" Yes, at a private boarding-house,
where I am to stay with her till the
house is ready."
Dr. James had made up his mind
that nothing would astonish him
again, yet this did take him by sur-
prise; after he thought about it, how-
ever, he only wondered such an ar-
rangement had not occurred to him
before. Miss Bumey was a great loss
to him ; for there was no other woman
whose society was any pleasure to him,
and Father Barry was now the only
person with whom he had any sym-
pathy, and of him he saw more and
more.
He begged Martha Bumey to
write to him, but she was a miserable
correspondent; her letters were few
and far between, and never told him
what he wanted to know. He was
obliged to go to Miss Spelman for all
his information regarding these two
people in whom he was so deeply in-
terested. He heard frx)m her that
Maiigaret had bought a very pretty
little house, furnished it, and was com-
fortably established with Martha. She
said Margaret always wrote in excel-
lent spirits, and seemed to her to be
enjoying her winter very much.
The doctor's "young man" Rich-
ards, thanks to the careful instructions
and preparation he had received, was
now become of great assistance, and,
beiilg left in charge, had very success-
fully treated several cases, and even
performed very well one or two sur-
gical operations, so that people be-
gan to feel considerable confidence in
him. Dr. James encouraged this as
much as possible ; for the idea of giv-
ing up his practice at Shellbeach and
vicinity had taken strong hold on
him. Finding that he left his patients
in competent hands, he often went
away on business for a week at a time,
and felt his own work considerably
lightened.
At Christmas time, Miss Spelmai
went to New York, and staid a
month, and returned eloquent about
the delights of her niece's establish-
ment, and the charming people she
had met. The doctor, by careful ques-
tions, learned from her that Mar-
garet was occupied with countless
good works and charities, though Miss
Selina seemed to have only a vague
idea what they were. She described
to her attentive auditor how she
breakfasted in her own room, every
day, at ten o'clock, or as much later
as she liked, (which had always been
her idea of comfort,) and then had
the carriage to do what she chose till
luncheon at two, when she saV Mar-
garet for the first time ; for she was al-
ways full of her charitable engage-
ments till one, when die came home
to dress. After luncheon, in time for
which some pleasant p>erson always
dropped in, they drove, visited, or
shopped, and dined at six. Then
Miss Spelman told of the opera, and
A Hero^ or a Heroine f
S07
concehs, and a dinner-party that Mar-
garet gave while she was there, and
of the old friends she had met, and of
the many calb and great attention
she had received ; and she went on,
telling about herself, with only now
and then a word about Margaret, till
the doctor was quite tired of listen-
ing. He was very curious about
Margaret's morning work; of that
his old friend, having seen nothing,
could give no information ; and after
the account of the gayeties of Miss
Lester's household, Doctor James
grew more restless than ever.
CHAPTER XXI.
SEEK YE FIRST THE KINGDOM OF GOD.
January wore away, and February,
and at last, on one of the first days
of the first month of spring, a raw
and dreary day, when Dr. James had
been glad that no patient needed his
attendance, he had made a bright lit-
tie fire, and was sitting in his study
chair, deeply engaged with the last
number of The Catholic World,
which Father Barry had lent him.
Richards came in from the post-office,
laid the doctor's mail upon the table,
and then went home to his mother's
house. Dr. James very deliberately
finished the article he was reading,
stared at the fire for a few minutes,
and then carelessly took up his letters
and glanced at the handwritings.
There was one from his sister Lucy,
one from a medical friend at the West,
and — what was this ? — one in a dear,
firm hand, which gave him a start,
and brought him very quickly out of
his reverie.
" From Margaret Lester I What
can she have to say to me ?"
A misgiving came over him as he
held the letter in his hand, and he
delayed opening it What might not
her boldness and independence be
capable of! He smiled contemptu-
ously as he realized that his imagina-
tion was running away with him.
" She is engaged, I suppose," and
he quickly broke the seal.
**Mv Dear Friend: I write to you
because this is the very happiest day of my
life, and because I owe tha#happiness, after
God, to you.
"Do you remember your words, *For
the direction of practical, systematic good
works, I advise you to go to the Catholic
priest 7 Well, I established myself in New
York with the object of making myself hap-
py by doing as much good to the poor as I
was able ; and as soon as I asked myself how
I should begin, I thought of your words,
and said to myself, * I found how true that
advice was in that quiet little town ; now, why
should it not hold good in a great city like
this, where there is so much more misery,
and where opportunities for doing good are
so much greater ?* So I said to my cook,
whom I found to be a good Catholic, going
to her confessions and communions regularly,
* Where does your priest live ? For I want
to go and see him.' She gladly told me
where to find him, and I went where she di-
rected me, and found lih old, white-headed
Frenchman with most courtly manners, be-
fore whom I felt as unpolished as a school-
girl. I told him the simple truth, and ask-
ed to be instructed as to how I could aid the
poor. Well, we sat down, and he gave me
a little sketch of the different Catholic chari-
ties in New York, and each one, as he de-
scribed it, seemed to me best of all ; and I
saw how much more good I could do by
aiding those perfectly organized charities
than by working on my own responsibility.
He ended by telling me of a lady who
would take me with her and show me all
these institutions.
" From that day began for me a life of
revelations. I had always dreamed of lives
of heroism; and I began to see that they
were not only possible, but of every -day oc-
currence among those men and women de-
voted to works of mercy. Then came the
question. What is it that inspires such self-
sacrifice, such complete abnegation and ig-
noring of self, such all-embracing charity
and purity of motive? For in no case
could I see a trace of any personal advan-
tage to be gained from these almost super-
human labors. And then, Dr. James, I be-
gan to look into the doctrine of that church
which all my life I had been taught to re-
gard as the teacher of falsehood, supersti-
tion, and idolatry.
So8
A HerOf or a Heroine t
*<The result has been that a week ago I
was baptized a Roman Catholic, and this
day, for the first time, I have received our
Lord Jesus Christ in the most holy com-
munion.
"0 my friend! God's goodness has been
great to me, and I am as happy as a per-
son should be who has found there is such a
thing as heave^ upon earth. This is why I
have written to you, because my heart, in
its gratitude to God, turns next to you ; and
also because I wish you to hear from no one
except myself of this great change in my life.
•* And now, I cannot end my letter with-
out one more word. I have another saying
of yours in my mind; was it not this?
. * Do as well as you know how, and then be at
peace.* That is true ; yet it is not all that
will be required of us. We ought to try to
know the best thing, and then do what we
know as well as we can.
** Good-by, and God bless you.
** Margaret.
**P.S. — Martha Bumey, after trying her
best to dissuade me, had the justice to ex-
amine what I was about, and she was re-
ceived into the church this very day.**
t
Father Barry received this news
by the same mhil as Dr. James, and
from him Margaret heard at once.
The pious priest wrote a letter full of
joy and congratulation, of good ad-
vice and blessing; but to her other
letter no answer was received. Two
weeks passed, and no word came.
Miss Selina had written a reproach-
ful and admonitory letter, assuring
Margaret that it was not too late,
and while life was spared her she
could draw back. She insinuated
that a plan of rescue could be easily
arranged, and offered her home as an
asylum to the fugitive.
Margaret laughed over this letter,
and showed it to her friends with
great glee. However, she wrote
back a kind and soothing answer,
which soflened her aunt a little,
though the subject continued a very
sore one for a long time. To think
that she should have been a month
in the same house with Margaret,
never suspecting the machinations
of which the poor child was being
made the victim ! But whence ap-
plied to Dr. James for sympathy, he
said abruptly,
"I don't agree with you at all,
ma'am. Miss Lester has done ri^t
because she has consulted her own
conscience, and been brave enou^
not to stop for what the worid or her
friends would say or think."
He then changed the subject; and
Miss Spelman was so much scandal-
ized that she never spoke of it agaixL
CHAPTER XXII.
ALL THINGS SHALL BE ADDED UNTO YOC.
On the 1 8th of March, Margaret
had retiurned to luncheon from visit-
ing some sick persons ; Martha had
staid at home to cut out work to be
given to poor women. She entered
Margaret's room as she was dressing,
holding one hand behind her.
" I have had a note from Dr.
James to-day," said Martha. '' He is
in the city, and we shall see him to-
morrow."
Margaret looked up inquiringly.
<' You have something else to tell !
I see it in your face. Why do yoti
make me wait ?"
*' I have something else to tell, and
this shall tell it for me," she answer-
ed, laying a letter down on Marga-
ret's table, and going out of the
room. Margaret, with trembling fin-
gers, tore it open and read as follows:
" New York, Mardi 18.
"Mv Dear Miss Lester: It has nc*
been from disapprobation, nor neglect, nor
indifference that I have left your letter so
long unanswered. It is because I earnest!/
desired, if possible, to give you some good
news in return for that which you sent me.
**You speak of owing your coo version
partly to me, and I am very happy that this
should be true ; but your letter has done 1
greater work for me than you thought it
could when yon wrote it. Miss Lester, 1
ought to have been where you are now a
year ago; but pride of intdkct, pcrreraflr
A Htm, or a Heroine t
509
of will, and, latterly, another obstacle, have
stood in my way, and I might have kept on
blind and miserable for the rest of my life.
You have fonnd the chnrch of God through
its treasures of charity, displayed in its
works of mercy to the poor, the weak, and
the sinful ; it was your heart, so to speak,
that carried you there. I have found the
same church entirely by my mind. I have
seen repeatedly shallow prejudices, ground-
less suspicions, and fanatical attacks met
by calm, strong, logical arguments. I have
seen the carping opinions of sects dwindling
away before the majesty of a revealed faith.
I have recognized that intellect, learning,
science, philosophy, shine brightest in that
church which the scoffers of the day assert
to be in her dotage and dissolution. I have
been forced at last, to admit her divine au-
thority, and the consequent infallibility of
her teaching, and there was but one thing
left for me to do. How long woiild I have
resisted light, conviction? I cannot tell.
Cowardice, pride, and something else held
me back ; then your letter came, as a push
from a fiiendly hand to a wretch clinging to
the feeble branch which threatens to give
way in his grasp and precipitate him into
the abyss below, yet fearing to take the leap
whi<^ will land him on firm ground.
•• We have landed on the rode — ^you and
I. God grant that we may stand on it for
ever. ,
•• I have much more to say, but can write
no more. I have been for a week making a
retreat at the house of the fathers, and
I shall be baptized in their church to-morrow
morning. Feast of St. Joseph, after the nine
o'clock mass. You will come, will you not ?
Pray for me. Francis James.'*
Margaret read this letter steadily
through to the end, and then fell on
her knees by her little table, where
Martha found her some time after,
when she came to sumnaon her to
luncheon.
^* He has asked me to be his god-
mother,'' remarked Martha, as they
were sitting at the dining-table.
" Has he ? I should think he
would have asked me," responded
Margaret
'* Don't yott remember what you
XxAd me once about the spiritual rela-
tionship between sponsors and their
god-children, and what it precludes ?"
Margaret slightly smiled, and the
subject was dropped.
On arriving next morning at St.
church, Margaret found that
the first pew was reserved for Martha
and herself, and soon Dr. James ap-
peared and knelt with them. To the
surprise and delight of Margaret, who
should enter the sanctuary to cele-
brate mass but Father Barry; and it
was he who, at the conclusion of the
holy sacrifice, administered the sacra-
ment of baptism.
Margaret's cup of happiness was
very full when, going into the house
afterward, by invitation, she was aUe
to exchange congratulations with her
good fiiend Father Barry, and grasp,
with a glowing face and speaking
eyes, the hand of the newly-baptized.
They both agreed to dine with her ;
and then she went home with Martha,
wondering over the changes which
one year had brought about in her
life, and thanking God in her heart
for her conversion and for that of the
person dearest to her in the world.
The dinner that evening was a very
delightful one. Margaret and the doc-
tor were surprised to find all embar-
rassment between them gone. All
their past intercourse seemed far
away and like what had happened in
a dream, and diey felt that they were
beginning their friendship over again
on a new and true basis.
Margaret had many questions to
ask of Father Barry about Sealing,
and the different fiamilies she was in-
terested in, and he had a great deal
to tell her, as well as questions to ask
in his turn. And Margaret told all
about the beautiful rdigious houses
she had visited, and about kind Abb^
Saincbre, who had done her so much
good, lent her books and led her gen-
tly on till she was safely in the fold.
Martha Bumey had to tell of her
horror when she found what Mar-
garet was wrapped up in; how she
Sio
A Hero; &r a Heroine T
scolded, and argued, and ridiculed,
and at last went in secret to see the
abb6, to remonstrate with him. How
she was won by his gendeness and
courtesy, and how, still in secret and
with his assistance, she read and
learned about the church, till on Mar-
garet's asking one day why she made
no more fuss about her becoming a
Catholic, she said the reason was be-
cause she was going to be one herself
as soon as she could* be prepared.
Then Dr. James told about his
plans : how Richards was all ready to
step into his place, and in a great
hurry to have the establishment, dis-
pensary, etc., under his own control ;
how he was a good-hearted young
fellow, and the doctor thought would
be merciful to the poor ; and his mo-
ther would come and live with him,
and take the place of the t3rrannical
housekeeper. Then, for himself. Dr.
James announced his intention of re-
moving to New York as soon as his
affairs at Shellbeach were settled.
Margaret was quieter than usual,
and more simply dressed than the
doctor had ever seen her before, in a
plain black silk absolutely without
ornament, except that she wore round
her neck an amber rosary, which she
said she had obtained abroad when
she was a heathen. There was in
her face an expression of serenity and
quiet happiness that was new to it,
and Dr. James thought he had never
seen her so attractive and lovable.
The evening flew away; Father
Barry was to return to Sealing the
next djiy, and the doctor with him
for a week or two, but he would soon
come back to New York to live. At
parting he said in a low voice to
Margaret,
" I am to receive communion in
Father Barry's church a week firom
Sunday ; you will pray for me ?"
•* I wiil not forget," she answered
wkh a happy smile.
CHAPTER XXUI.
MAaOARVr'S BIRTHDAY.
The story draws to a close, and
there is little more to tell ; the rest is
such plain sailing that it might almost
be taken for granted. There is one
little scene, however, pleasant to write
and possibly pleasant to read, which
took place on August 15th of that
same year, in the church at Sealing ;
and in explanation of which a short
account should be given of what hap-
pened after Dr. James had come to
live in New York.
He had taken rooms in that dty
and begun to work among the poor,
doing much although with small
means. He began to go regularly
every day to Miss Lester's house in
the afternoon ; then they walked and
drove together, and learned to know
each other well. He was often with
her in the morning, too, and together
diey visited muiy a ^ck and suffering
soul, leaving behind them comfort,
encouragement, and substantial relief.
They every week knelt together at
die altar of the little French c^pd
Margaret loved so well, and received
God's greatest gift of love to man,
and it was a time of pure, unclouded
happiness.
It was June ; and there had been '
a week of very warm weather. The
fashionables had fled ftom the dty, or
shut themselves up in their houses,
exduding every ray of light and sun.
Dr. James, weary firom his morning's
labors, had been home, refireshed
himself a litde, and then, at aboat
five o'clock in the afternoon, stood on
the steps of Margaret's house, and
was ushered into the shady parlor.
The green blinds were dosed, the
carpets were gone, coo! white matting
was on the floors, and great bundiei
of roses stood about on table* tM
mantel-pieces. Margaret «IMlVl»
A HerOt or a Heroine f
5"
meet him, fresh and cool in her light
dress, and holding in her hand a very
beautiful line engraving of the Dres-
den " Madonna and Child."
" See, Dr. James, what Martha has
given me for a birthday present"
" Why did you not tell me before-
hand that this was your birthday,
that I might have given you a pre-
sent?"
" Truly, because I forgot it till I
found this on the breakfast-table this
morning. It seems I told Martha at
Shellbeach that this was my birthday,
and she remembered it Was she not
kind ?"
<< I want to speak to you about
leaving the city," said the doctor;
"the hot weather has come, and it
will not be healthy for you to be here.
The cholera may be about, they say,
and you go into places where you
will be sure to catch it"
" So do you."
"But a doctor is pretty safe; he
can guard against infection in a great
measure."
" Well, a great many other people
stay in New York and do not get
sick. The religious and priests stay
in their houses, and they go among
more wretched people than I do."
" Yes ; but Miss Lester, you are
not a religious ; your life has not been
wholly consecrated to God, as theirs
have."
" I can't see why, because I have
not a vocation for a religious life,
that should make any difference."
" Plainly, then, because your life is
precious, if not to yourself, to other
people; to me. It should not be
lightly thrown away."
" I shall not throw it away; I don't
believe in contagion. God will pre-
serve my life, if he wi^es it to be
spared."
" Yes) but God is not called upon
to wock amiiade in your behalf; and
tf yott wilfully expose yourself to dan*
ger, he may not interpose to avert the
consequences."
Margaret was silent, and the doc-
tor continued, with an effort,
" I said your life was precious to
me ; and though you did not notice
it, I say it again. I have never had
courage till to-day to speak to you
about the letter I wrote you at Shell-
beach ; but it is possible for me to do
so now. You did not seem angry
with me when I saw you at the wed-
ding. Had you forgotten it, or didn't
you care for my rudeness ?"
" I cared for it ; that is, of course,
I was sorry, perhaps hurt ; still, not
for a moment angry or offended. I
knew that you were not cruel but
kind, for you told the truth; and
any thing except the truth would
have been imkindness. I honored
you for writing it."
" Yet it was not the truth ; although
in writing it I sincerdy and honestly
believed it to be the truth. I said I
did not love you; I believed I did
not love you ; but I had no sooner
read your letter than scales seemed
to fall firom my eyes. You see, I was
sure that you were perfectiy indiffer-
ent to me ; and I thought you would
write me a polite letter, expressing
friendship, esteem, etc., and regret if
I had suffered disappointment; and
then that you would go off to New
York and leave me to support the
downfall of my hopes as best I might
I was sure of this, and your parting
words that night seemed to confirm
me in it. * She wishes to part
friends,' I thought to myself, * because
she believes she is going to ruin my
hopes of happiness.' I was filled with
unpleasant and bitter feelings. I read
your letter, and the ground seem-
ed to go from under my it^t, and
I realized what a blind fool I had
been. I felt then but one longing,
which I feel still, although I know its
uselessness and absurdity: that 3rou
512
A HerOy or a Heroine t
might be, by some chance, stripped
of your fortune to the last cent, that
I might lay my poor Httle pittance at
your feet and implore your accept-
ance of it.
" Oh ! if I could tell you what I en-
dured. Shellbeach became unbeara-
ble to me ; all life and interest seemed
to have left me. How I missed you !
You can never imagine it, and I can-
not describe it The more I thought
of you, the more wretched I became,
and after that wedding I felt tenfold
worse. I went home to my mother
for a change; and then resolved to
put you completely out of my head,
and, as an assistance, resumed my
study of Catholicity, that I had for
a time ^leglected. Then, though I
blush to own it, and would not risk
my standing in your estimation by
telling you of it except that it proves
my love for you, the only thing which
deterred me from entering the church
was the thought that I should lose
your esteem, and that it would com-
pletely cut me off fh>m any chance
I might ever have again of winning
you for my wife. Your second letter
came, and seemed as an answer from
heaven, *Why are ye fearful, O ye
of little faith ?' You know the rest —
but I cannot go on. Even support-
ed by the blessed sympathy we have
in our faith, I cannot ask for what
my heart craves."
" Dr. James, you seem to feel as if
you were before me as a criminal be-
fore his judge. Now you have done
only what was right and true toward
me, and you owe me no apology
fcMT any thing. You and I, I believe,
have done each other real good, and
we have mutually helped each other
into the church ; we stand on equal
ground, and I will accept no other
position."
Dr. James looked searchingly at
her, and said in a low voice,
^ You do me good and make me
feel like myselfl Then, Margaret,
though I am not worthy of you, will
you be my wife ?"
Margaret laid her hand in his,
" I will, if God allows me so much
happiness,**
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE SEVENTH SACRAMENT.
Margaret was unwilling to leave
New York ; but the doctor insisted,
and a compromise was efiected. She
was to stay through July, and com-
plete the preparations for her mar-
riage; for that was to take place in
August, and they would go for their
wedding journey to visit Mrs. James
in Maine. Margaret express a
strong wish to be married at Sealing,
and the plan was very pleasant to
Dr. James; so a wedc before the
day appointed, she went to her aunt,
Miss Spelman's. There she spent a
happy week, visiting her friends
among the poor, and hearing from
them about the goodness and kind
deeds of their fevorite doctor, whom
they seemed to regard in the light
of a good angel Martha Bumey
was also at Miss Spelman's, and the
doctor came two days befirae the fi-
teenth, so it was a very merry and
happy household.
llie feast of the Assumption of
Our Lady was as beautiful a day as
ever shone on a happy bride; the
bells rang as if for a public celebra-
tion ; for Dr. James was beloved by
every one and Margaret was very
popular. The time was nine o'dock ;
for the bride and bridegroom were
fasting. Margaret's drest was white,
with veil, orange-Uossoms, and every
thing as it should be ; she had indin-
ed very much to be married m her
travelling dress ; but the doctor want-
ed white, and she thought beades,
that a gay, showy wedding woaU
give pleasure to many of Ab
A HerOi or a Hereinef
513
Father Bany said that it was Eke
the marriage feast in the Gospel; for
the deaf, the halt, and the blind
were well represented Margaret's
" friends " were many, and the more
aristocratic inhabitants of Sealing and
Shellbeach were rather surprised to
find themselves in close neighborhood
with the McNallys, O'Neills, and
O'Flahertys, who were put in the
best places, and were perfecdy at
home in their own church.
The high altar, and those of the
Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph, were
covered with flowers ; and a fine new
set of vestments and sacred vessels,
presented by the bride and bride-
groom elect, were used for the first
time.
It seemed to Margaret and to
Dr. James a beautiful circumstance,
though a natural one, that they had
neither of them ever seen a nuptial
mass before this, their own. Nor
had they realized what marriage
might be, until th^ studied the won-
derful office of that church that has
^evated the natural union of man
and woman to the dignity of a sa-
crament, which St. Paul declares to
be typical of the union of our Lord
with his spouse, the church. They
were profoundly impressed with the
thought that the holy of holies was
to be ofifered upon the altar on that
day, the happiest of their Uves — ^for
them, for their Happiness and bless-
ing; and that, as God was to de-
scend fiom heaven, as it were, in
their honor, so they should offer their
new life for his greater honor and
glory.
How is it possible that Catholics
should ever forego this privilege of
the nuptial mass, and avail them-
selves only of the form absolutely
required by the church? Do they
not realise that in sanctifying the
fiist day of their wedded life by as-
sisting together at the sacrifice of the
VOL. X.— 33
mass, and as their fiist united action,
receiving their Lord unto their hearts,
they draw down a blessing on all that
is to follow?
Never had Margaret felt so pure
a joy as when, kneeling beside the
one she loved best in the world, she
heard the solemn benediction pro-
nounced upon them, and the God of
Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob besought
to '' himself fulfil his blessing " upon
them. Never had Dr. James realiz-
ed so fully his happiness as when he
heard the beautiful prayer olTered for
his bride, and the virtues of Rachel,
Rebecca, and Sarah invoked for her.
And when, in the little instruction
which Father Barry gave them, he
said they might indeed hope that
Jesus and Mary had been present at
their wedding, as at that of Cana in
Galilee, they felt as if they had re-
ceived a favor similar to the one
then bestowed ; for, as the water
was turned into wine, was not their
natural rejoicing changed into a joy
more pure and sublime than earth cam
bestow?
The married couple, and every Ca*-
tholic in the church, remained 00
their knees for some time after mass
was ended, and, as one of the specta*
tors afterward said, " The happy pair
behaved as if they were by no means
the most important persons present **
Martha Bumey heard the remaii^
and immediately repUed,
"You must remember that they
recognized the presence of the \jxA
Jesus, surroimded by legions of holy
angels;" to which remark the first
speakei was too much astonished to
make any answer.
On his return to Miss Spelman'^
house. Dr. James was greatly surprisr
ed to find standing at the gate an
elegant litde doctor's chaise, with a
very beautiful horse ; a plainly dress-
ed man stood by its head, whom the
doctor recognised as a mechanic
514
A Htro^ or a Heroi$ut
whose life he had saved when he
was lying at death's door with small-
pox. As he spoke to him pleasandy,
the man took off his hat and said,
" If you please, doctor, this is a
present from all your patients."
It was the kind thought of a kind
heart, and the author of it, himself
indebted to the doctor's devoted care,
had gone in person to every house
within twenty miles, inquiring who
had been treated by Dr. James, and
proposing to each a small contribu-
tion.
"They only wanted to give too
much," he said to the doctor after-
ward; "but all, even the very poor-
est, gave something."
CHAPTBR XXV.
THE MISTRESS OF A P00& MAN'S
HOUSEHOLD.
After a fortnight spent very happily
in Maine, Dr. and Mrs. James came
back to New York, bringing with them
the doctor's yoimgest sister, Lucy, to
make a long visit Martha Bumey
had been left in charge of the house,
and had received a warm invitation
to consider it her home; but she only
replied that she would think about it
On arriving at home, (for it was
decided to begin their married life in
the house that Margaret had already
bought and furnished,) and asking ea-
gerly for her friend, Margaret was in-
formed that Miss Bumey had gone
away that day, and left a note to ex-
plain. It was as follows :
"My Dearest Margaret: Do not think,
by my leaving your house, that I do not appre-
ciate the hospitality that 3rou and your hus-
band have offered me, or that I am ungrate-
ful for it But I could never consent to live
upon you alwajrs ; and I thought it better,
while I am strong and healthy, to enter on
the life in whidi I should be glad to be found
at death. I have consulted with M. Sain-
cire, and he encourages me to hope that my
vocation may be a religious one; and the
sympathy and afiectioa I fed for the Sisters
of Charity, whidi I bdieve yon share widi
me, leads me to seek my home and woik
among them, at die house we visited together
on the Hudson River. There I shall renain
for the present as a boarder, till I am qmte
sure what is God's will for me ; but I may
tell 3rou, in confidence, that I have in misd
the work of teaching the poor and abandoned
little ones of this great dty.
*' I cannot express the joy wfaldi comes to
my heart when I think that my life, which
since my father's death has seemed to me
aimless and unprofitable, may be devoted in
the humblest v^y to the service of God tad
his holy church. Rejoice with me, my
dear fnend, in the midst of your own grttt
happiness. God grant diat we may both be
worthy of the fiivors he has bestowed oo ns I
I pray him to grant his blessing to you and
yours.
*' With love and oongratulatiofis to yon nd
3rour husband, I remain, in the heart of Je-
sus, your faithful friend,
"Martha Burxit.
New York, Sept i."
«
That evening, when Lucy, tired with
her long journey, had gone up-stainy
Margaret and Dr. James sat together
in the parlor talkmg. The windows
were open, and there was a refreshing
breeze ; the moonlight lay brightly on
the floor, but except that, the room
was dark.
"I tremble sometimes," said Dr.
James, " when I think of the broad
path of simshine in which I am walk*
ing, and see that every wish is fulfilled.
I have left Shellbeach with none but
friends behind me; I have health and
strength; money enough for neces-
saries, superfluities, and charities; the
noblest and handsomest wife in the
world; the best and only religion to
love and serve with her; the angds
and saints for friends and comrades;
a living God to worship, and the hope
of heaven hereafter. But O Marga-
ret! the words of St Paul are \er!
often with me now, * But God forbid
that I should glory, save in the cross
of our Lord Jesus Christ' We have
not much to make us remember the
cross now ; but let us try, at least, to
be ready for it when it comes to <&*
Early History of the Catholic Church in New York. 515
" We will not forget it I will write
those words this night in the prayer-
book Father Barry gave me for my
wedding present"
And when they said their prayers,
Margaret opened the blank page at
the beginning of the book, and, show-
ing it to her husband, pointed to this
inscription, written by Father Barry,
" The Lord is merciful to those whom
he foreknoweth shall be his by £uth
and good works;" and below she had
herself added these words,
" But God forbid that I should glo-
ry, save in the cross of oiu: Lord Je-
sus Christ"
THE EARLY HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH ON
THE ISLAND OF NEW-YORIL ^
THE REPUBUC.
The history of Catholicity in colo-
nial days, with its romance, its terrors,
and the last impotent struggles of
fenatical opposition have, we trust,
not been without interest The peace
opened New-York to Catholic immi-
gration, and the influence of the
French officers, of both army and
navy, had done much to dispel preju-
dice. The church to which Rocham-
beau. La Fayette, De Kalb, Pulaski,
De Grasse, Vandreuil belonged was
socially and politically respectable —
nay, it was not antagonistic to Ame-
rican freedom.
The founder of the Catholic con-
gregation had looked anxiously for-
ward to this moment
The venerable Father Farmer came
on to resume his labors, and gather
such Catholics as the seven years' war
had left or gathered. His visits and
pastoral care, then resumed, were
continued till the arrival of the Rev.
Charles Whelan, an Irish Franciscan,
who had been chaplain on one of the
vessels belongmg to the fleet of the
Count de Grasse. He was the first
regularly settied priest in the city of
New York. Catholicity thus had a
priest, but as yet no church. Mass
was said near Mr. Stoughton's house,
on Water street ; in the house of Don
Diego de Gardoqui,the Spanish am-
bassador; in a building in Vauxhall
Garden, between Chambers and War-
ren streets ; and in a loft over a car-
penter shop on Barclay street An
Italian nobleman, Count Castiglioni,
mentions his attending mass in a
room any thing but becoming so sol-
emn an act of religious worship. The
use of a court-room in the Exchange
was solicited from the city authorities,
but refused. Then the little band of
Catholics took heart and resolved to
rear an edifice that would lift its
cross-crowned spire in the land. It
is a sign of the good feeling that
had to some extent obtained, that
Trinity church sold the Catholic body
the five lots of ground they desired for
die erection of their church. Here,
at the comer of Barclay and Church
streets, the comer-stone of St Peter's
church was laid November 4th, 1786,
by Don Diego de Gardoqui, as repre-
sentative of Charles III., King of
Spain, whose aid to the work entides
him to be regarded as its chief bene-
&ctor.
This pioneer Catholic church was
5 1 6 Early History of the Catholic Church in New York,
a modest structure forty-eight feet in
front by eighty-one in depth. Its pro-
gress was slow ; and divine worship was
performed in it for some years before
the vestry, portico, pews, gallery, and
steeple were at last completed in 1792.
The congregation, living so long
amid a Protestant population whose
system Halleck describes so truly,
** They reverence their priett ; bnt disagreeing
In price or creed, dismiss him without iear,
>f
had adopted some of their ideas, and
forgetting that the mass was a sacrifice,
and the peculiar and only worship of
God, thought that an eloquent ser-
mon was every thing. A vehement
and impassioned preacher it was their
great ambition to secure, and as the
trustees controlled matters almost ab-
solutely, the earlier priests had to en-
dure much humiliation and actual suf>
fering.
The reader will find this period
of struggle well described in Bishop
Bayley's pages, with the culmination
of the evils of trusteeism in the bank-
ruptcy of St Peter's.
A pastor was at last found who
filled the difficult position. This was
the Rev. William O'Brien, assisted
after a time by Doctor Matthew
O'Brien, whose reputation as a preach-
er was such that a volume of his
sermons had been printed in Ireland.
Under their care the difficulties began
to diminish ; the congregation took
a regular form, and the young were
trained to their Christian duties ; and
the devotion of the Catholic clergy
during the visits of that dreadfiil
scourge, the yellow fever, gave them
an additional claim to the reverence
and respect of their flock.
Beside the church soon sprang up
the school. The Catholics of New
York signalized the opening of the
nineteenth century by establishing a
firee school at St. Peter's, which before
many years could report an average
attendance of five hundred pupils.
This progress of Catholicity nato-
rally aroused some of the old bitter-
ness of prejudice.
The sermons of the Protestant
pulpits at this period exulting over
the captivity and death of Pius VI.
produced their natural result in
awakening the evil passions of ^
low and ignorant The old preju-
dices revived against Catholics with
all their wonted hostility. The first
anti-Catholic riot occurred in 1806,
as a result On Christmas eve, some
ruffians attempted to force their way
into St Peter's church during the
midnight mass, in order to sec the
Infant rocked in the cradle which
they were taught to believe Catholics
then worshipped. The Brief Sketch
details the unfortunate event from the
papers of the day.
From that time anti-Catholic ezdt^
ments have been pretty regular in their
appearance ; for a time, indeed, eleven
years was as sure to bring one, un-
der some new name, as fourteen years
dfd the pestilent locusts. Yet mob
violence has been less finequently and
less terribly shown in New Ycwk than
in some other cities with higher daims
to order and dignity.
Once we rememb^ how a mob,
flushed with the sacking of a Protes-
tant church where a negro and 1
white had been married, resolved to
dose their useful labors by demohdh
ing St Patrick's cathedral They
marched valorously almost to the
jimction of the Bowery and Prince
street, but halted on the suggestion
of a tradesman there, that a reom-
noissance would be a wise movement
A few were detached to* examine the
road. The look up Prince street was
not encouraging. The paving-stones
had actually been carried up in bas-
kets to the upper stories of the houses,
ready to hurl on the assailants; and
the wall around the church3rard was
pierced kti musketry. The mob te>
Early History of the Caikolic Church in New York. 517
treated with creditable celerity; bat
all that night a feverish anxiety pre-
vailed around St Patrick's cathedral;
men stood ready to meet any new
advance, and the mayor, suddenly
riding up, was in some danger, but
was fortimately recognized.
What might have been the scenes
in New York in 1844, when miu-der
ran riot in Philadelphia! The Na-
tives had just elected a mayor ; the
city would in a few days be in their
hands; a public meeting was called
in the park, and all seemed to pro-
mise a repetition of the scenes in the
sister city. A bold, stem extra issued
from the office of 77ie FreemarCsyour-
nal that actually sent terror into the
hearts of the would-be rioters. It
was known at once that the Catho-
lics would defend their churches to
the last gasp. The firm character of
the archbishop was well known, and
with that to animate the people the
struggle would not be a trifling one.
The call for the meeting was coun-
termanded and New York was saved;
few knew from what
To return to the earlier days of the
century. If attacks were made, in-
quiry was stimulated. Conversions
to the truth were neither few nor im-
important Bishop Bayley mentions
briefly the reception into the church
of one nearly related to himself,
Mrs. Eliza Ann Seton, daughter of
the celebrated Doctor Bayley, and
widow of William Seton, a distin-
guished New York merchant. Bom
on Staten Island, and long resident
in New York, gracing a high social
position by her charming and noble
character, she made her first com-
munion in St Peter's church on the
25th of March, 1805, and in a few
years, giving herself wholly to God,
became, under him, the foimdress in
the United States of the Sisters of
Charity, whose quiet labors of love,
and charity, and devotedness in the
cause of humanity and education in
every city in the land seek no herald
here below, but are written deep in
the hearts of grateful millions.
Several Protestant clergymen in
those days retiuned to the bosom of
unity, such as the Rev. Mr. Kewley, of
St George's chiu-ch, New York; Rev.
Calvin White, ancestor of the Shake-
speare scholar, Richard Grant White ;
and Mr. Ironsides. Strange, too, was
the conversion of the Rev. Mr. Rich-
ards, sent from New York as a Me-
thodist preacher to Western New
York and Canada. We follow him,
by his diary, through the sparse set-
tlements which then dotted that re-
gion, whence he extended his labors
to Montreal. There, good man, in
the zeal of his heart he thought to
conquer Canadian Catholicity by
storming the Sulpitian seminary at
Montreal, converting all there, and so
triumphandy closing the campaign.
His diary of travel goes no further.
Mr. Richards died a few years since,
a zealous and devoted Sulpitian
priest of the seminary at Montreal.
New York was too far from Balti-
more to be easily superintended by
the bishop of that see. His vast
diocese was now to be divided, and
this city was erected into an episcopal
see in 1808, by Pope Pius VII. The
choice for the bishop who was to
give form to the new diocese, fell up-
on the Rev, Luke Concanen, a leam-
ed and zealous Dominican, long con-
nected with the affairs of his order
at Rome. Bishop Bayley gives a cha-
racteristic letter of his. He had per-
sistendy declined a see in Ireland with
its comparative comforts and conso-
lations among a zealous people ; but
the call to a position of toil, the es-
tablishment of a new diocese in a
new land, where all was to be created,
was not an appeal that he could dis-
regard. He submitted to the charge
imposed upon him, and after receiv-
5 18 Eca^fy Histary of the Catholic Chunk in New York,
ing episcopal consecration at Rome,
prepared to reach his see, wholly ig-
norant of what he should find on his
arrival in New York. It was, how-
ever, no easy matter then to secure
passage. Failing to find a ship at
Leghorn, he proceeded to Naples;
but the French, who had overrun Ita-
ly, detained him as a British subject,
and while thus thwarted and harassed,
he suddenly feU sick and died. Thus
New Yoric never beheld its first bishop.
Then followed a long vacancy,
highly prejudicial to the progress of
the church, but a vacancy that Euro-
pean afiEairs caused. The successor of
St. Peter was torn fix)m Rome, and
held a prisoner in France. The Ca-
tholic world knew not imder what in-
fluence acts might be issued as his,
that were really the inventions of his
enemies. The bishops in Ireland ad-
dressed a letter to the bishops of the
United States to propose some settled
line of action in all cases where there
was not evidence that the pope was
a firee agent The reply of the bi-
shops in the United States is given in
the volume before us.
Meanwhile, the Archbishop of Bal-
timore extended his care to the dio-
cese .of New York. When Father
O'Brien at last sank under his increas-
ing years. New York would have
seen its Catholic population in a
manner destitute, had not the Jesuit
fathers of Maryland come to their
assistance. Rev. Anthony Kohl-
mann, a man of sound theological
learning and great zeal, who died
many years after at Rome, honored
by the sovereign ponti^ was the
administrator of the diocese. With
him were Rev. Benedict Fenwick,
SMbsequ^itly Bishop of Boston, and
Rev. Peter Malou, whose romantic
life would form an interesting vol-
ume ; for few who recollect this vene-
rable priest, in his day such a favorite
with the young, knew that he had
figured in great political events, and
in the struggle of Belgium for free-
dom had led her armies.
Under the impulse of these fathos
a collegiate institution was opened,
and continued for some years on the
spot where the new magnificent ca-
thedral is rising ; and old New York
Catholics smiled when a recent sctib-
bler asserted that the site of that
noble edifice was a gift firom the city.
Trinity, the Old Brick church, and
some other churches we could name
were built on land given by the rul-
ing powers, but no Catholic church
figures in the list The college was
finally closed, fix>m the fact that diffi-
culties in Maryland prevented the or-
der fix)m supplying necessary profes-
sors to maintain its high position.
To seciure to young ladies similar
advantages for superior educadon,
some Ursuline nuns were induced to
cross the Atlantic. They were hail-
ed with joy, and their academy was
wonderfully successful The superior
was a lady whose appearance was re-
markably striking, and whose culdvar
tion and abiUty impressed all Un-
fortunately they came under restric-
tions which soon deprived New Yoik
of them. Unless novices joined them
within a certain number of yean, they
were to return to Ireland.
In a new coimtiy vocations could
be only a matter of time, and as the
Ursuline order required a dowry, the
vocations of all but wealthy yoq^g
ladies were excluded, and even of
these when subject to a guardian.
As the Catholic body had increas-
ed, a new church was begun in a ^)0t
then far out of the city, described
as between the Broadway and die
Bowery road. This was old St P»-
trick's, of which the comer-stone was
laid June 8th, 1809. This was to be
the cathedral of the future bishop;
and the Orphan Asylum, now thriviDS
under the care of an incorporated so*
Eaily History of the Catholic Church in New York. 5 19
dety, was ere long to be placed near
the new church.
During this period a strange case
occurred in a New York court that
settled for that State, at least, a ques-
tion of importance to Catholics. It
settled as a principle of law that the
confession of a Catholic to a priest
was a privileged communication,
which the priest could not be called
upon or permitted to reveal
**Re8titudon had been made to a man
named James Keating, through the Rev.
Father Kohlmann, of certain goods which
had been stolen from him. Keating had
previously made a complaint against one
Philips and his wife, as having received the
goods thus stolen, and they were indicted
for a misdemeanor before the justices of the
peace. Keating having afterward stated
that the goods had been restored to him
through the instrumentality of Father Kohl-
mann, the latter was dted before the court,
and required to give evidence in regard to
the person or persons from whom he had
leoeived them. This he refused to do, on
the ground that no court could require a
priest to give evidence in regard to mat-
ters known to him only under the seal of
confession. Upon the case being sent to
the grand-jury, Father Kohlmann was sub-
poenaed to attend before them, and appear-
ed in obedience to the process, but in re-
spectful terms again declined answering.
On the trial which ensued, Father Kohl-
mann was again dted to appear as a witness
in the case. Having been asked certain
questions, he entreated that he might be
excused, and offered his reasons to the
court With consent of counsel, the ques-
tion was put off for some time, and finally
brought on for argument on Tuesday, the
8th of June, 1813, before a court composed
of the Hon. De Witt Clinton, mayor of the
city ; the Hon. Josiah Ogden Hofiinan, re-
corder ; and Isaac S. Douglass, and Rich-
ard Cunningham, Esqs., sitting aldermen.
The Hon. Richard Riker, afterward for so
niany years recorder of the dty, and Coun-
sellor Sampson, volunteered their services
in behalf of Father Kohlmann. . . .
"The decision was given by De Witt
Clinton at some length. Having shown that,
toc<»rding to the doctrine and practice of
^ Catholic Chnrch, a priest who should
vevtal what he had heard in the confession-
al would become infemous and degraded
in the eyes of Catholics, and as no one
could be called upon to give evidence which
would expose him to vahmy, he dedared
that the only way was to excuse a priest
from answering in such cases."
This decision, by the influence of
De Witt Clinton, when Governor of
the State, was incorporated into the
Revised Statutes as part of the lex
scripta of the State.
With this period, too began the
publication of Catholic works in New
York, which has since attained such
a wonderful development Bernard
Domin stands as the patriarch of the
Catholic book trade of New York, of
which an interesting sketch will be
fbimd in the appendix to Bishop
Bayley's work. He also gives a list of
subscribers to some of the earliest
works, which will possess no little in*
terest to older Catholic femilies, who
can here claim ancestors as not only
Catholic, but devoted to their faith,
and anxious to spread its literature.
We have looked over the list, and
amid familiar names have endeavored
to find the oldest now living. If we
do not err greatly, it is the distin-
guished lawyer Chailes O'Conor, Esq.
When Pope Pius VII. was restored
to Rome, another son of St. Dominic
was chosen ; and the Rev. John Con-
nolly was consecrated the second bi-
shop of New York. After making
such arrangements as he could in Ire-
land for the good of his diocese, he
set sail fix>m Dublin, but experienced
a long and dangerous passage. From
the absence of all notice of any kind,
except the mere fact of his name
among the passengers, his reception
was apparently a most private one.
He was utterly a stranger in a strange
land, called from the studies of the
doister to form and rule a diocese of
considerable extent, without any pre-
vious knowledge of the wants of his
flock, and utterly without resources.
His diocese, which embraced the
State of New York and part of New"
520 Early History of the Catholic Church in New York.
Jersey, contained but four priests,
three belonging to the Jesuits in Mary-
land, and liable to be called away
at any moment, as two were almost
immediately after his arrival. The
college and convent had disappeared,
and the church seemed to have lost
in all but numbers. Thirteen thou-
sand Catholics were to be supplied
with pastors, and yet the trustee
system stood a fearful barrier in his
way. As Bishop Bayley well ob-
serves,
" The trustee sjrstem had not been behind
its early promise, and trustees of churches
had become so accustomed to have every
thing their own way, that they were not dis-
posed to allow even the interference of a
bishop.
" In such a state of things, he was obliged
to assume the office of a missionary priest,
rather than a bishop ; and many still living
remember the humility and earnest zeal
with which he discharged the laborious du-
des of the confession^, and traversed the
dty on foot to attend upon the poor and sick.
" Bishop Connolly was not lacking in firm-
ness, but the great wants of his new diocese
made it necessary for him to fall in, to a
certain extent, with the established order of
things, and this exposed him afterward to
much difficulty and many humiliations."
Yet he secured some good priests
and ecclesiastical students from Kil-
kenny College, whom he gradually
raised to the priesthood, his first or-
dination and the first conferring of
the sacrament of holy orders in the
city being that of the Rev. Michael
0*Gorman in 1815. One only of the
priests ordamed by this first bishop
occupying the see of New York still
survives, the Rev. John Shanahan,
now at St. Peter's church, Barclay
street.
Under the care of Bishop Connol-
ly the Sisters of Charity began their
labors in the city so long the home
of Mother Seton; and, so far as his
means permitted him to yield to his
zeal, he increased the number of
churches and congregations in his
diocese.
The Brief Sketch gives hfa portrait,
as well as diat of his predecessor.
After an episcopate of nearly ten
yeai^s, the bishop was taken ill on his
return firom the fimeral of his fiist
ordained priest, and soon followed
him to the grave. He died at No.
512 Broadway, on the 5th of Feb-
ruary, 1825, and was buried under
the cathedral, after having been ex-
posed for two days in St Pctert
church. The ceremonial was impos-
ing and attracted general attention,
and the remarks of the papers of die
day show the respect entertained for
him by all classes of citizens.
The next bishop of New York was
one well known in the coimtiy by his
labors, especially by his successfiil a-
ertions in giving the church in our re-
public a college and theological sem-
inary suited to its wants — Mount St
Mary's College at Emmettsburg, Ma-
ryland. The life of the Rev. John
Du Bois had been varied. Born in
Paris, he was in college a fellow-stu-
dent of Robespierre and CamiDe
Desmoulins ; but actuated by ^ di^
ferent thoughts fix)m those which fill-
ed the brains of such men, he devoted
himself to the service of God The
revolution found him a laborious
priest at Paris. Escaping in disguise
firom France during the Reign of
Terror, through the connivance of
his old fellow-collegian, Robespiene,
he came to America, bearing letters
of introduction from La Fayette to
eminent personages in the United
States.
" Having received Acuities from Bis)M)p
Carroll, he exercised the holy ministry ta
various parts of Virginia and Maryland.
He lived for some time with Mr. Mwiroe,
afterward President of the United States
and in the family of Gov. Lee, of Maryluwi
After the death of Father Frambach, he
took charge of the mission of Frederick ji
Maryland, of which mission he may be viA
in reality to have been the founder. Wto
he arrived there, be celebrated mass in •
Early History of the Catholic Church in New York. 521
lai^ room whidi served as a chapel, and
afterward built the first church. But
though Frederick was his headquarters, he
did not confine himself to it, but made sta-
tions throughout all the surrounding coun-
try, at Montgomery, Winchester, Hagers-
town, and Emmettsburg, everywhere mani-
festing the same earnest zeal and indomita-
ble perseverance. Bishop Brut^ relates, as
an instance of his activity and zeal, that
once, after hearing confessions on Saturday
evening, he rode during the night to near
Montgomery, a distance of thirty-five to for-
ty miles, to administer the last sacraments
to a dying woman, and was back hearing
confessions in the morning, at the Mountain,
singing high mass and preaching, without
scarcely any one knowing that he bad been
sbsent at alU
•* In 1808, the Rev. Mr. Du Bois, having
previously become a member of the Society
of St Sulpice, in Baltimore, went to reside
at Emmettsburg, and laid the foundation of
Moont St Mary's College, which was after-
ward destined to be the means of so much
usefulness to the Catholic Church in Ame-
rica. From this point, now surrounded by
so many hallowed associations in the minds
of American Catholics, by the sound reli-
gious education imparted to so many young
men firom various parts of the United States,
* by the many fervent and holy priests, train-
ed under his direction,' and by the prudent
care with which he cherished the rising in-
stitute of the Sisters of Charity at St Jo-
seph's, he became the benefiictor, not of any
particular locality, but of the whole Catho-
lic body throughout the United States."
On coming to his diocese after his
consecration in Baltimore in October,
1826, he found three churches and
four or six priests in New York City;
a church and one priest at Brooklyn,
Albany, and a few stations elsewhere.
But the trustee system fettered the
progress of Catholicity.
Long devoted to the cause of edu-
cation for secular life or the service
of the altar, Bishop Du Bois's fond-
est desire was to endow his diocese
with another Mount St. Mary's, but
all his efforts failed. A hospital was
also one of his early projects; but
these and other good works could
spring up only when the way had
been prepared by his trials, struggles,
and sufferings.
During his administration the num-
ber of Catholics increased greatly,
and new churches sprang up in the
city and other parts of the diocese.
Of these various foundations and the
zealous priests of that day many in-
teresting details are given, to which
we can but refer — ^the erection of St
Mary's, Christ church. Transfigura-
tion, St Joseph's, St Nicholas's, St
Paul's at Harlem. The services of
the Very Rev. Doctor Power, of Rev.
Felix Varela, of Rev. Messrs. Levins
and Schueller, and other clergymen
of that day are not yet forgotten.
The excitement caused by the Act
of CathoHc Emancipation in England
had its counterpart here, stimulated
too by jealousy at the influx of for-
eign labor. The church had had her
day of penal laws and wild excite-
ment; now war was to be made
through the press. About 1835 it
began in New York. The use of
falsehood against Catholicity seems
to be considered by some one of the
higher virtues. Certainly there is a
strange perversion of conscience on
the point The anti-Catholic litera-
ture of that period is a curiosity that
must cause some cheeks to tingle
if there is any manhood left They
took up Fulkes's ConJutaHon of the
Rhemish Testament^ reprinted the
text firom it, and affixed to it a certi-
ficate of several clergymen that it was
a reprint firom the original publish-
ed at Rheims. It was not They
caught up a poor creature from a
Magdalen asylum in Montreal, and*
concocted a book, laying the scene in
the H6tel Dieu, commonly called
the Convent of the Black Nuns, at
Montreal The book was so infa-
mous that the Harpers issued it un-
der the name of Howe & Bates.
It was published daily in The Sun
newspaper, and had an immense cir-
culation. Colonel William L. Stone,
a zealous Protestant, went to the
522 Early History of the Catholic Church in New York.
spot, and, there convinced of the
fraud, published an exposure of the
vile slanders. He was assailed in
a satire called T?ie Vision of Rubeta^
and the pious Protestant community
swallowed the filthy details. At last
there arose a quarrel over the spoils.
A triangular lawsuit between the
Harpers, the Rev. Mr. Slocum, and
Maria Monk in the court of chan-
cery gave some strange disclosures,
more startling than the fictitious ones
of the book. Vice-Chancellor Mc-
Coun in disgust turned them out of
his court, and told them to go before
a jury; but none of them dared to
&ce twelve honest men.
A paper called The Downfall of
Babylon flourished for a time on this
anti-Catholic feeling, reeking with
lewdness and impurity. At last
their heroine and tool, Maria Monk,
cast off and scouted, ended her days
on Blackwell's Island.
Among the curiosities of this period
was a work of S. F. B. Morse, (we used
in oiu: younger days to think the ini-
tials stood for Savage Furious Bigot,)
entided Brutus^ or a Foreign Conspi-
racy against the Idberiies of the United
States. The queen of France had giv-
en the Bishop of St Louis some altar
paintings, and herein was the conspira-
cy. We saw a picture the other day of
Mr. Morse with the stars of several
foreign orders of knighthood on his
breast; he has received many, some
firom Catholic sovereigns, and, we
believe, one fix>m the pope. Brutus
should certainly take him in hand;
for some of these orders require
knights to swear to things that would
be rather awkward for a zealous Pro-
testant to undertake. Et tu Brute I
The OMitroversies of that day
would fiunish matter for an article
in themselves. They were the topic
of the day, and led to many curious
scenes. Among the Catholic contro-
vertists, the Rev. Mr. Levins was par-
ticularly incisive and effective ; Rev.
Mr. Varda dealt gentler but heavy
blows, being keen in argument and
sound in learning. A tract oa the
five different Bibles of the American
Bible Society was one of those og»
casions where, departing fix>m the de-
fensive, the Catholic apologist assum-
ed the offensive. And this time it
was highly offensive. At that time
the Bible Society published a Spanish
Bible, and Testaments in French,
Spanish, and Portuguese, all Cathc^
versions, merely omitting the notes
of the Catholic translators. Afple-
ton^s CyclopcuUa asserts that ^ the
American Bible Society, made up of
materials more thoroughly Puritanic,
and less Lutheran and continental^
• • . . has never published any
other than the canonical (Protestant)
books;" but this is not so. The
Spanish Bible of 1824 contains the
very books which in other editions
they reject absolutely. It is true that
in die edition of 1825 they left them
out of the body of the book, but
kept them in the list of books. AP
ter that they disappeared, while the
title-page still falsely professed to give
the Bible translated by Bishop Sdo
de San Miguel, without the ^ghtest
intimation that part of Bishop Sdoli
work was omitted. We once bought
Bagster's edition of the Vulgate, and
found ourselves the victim of a simi-
lar fiaud.
Mr. Varela exposed the inconsis-
tency of their publishing in one lan-
guage as inspired what they rejected
in another ; of translating a passage
in one sense in one volume, and in
another in a Bible standing beside tu
The subject caused a sensation. AA
ter deliberating on the matter, it was
determined to suppress all these Ca-
tholic versions ; they were according-
ly withdrawn. The stereot3rpe plates
were melted up; and the printed OK
pies were, as we were assured,
Early History oftlu Catholic Church in New York. 523
mitted to the flames, although it took
some time to effect this greatest Bible*
burning ever witnessed in New York.
Meanwhile New York was not
without its organs of Catholic senti*
m^it 7^ JhUhrTeUer\i^& for many
years the vehicle of information and
defence. The editor, William Den-
man, still survives to witness the
progress made since that day when
he battled almost alone among the
press of the land. The CathoUc Dia-
ry^ and The Green Banner^ and The
£reemaris ^J^/tio/ followed.
While the controversy fever lasted,
some curious scenes took place. Ca-
tiiolics, especially poor servant-girls,
were annoyed at all times and in all
places, in the street, at the pump-^
lor those were not days of Croton
water^-and even in their kitchens.
One Protestant clerg}anan of New
York had quite a reputation for the
gross indecency that characterized
his valorous attacks of this kind.
The servant of a lady in Beekman
street — people in good circumstances
lived there then — ^was a constant ob*
ject of his zeaL One day, report
saidy after dining with the lady, he
descended to the kitchen, and began
twitting the giri about the confession-
al, and coupling this with the gross-
est charges against the Catholic cler-
gy. The girl bore it for a time, and
when ordering him out of her realm
£puled, she seized a poker and dealt
her indecent assailant a blow on the
head that sent him staggering to the
^airs. While he groped his way be-
wildered to the pador, the girl hasten-
ed to her room, bimdled up her
clothes, and left the house. The
clerg3rman was long laid up from the
consequence of his folly, and every
attempt made to hush the matter up;
but an eccentric Catholic of that
day, Joseph Trench, got up a large
caricature representing the scene,
which went like wild-flre, attack be-
ing always popular, and an attack on
the Protestant clergy being quite a
novelty. Trivial as the whole affair
was, it proved more effective than the
soimdest theological arguments, and
Mary Ann Wiggins with her poker
really closed the great controversial
period.
It had its good effects, neverthe-
less, in making Catholics earnest in
their faith. Their numbers were
rapidly increasing, and with them
churches and institutions. Besides
the Orphan Asylum, an institution for
those who had lost only one parent,
the Half-Orphan Asylum, was com-
menced and long sustained, mainly
by the zeal and means of Mr. Glover,
a convert whose name should stand
high in the memory of New York
Catholics. This institution, now
merged in the general Orphan Asy-
lum, had in its separate existence a
long career of usefulness under the
care of the Sisters of Charity.
Bishop Du Bois was imremitting in
his efforts to increase the number of
his clergy and the institutions of his
diocese. The progress was marked.
Besides clergymen from abroad, he
ordained, or had ordained, twenty-
one who had been trained imder his
own supervision, and who completed
their divinity studies chiefly at the
honored institution which he had
founded in Maryland ; among these
was Gregory B. Pardow, who was, if
we mistake not, the first native of the
city elevated to the priesthood. Five
of these priests have since been pro-
moted to the episcopacy, as well as
two others ordained in his time by
his coadjutor.
In manners, Bishop Du Bois was
the polished French gentleman of the
old regime,' as a clergyman, learned
and strict in his ideas, his adminis-
trative powers were always deemed
great, but in their exercise in his dio-
cese they were constantly thwarted
S24 Early History of the Catholic Church in New York.
by the trustee system. But he was
not one easily intimidated; and
when the trustees of the cathedral,
in order to force him to act contrary
to the dictates of his own better judg-
ment, if not his conscience, threaten-
ed to deprive him of his salary, he
made them a reply that is historical,
" Well, gendemen, you may vote the
salary or not, just as seems good to
you. I do not need much; I can
live in the basement or in the garret ;
but whether I come up from the base^
ment, or down from the garret, I will
still be your bishop,"
He had passed the vigor of man-
hood when he was appointed to the
see of New York, and the constant
struggle aged him prematurely. It
became necessary for him to call for
a younger hand to assist. The posi-
tion was one that required a singular-
ly gifted priest The future of Ca-
tholicity in New York depended on
the selection of one who, combining
the learning and zeal of the mission-
ary priest with that donum fames
which gives a man influence over his
fellow-men, and that skill in firm but al-
most imperceptible government which
is the characteristic of a great ruler,
could place Catholicity in New York
on a firm, harmonious basis, instinct
with the true spirit of life, that would
insure its future success. Providence
guided the choice. Surely no man
more confessedly endowed with all
these qualities could have been se-
lected than the Rev. John Hughes,
trained by Bishop Dn Bois at Mount
St. Mary's, and then a priest of the
diocese of Philadelphia, where his
dialectic skill had been evinced in a
long and well-maintained controversy.
The final overthrow of the trustee
system gave the church fireedom,
and new institutions of every kind
which had been imperatively required
sprang up. A college at Fordham,
the forerunner of the several Catholic
colleges of the State, was soon found-
ed ; a convent of Ladies of die Si-
cred Heart, fcnr the educatkm of
young ladies; Sisters of Mercy with
their various important laboQ cime
to help the good work. But nov a
large German CathoHc immigratioD
began. Bishop Hughes saw the
want and the means ; a development
of the German churches, espedaUjr
under the care of the Redemptontt
fathers, soon followed.
The position of the Catholic cM-
dren in regard to their partidpatioa
in those educational advantages not
attracted his care. The prevalent
spirit in those institutions for whidi
Catholics as well as Protestants vere
taxed was essenti^dly anti-Cathobc;
the books used were often vile in
their character, whenever Catholidtf
was touched upon. Think of Himt-
ington's Geography with a picture at
Asia of '' Pagan Idolatry," and at
Italy of " Roman Catholic Idolatry."
Think of an arithmetic — Pike's, wcb^
lieve — ^with a question like this, "If a
pope can pray a soul out of purgatoff
in three dacys^ a cardinal- in four, and
a bishop in six, how long would it
take all three to pray them out ?" A
Catholic girl in the Rutgers Feinak
Institute, when the geography was
given to her, happened to open to
Italy, and, outraged at the wanton
insult to her feelings, threw the book
on the floor, burst into tears, and kft
the school; but Rutgers Female In-
stitute could use such books as they
chose, and Catholics could send tbeie
or elsewhere. It was not a State
creation, supported by taxes drawn
from all; but did any right exist to
force Cadiolics to the alternative of
submitting to such degrading insuUa
or keep aloof from schools whidi
they were taxed to support? or i»-
ther, the question was, Could Catho*
lies in the Sute of New York be com-
pelled to support the Protestant
chtuxh and aid in its extension ?
Bishop Bayley sketches briefly the
Early History of the Catholic Church in New York. 525
other important acts of the adminis-
tration of Bishop HugheSy and con-
cludes,
" Bat though mtich has been done, mudi
remains to be accomplished. %€ 'two
hundred Catholics ' of 1785 were better pro-
vided for than the two hundred thousand
who now (1853) dwell within the boundaries
of the dty of New York. It is true that
no exertions could have kept pace with the
tide of emigration which has been pouring
in upon our shores, especially during the
last few years. The number of priests,
churches, and schools, rapidly as they have
increased* are entirely inadequate to the
wants of our Catholic population, and ren-
der it imperative that every exertion should
be made to supply the deficiency. "What
has been done so for has, by God's blessing,
been accomplished by the Catholics of New
York themselves. Comparatively very litde
assistance has been received from the libe-
rality of our brethren in other countries.
And while we have done so much for our-
selves, we have contributed liberally to-
ward the erection of churches and other
works of piety in various parts of the Uni-
ted States.
"Though the Catholic Church in this coun-
try has increased much more largely by
conversions than is generally supposed, ye^
for the most part, its rapid development
has been owing to the emigration of Catho-
lics from foreign countries ; and, if we de-
sire to make this increase permanent, and
to keep the children in the faith of their fa-
thers, we must, above all things, take mea-
sures to imbue the minds of the rising gen-
eration of Catholics with sound religious
principles. This can only be done by giv-
ing them a good Catholic education. In
oar present position, the school-house has
become second, in importance only to the
hoose of God itself. We have abundant
cause for thankfulness to God on account
of the many blessings which he has con-
ferred on us; but we will show ourselves
unworthy of these blessings if we do not
do all that is in our power to promote every
good work by which they may be increased
and confirm^ to those who shall come af-
ter us."
And though we may now rate the
number of Catholics in the city at
four hundred thousand, the language
is stffl applicable.
There are now, we may add, forty
Catholic churches on the island, with
parish schools educating twenty-one
thousand children of both sexes; hous-
es of Jesuits, Redemptorists, Fathers
of Mercy, Paulists, Franciscans, Capu-
cins, Dominicans; convents of the
Sacred Heart, houses of Sisters of
Charity, Sisters of the Good Shepherd,
of Notre Dame, of the order of St.
Dominic, of the Poor of St Francis,
and of the Third Order of St Fran-
cis ; several orphan asylums, two hos-
pitals, reformatories for boys and
girls, a house of protection for ser-
vants, a home for destitute children,
a home for aged women, and a
foundling asylum just begun. Yet it
is but true that all this is litde for the
wants of four himdred thousand Ca-
tholics.
Glancing back to the early history,
we see in all the woric of the many.
In comparison, we have had fewer
men of wealth than those aroimd us;
but it must also be added that among
those few there have been still fewer,
in proportion, to identify their names
widi the great religious works. As
we look aroimd through the coimtry,
we see great institutions, churches,
colleges, libraries, asylums, each the
act of a single man of wealth ; but
we caimot show in New York a sin-
gle such Catholic work. There are
monuments in our great cemeteries,
on each of which more money has
been expended than would erect a
church in some neglected part of
New York. Which would be the no-
bler monument ?
We trust that this work, full of in-
terest as it is to all, will circulate
widely among the Catholics of New
York and bring home to all that re-
spect to their predecessors, respect to
themselves, requires of all to take in
hand eamesdy what yet remains to
do to give us what are absolutely re-
quired for worship, for instruction,
for the works of mercy.
526 Christmas Hymn.
CHRISTMAS HYMN.
BY POPS ST. DAMASUS.*
Christe potens renun, redeunds conditor sevi.
Vox summi sensusque Dei, quern fiindit ab alti
Mente Pater, tantique dedit consortia regni,
Impia tu nostras domuisti crimina vitae,
Passus corporeft mundum vestire figuri,
Af^que palam populos, hominemque fateri.
Virginei tumuere sinus, innuptaque mater
Arcano obstupuit compleri viscera partu,
Auctorem paritura suum. Mortalia corda
Artificem texere poli, mundique repertor
Pars fiiit humani generis, latuitque sub uno
Pectore, qui totum latfc complectitur orbem ;
£t qui non spatiis terras, non aequoris undis.
Nee capitur coelo, parvos confliudt in artus.
Quin et supplidi nomen nexusque subisti,
Ut nos surriperes letho, mortemque fiigares
Morte tu& : mox aethereas evectus in auras,
Purgati repetis laetum tellure parentem.
Translation.
Christ, sovereign of all things that be,
Wisdom and Word of God ! we see
A new-bom world spring forth fix>m thee.
God bom of God, and who dost share
His reign supreme, how didst thou bear
The vesture of our dust to wear ?
* St Damasot ivat of Spanish extractioii. He was elected pope in the year 966, btni
Duringthelatter yearaof his life the celebrated St. Jerome acted as hisseaetaiy,andme pti eiishiipinhiB (
as **an inoompanble person and a learned doctor.** He is classed by writers with Baail, rtfhiaasJM. i^
broee, and such like men, who have been eminent fior their seal, learning, and holy fires.
Through his care many Tahiable public works were executed. He repaired and beantified tfie dmrck of ft>
Laorence near Pompey's Pillar, and the paintings with iHudi he decorated it were adnirafale km hadM
jrears afterward. He also drained some of the impure H>rings of the Vatican, and lepured and liu r a ed foA
epitaphs in vene many of the tombs of die martyrs interred in the Catacombs. A collection of nearly fiorty d
those epitapha is still eartant, and jnatifiea the praisea which St. Jerome btttowt on his poetkaJ guiii. He*
also known as the author of many longer poems.
After a life of humility, benevolence, and purity, he died in the year 384, having filled Ae po^ tfarane mi^
teen yeua. He was buried in a small oratory near the Ardeatine Way, and his tomb was identified and dr
scribed in 1736.
A furUier interest is Arown around diis prdihe and poet by recent invest^ations. In 1851, Pope Pfias TL
employed the distinguished Chevalier G. B. de Rossi to prepare a work iUnstratfaig the cemel sp cs whkk »■
derlie the vineyards of the Via Appia, on each side of which are some of die most extensive and
tant. M. de Rossi found here in fragments, whidi he put together, an in scri p tion in honor of Easel
thovship of which is distinctly ascribed to Damasna— Z^mmhm EpUc^pmt fecit EutOi^ M/itP^t tt .
The slab of marble on wh^cb this was engraved had been used (as was seen by OHrks on d» oter ridi^iv
some public monamant in honor of the Emperor Caracalla.
T/U Tnu Origin of Gattieanism. $2;
Unto our race Ihou didst belong —
Didst speak and mingle with the throng,
To bear — to triumph over vroDg.
A Virgin's bosom did accord
Repose to Him whom she adored;
In wonder she brought forth her Lord.
Who spread aloft the heavens, the day,
Who built the world — lo I cloUied in day
Hid 'neatb one human bosom lay.
Whose hands the univeree uphold,
Whom earth, nor seas, nor heavens enfold—
Lo I compassed by a mortal mould.
What anguish didst thou undergo ;
What woe, to shelter us from woe ;
What death, from death to save us ao;
Ere from a world redeemed by grace
Thou didst return aloft through space
To seelc the Blessed Father's face.
CoNSTANTraA E. Brooks.
THE TRUE ORIGIN OF GALLICANISM*
A CURIOUS book has lately appear- council of bishops. It would be dlf-
ed in France. It is not so much the ficult '" " '
production of the pen as the result value
of the judicious industry of M. G^rin, tance
judge of the civil tribunal of Paris, has r
In his introduction to the work he to his
says that it is not his intention to show
write a book, but to put together ma- Galli<
terials for history and for the better infall
understanding of a vital question, the p
* which has agitated the French world vailei
, especially for three hundred years — sxtei
' the iniaUibility of the sovereign pon- inten
tiff and his superiority to a general presc
This
a Tribtul Qnl da U Seine. Puu: L< C
whilt
528
The True Origin of d
lerini and Zaccharia's feply to Hon-
theim, the well-known Anti-FebroniuSy
are open to the study of the learned.
What we shall do will be to follow
M. G^rin in showing the base origin
of a teaching which no array of bril-
liant names can make legitimate.
At the outset we acknowledge the
difficulty of the task. The work is
so tersely and so logically compiled
that one is at a loss how to break in
upon so connected a recital, lest it
should impair the effect of what he
selects, by detaching it from its ante-
cedents as well as from its conse-
quents. But as all may not, at least
for some time, have it in their power
to read a translation of this interest-
ing volume, we shall risk something
for their information.
It has been commonly supposed
that the Gallican doctrine was gene-
rally held by the French clergy dur-
ing the reign of Louis XIV., and that
in ordering it to be taught through-
out his kingdom that sovereign only
seconded the desire of his prelates
and people. Never has a more im-
founded idea been foisted upon credu-
lity. No one ever heard of any such
doctrine before the Chancellor Gerson
at the Council of Constance hesitat-
ingly broached it, in order to apply
it, if possible, as a remedy and pre-
ventive of schism in the church.
Like all opinions not well ventilated
and examined, it foimd some who fa-
vored it, and at the schismatical as-
sembly of Basle it acquired a number
of followers. These, however, were
soon obliged to yield; and in the
Coimcil of Florence a dogmatic de-
cree was drawn up and adopted by
the fathers, and confirmed by the sov-
ereign pontiff, which declared Ae lat-
ter to be possessed of the full and
supreme jurisdiction of Brter^ and the
doctor or teacher of the universal
church — a phrase that implied the in-
£Bdlibility of the pope ; for a teacher is
rightly 80 called only when he pos-
sesses the principles of his toindi
in such a way as to impait the de>
gree of certainty peculiar to it The
church possesses the assistance of
Christ, and is, therefore, infallible ; and
the organ or teacher of that church
must have that same assistance which
shall make him in£sdlible. Otherwise
we would have the, to say the least,
strange consequence that ordinarily
the church is liable to be misled ; a-
traordinarily only— for councils mot
from their nature be tmusual — b she
to be regarded as free from error. It
should be borne in mind that this
definition of the oecumenical synod,
A.D. i439» ^^ made after due con-
sultation; for when Eugenius IV. had
caused his rights and prerogatives to
be discussed before him by the Greek
and Latin theologians, the Greeks, on
leaving the presence of the pontic
went to the emperor of Constantino-
ple, then in Florence, and renewed
before him the examination of the
question. The result was, that they
did not oppose the teaching of the
papal doctors, but merely required
two rights for their party : one, that
no council should be called withoat
the emperor; and the other, that in
case of appeal the patriarchs should
not be obliged to present themsdrcs
for judgment, but that legates should
be sent into the province in questioo
to try the cause. Not a word wis
said against the doctrines. The pope
refiised to grant these requests, and
the emperor broke off negotiatio»
Still, through the mediation of influ-
ential prelates on both sides, tbey
were resumed again immediatdy ; and
the Greek fathers acknowledged dte
Roman pontiff " locum gerentem et
vicarium Christi, pastorem et doctorexn
omnium Christianorum, regentem et
gubemantem Dei Ecdesiam " — to
hold the place of Christ and to be his
vicar, the pastor and doctor of aO
The True OHgin (^ GaUicanism.
529
Christians) the ruler and head of the
church. A few days afterward, the
formal dogmatic definition was given
by the united fathers of both churches,
confirmed by the pope, and subscrib-
ed by him, by the cardinals, the
emptor John Paloeologus, and the
Greek and Latin fathers of the coun-
cil, with the exception *of one, Mark,
Bishop of Ephesus, whose bad foith
in quoting the Greek manuscripts
was accidentally made known to the
whole council. His servant had
erased the wrong passage, which fact
the bishop did not discover until he
was reading the code in public. The
words of the definition are these :
** We define that the holy apostolic see
and the Roman pontiff hold the primacy
throughout the whole world ; that the same
Roman pontiff is the successor of blessed
Peter, prince of the apostles^ and the true
vicar of Christ, the head of the whole church,
and the father and doctor of all Christians ;
that to him, in blessed Peter, was given by
o«r Lord Jesus Christ full power to feed,
rule, and govern the universal diurch, as is
contained, also, in the acts of cecumenical
councils and in the sacred canons."
It was impos^ble for Galilean theo-
logians to ignore the force of these
words. To elude it they had recourse
to the last phrase, "o^ is contained
in the acts of oecumenical councils
and in the sacred canons," and ap-
pealed to tradition to explain the
meaning of the fathers of Florence.
Their meaning, however, is dear fi-om
what they determined on a few days
before the decision. In their written
declaration that phrase is not found.
Moreover, the phrase itself is in cor-
roboration of the decision ; for in reali-
ty tradition bears out fully the doc-
trine it contains. The Greek text of
Cardinal Bessarion has this phrase,
mat* iv 'ep^TTov-^^ according "to the
manner" — and it is this that the Gal-
lic doctors thought favored them.
This wording does not, however, alter
the sense we have given. With regard
voIm X. — ^34
to the phrase itself, learned men, and
among them the author of Anti-Fe-
bronius, state that in the original do-
cument such an appendage had no
existence whatsoever. With this deci-
sion before them, how did it happen
that such teaching as at a later date
obtained the ascendency in France,
and in some other parts of Europe,
could have met with favor? The
woric of M. G^rin answers this ques-
tion cleaiiy, and shows that intrigue
and royal influence and power did
the work.^
The documents with which he
opens his collection refer to the year
1663. They, for the most part, have
hitherto been entirely unknown, and
were found by M. G^rin among the
MSB. of the time of Louis XIV. in the
Biblioth^ue Imp^ale — mss. Colbert
At that time ill-humor existed be-
tween the French and Papal courts,
growing out of a quarrel between the
servants of the French ambassador at
Rome. This was settied for the mo-
ment ; but on the appointment of the
Due de Cr^qui, the feuds were re-
newed, owing to the disposition of
that ambassador, whose pride had
been wounded by his having been
oUiged to pay the first visits to the
relatives of the pope, who were in the
first places of the government The
retainers of the duke on the 12th of
August, 1662, attacked and beat the
Cor$ican guard in the service of the
pope. The pope sent an envoy to
visit the duke, who pretended that an
attempt had been made on his life.
Instead of receiving the messenger
of the pontiff graciously, he threaten-
ed to throw him out of the window, ;
and refused all apologies. This was ^
a spark thrown into other inflammable
matter that brought on an invasion
of the papal territory, and other still
worse disasters to the church. The
>
king, as a consequence c^ his difficul-
ties with the pope, became surround-
530
The True Origin of Gallicanism.
ed with evilly-disposed counsellors,
whom, to do him justice, he some-
times curbed. It was during this
political trouble that the enemies of
Rome sought to deal her a blow fatal
to her influence. The Jansenist opin-
ions had received a severe condemna-
tion in the decrees of the sovereign
pontiff and through, the action of
Louis XIV. Those who professed
them were obliged to sign a formula
of submission to the church, and re-
ceive the doctrine of Rome. There
were many who, while they did so,
still held to the erroneous teachings
of their sect. Among these there
was an Abb^ J^urseis, a man of some
ability, but of more tact in courdy
life. In 1661, on the 12th of De-
cember, a bachelor of theology de-
fended the following thesis :
**We acknowledge Christ head of the
church in such a manner that he, on ascend-
ing to heaven, intrusted the government of
it first to Peter, and afterward to his suc-
cessors, and gave them the same infallibility
he himself possessed, whenever they should
speak authoritatively, (ex cathedra. ) There
is, therefore, in the Roman church an infU-
lible judge of controversy regarding faith,
even apart from general councils, in ques'
tions both of right and of fact."
About the same time, die Abb6
Bourseis seized upon this opportunity
and gained over the minister Colbert;
while the son of the minister Letel-
lier brought over his father. The
thesis was represented as an attempt
of the Jesuits against the govern-
ment. About the same time, Drouet
de Villeneuve, a bachelor of the Col-
lege of Navarre, defended the same
doctrine in substance. The advo-
cate-general was instructed to proceed
in the case. The parliament having
been informed of what had occurred,
issued a decree against the thesis, on
the 22d of January, 1663, forbidding
. any one to write, hold, or teach such
* propositions under penalty of being
^proceeded against by the courts; and
commanded this decree to be fdaced
on the register of the said faculty of
Paris. The parliament deputed two
counsellors of the court, and AchiUe
de Harlay, the substitute of the /n^
cureur-giniral, to have the decree re-
gistered. These persons repaired to
the Sorbonne on the 31st January,
1663. '* Despite the menaces ad-
dressed to the indocile doctois, by
Talon, the advocate-general, and Har-
lay, the faculty refused to obey ; and
only agreed to take the matter into
consideration."* M. de Minc^ and
M. de Breda, favorable to the gov-
ernment, said the faculty had not
changed its sentiments and did not
approve the thesis. No conclusion
was come to ; the discussion was ad-
journed to the ist Nothing, however,
was done on the first nor on the 5th
of February. On the 9th, th^ arch-
bishops of Auch and of Paris were
present The first spoke against the
decree and action of the parliament;
the second said no opposition should
be made to the decree, but that the
faculty would be able to arrange
things in a satisfactory manner if they
discussed the matter amicably with
the first president of the parliament
The Archbishop of Auch said thai
general councils were necessary only
against schism ; the rest, against he-
resy as well as schism, but for no-
thing else. No conclusion was reach-
ed. On the 15th of February, M.
de Breda reported, and read the an-
swer of the first president, and, hear-
ing a great uproar, said he was aston-
ished to see those present so exdted
against the parliament M. Grandin,
syndic of the faculty, to justify him-
self for having signed the thesis, q>Qke
for a long time, and tried to give a
good •meaning to the thesis, and cx-
•There is in a secret report made to Coftot*
" If emotr regarding what p aw ed in the fecnity wA
respect to iha ihesis,** a curioas acoovnt, hithma ■•-
known, of these debates.— MBS. Cimf Cemis, C^Strt,
rdi iss*
The True Origm of GalHcanism,
531
plained the third proposition, touch-
ing the need of general councils, in
the same way as the Archbishop of
Auch. M. de Mined wished the de-
cree registered. M. Morel thought
it ought not to be registered before
the thesis had been censured. He
quoted some text of St. Gregory
Nazianzen, adding that, if it were re-
gistered, the faculty would be like the
statue of Meranon. He was follow-
ed in his opinion by M. Amiot. The
Rev. P. Nicolai, MM. Bail, Joisel,
Chamillard, and all the doctors of St.
Sulpice, and of the house of Chardon-
net, were of the same opinion, and
declaimed strongly against the ha-
rangue of the substitute, Achille de
Harlay. M. Lestocq, professor of the
Sorbonne, wished to prove the decree
null both in matter and form. M.
Chamillard the younger said the
Council of Constance was not receiv-
ed, and that its doctrine was only
IMX)bable ; but the greater part of the
doctors having risen against him, he
was obliged to say it had been receiv-
ed in part. M. Bossuet • here made
a feint of bringing forward a new pro-
ject ; upon which Leblond, professor
of the Sorbonne, Bonst, also professor,
Joisel and Blanger, of the Sorbonne,
following the advice of the Pfere Nico-
lai, left their places in an indignant
manner, saying that the harangue of
the substitute ought to be censured.
All the professors of the Sorbonne,
without exception, the fathers Lou-
vet and Hermant, Bemardines and
professors in theu* house, spoke bitter-
ly against the parliament ; and when
the P^re Hermant undertook to prove
the infallibility of the pope and his su-
poriority over a councU, he was fol-
lowed by nearly all the monks.
■ On the 15th, MM. Pignay, BaU,
Nicolai, Chaillon, dean of Beauvais,
Joisel, and all the professors of the
S^^'honne without exception, as also
^Aatrwaid Buhop oriCMoaE.
MM. Magnay and Charton, opposed
the registering.
The chief instructor of the bachelor
Villeneuve, the Abbd de Tilloy, who
had signed the thesis, and M. Joisel
wished the decree registered with the
explanations of M. Grandin. M. Le-
blond, professor of the Sorbonne, and
M. Lestocq concluded that it was
agreed on that the registering should
be accepted with these explanations.
M. Guyard, of Navarre, said that to
do so was to accuse the good faith
of those who had drawn up the con-
clusion, which had passed by advice
of MM. de Mined and de Breda.
The Rev. Fathers de la Barmon-
di^re and Leblanc, of St. Sulpice, ac-
cused the faculty of mortal sin, and
the latter said it was through coward-
ice and fear of the temporal power
that the decree was registered. M.
Comet, the head professor of Navarre,
was not present at these assemblies.
At the end of this memoir are the
list of doctors who tq^k part in the
discussions, and confidential notes re-
garding each of the members of the
faculty.
" List of doctors who have acted badly,
or are suspected, on the subject of the de-
cree of the parliament, (that is, opposed the
king.)
MM. Comet, Amiot,
Grandin, professor, Rouillfe,
De LestoccJ, ** Alleaume de Tilloy,
Chamillard, " Demure,
Leblond, " Magnet,
Bonst, *' Quatrehommes,
Desp^rier, ** Bossuet,
Joisel, De la Barmondi^re,
Chamillard, brother Leblanc,
of the professor, Dez de Fontaine,
Pignay, Bail,
Morel, Du Fournel,
Charton, De Pinteville.
Gobinet,
«« Doctors who have acted well on this
same occasion, and who particularly distin-
guished themselves, (that is, favored the
king.)
MM. De Minc^, cur^ de Vaillant,
Gonesse — ^very welL Fanre,
532
Thi True Origin, t^ CaUkanisfn,
D« Breda, car6 de St. Fortiii,
Andre — admirably. Cocquelin,
Duzon, Caspin."
«• SKETCH OF THE DOCTORS WHO HAVE ACT-
ED BADLY OR ARE SUSPECTED,
*' Before making remarics on these gen*
tlemen, I protest sincerely that I consider
them all good men, full of true ecclesiastical
zeal, but, to my mind, in this affair not bear*
ing themselves according' to knowledge.
** M. Comet,* a fine mind, a rery able
man, of irreproachable life, with so great a
reputation among those of his party that he
is their head beyond dispute, and the soul
of their deliberations. Those most attached
to him are MM. Grandin, ChamiUard, and
Morel — the first two with more reserve and
management, the last more openly and
frankly.
" Nothing can be expected from the Car-
melites, Augustinians, and Franciscans."
"COMMUNITIES TO BE FEARED ON THIS
OCCASION.
«* That of the Jesuits under the Pire Bazot.
«* That of St Sulpice, where, to tell the
truth, ecclesiastics are educated in a spirit
of perfect regularity; but we are assured
that every one there is extremely in favor of
the papal authority.
** That of St. HKcolas du Chardonnet.
"That known as the Trente^Trois, at the
H6tel d' Albiac, near the College of Navarre^
under M. Charton.
"That of M. Gilot.
" There are several dhots who aid these
in a work which good Frenchmen and true
subjects of the king strive to prevent. The
principal are MM. Dalbon, De la Motte,
F^n61on, and M. d^Ab^ly named for the
bishopric of Rodez. "
The decree, says M. G6in, was
registered on the 4th of April ; but on
the same day a thesis similar to the
one it condemned was maintained,
Avith the approbation of the syndic of
the faculty, in the college 0/ the Ber-
nardines, by the Fr^e Laurent Dc»-
plantes. On the 14th of April, in
consequence of this being denounced
by royal agents, the parliament cited
before it M. Grandin, the syndic, the
professor presiding at the thesis, the
disputant, and the superiors of the
^emardines. Talon, the advocate-
* BoMocCs nUMUr.
general, spok€ with great warmtk
Strange,' ' he said in his prosecutiDii,
— "strange, that, with imeiaiB]^
rashness, they have dared to reaev
these evil propositions on Uie Kjy
day the decree was registered in the
fitculty." Grandin held out against
the storm, and the parliament sus-
pended him from bis duties. Thii
rigor frightened the timid, and sooK
days afterward the court received t
number of equivocal propositions!
subscribed by sixty-sbc doctcns only.
The whole number was over seret
hundred. M. Deslions, of the So^
bonne, in his ms. journal,* lets us into
the secret of the way in which these
six propositions were gotten up. Thqr
are as folloB's :
"I. It is not the doctrine of the fccihy
that the sovereign pontiff has any antboritj
over the temporal rights of the most Cbrifr>
tian king ; on the contrary, the faculty al*
ways opposed those who favored that tntho*
rity, even understood as indirect only.
"2. It is the doctrine of the feculty Uitf
the most Christian king admowledgei nd
has no superior at all in temporal matten
except God ; and this is its andent doctriKr
from which it will never recede.
" 3. It is the doctrine of the faculty tW
subjects owe fidelity and ob c tfcnee io tke
most Christian king in such a way that ll*lf
can be dispensed from them under no pre*
text
"4. It is the doctrine of the Acuity Hat
they neither approve nor have appro*ei
any proposition, contrary to the aatberilj
of the most Christian khig, or to the gcna-
ine (germanii) Uberties of the Gallican
Church and canons received in the reslm*
V. g., that the sovereign pontiff can dq)0«
bishops in despite of diese caBons.
" 5. It is not the doctrine of the fimlty
that the sovereign pontiff is above an oecu-
menical coundL
"6. It is not the doctrine of theftcalty
tha. ^)|e sove r e ig n pontiff S& infidhbkifBO
consen^ of the chorch support him, (mUt^
cidifUe t.figsia corutttsH,)'*
With regard to these proposidcos,
M. DesUois writes :
" M. Boti^rilHer, doctor of the Sorhonne,
and later vMnber of the assembly ti 168^
The True Origin of GaUicanism.
533
aad Bisbc^ of Troyes, told me that, in tho
conlerence held among the doctors deputed
to draw up the six articles presented to the
king on the part of the Sorbonne, in the
first article, which concerns the deposition
of kings, the phrase ' on no pretext,' {mtllo
praiextHt) was purposely inserted ; and that
thereupon some one present objected the
case of heresy. M. Morel then said that
this would be a reason^ and not a simple pre-
text, for deposing a king. He told me, also,
Uiat be had seen in the MS. of M. Grandin,
at the sixth article, that the pope is not in-
fallible if some kind of consent of the church
do not support him. They resolved to put
instead of this, if no consent support him;
wlucli is the same thing, and in some way
less even* So true is it that these articles
vrett drawn up in the most equivocal lan-
S^uage the framers could suitably employ.
M. Bouthillier learned this of M. Gobinet,
of the deputies. "
In confirmation of this, M. G^rin
quotes a comment on these articles
made by Pinsson, advocate of the
parliament, by order of Colbert. He
qualifies all the propositions as equi-
vocal or captious. He says :
** I. This first proposition is captious ; it
should have been general, affirmative, spe-
cific, etc
" 2. The king did not need the avowal of
the fiumlty to prove that he knows no supe-
rior in temporal matters, this avowal being
much more advantageous to the popes
themselves, who have recognized it, as does
Pope Innocent III., cap. Per venerabiiem,
in the decretals.
•*3. This repetition too often made of the
words * most Christian king* was unneces-
sary for Frenchmen, and it would have been
less sospidous and more advantageous if, in
speaking of the king, they had given to him
BO title, etc
"4. This fourth is equivocal and suspi-
cions, etc
**$, The affectation of framing the fifth
aittde in negative expressions cannot but be
suspicious, etc
** 6. The last article should not have been
conceived in negative terms, but in affirma-
tive ; to wit, that the pope of himself is not
infalfible without the consent of the univer-
sal church. And the phrase, ' If no con-
sent of the church support him,* is too equi-
vocal in this place," etc
The oflfer, in the name of the faculty,
of these propositions put a stop to
the difficulty for the time, and the
settlement of the question of redress
so unjustifiably and tyrannically urg-
ed by Louis XIV. against the holy
see brought with it an external ap-
pearance of peace, while it left a
rankling wound that was to break
out afiiesh in the contests concerning
the regaky or so-styled " royal perqui-
site," seventeen years later.
" This question of the rtgak^' sa}^
M. G6rin, " was of a date much ante-
rior to the time of Louis XIV." It
consisted in the vindication by the
crown of a presumed title to the re-
venues of certain dioceses, and to the
nomination of persons to hold benefit
ces in the same, upon the death or
removal of the bishop, and imtil the
newly nominated bishop had taken
the oath of fealty, and had registered
it in the chancellor's chamber, this
act being styled the closure of the
royal right, or regale. The Council
of Lyons had authorized this custom
with regard to bishoprics in which it
had been established as a condition
in their foundation, or had existed as
an ancient practice ; while it express-
ly forbade its introduction with re-
spect to those dioceses in which it
had not been received.
II
The parliaments undertook, however,
to make the custom one of universal appli-
cation, compelling the dioceses claiming ex-
emption to prove their title to be free from it.
" Henry IV. by an edict of 1606, art. 27,
declared, ' We do not intend to enjoy the
right of royal perquisite {regaU) save in the
manner in which we aild our predecessors
have done, without extending it further to
the prejudice of churches exempt from it.*
This edict was registered in the parliament
of Paris without modification; but on the
24th of August, 1608, the same parliament
pronounced a decree conceived in these
terms: 'The court declares the king to
have a right to die royal perquisite from the
church of Belley, as ^om every other in his
kingdom;* and forbidding advocates to put
forward any proposition to the contrary.
The clergy complained to the king, who by
letters of 1609 yielded the execution of the
534
The True Origin of Gallicanism,
decree. Lonis XIII. seemed iavorable to
the rights of the church ; but after the acces*
sion of Louis XIV. these rights were men-
aced more than ever, and * there was no as-
sembly of the clergy,* particularly after the
year 1638, in which a special commission
was not named to attend to the subject of
royal perquisite."*
That of 1670 presented a remon-
strance to the king through the Arch-
bishop of Embrun; but in 1673 and
1675, two royal declarations appear-
ed to the effect that all the chiu-ches
of the kingdom were subject to the
right of royal perquisite; and that
the archbishops and bishops who had
not yet closed it by registering their
^ath should go through that iormali-
ty within six months.
Caulet, Bishop of Pamiers, and Pa-
vilion, Bishop of Alety standing on
their rights as secured by the custom
of exemption, and by the canons of
the general Coimdl of Lyons, refused
to obey. The result was a contest
between the civil and ecclesiastical
powers, in which Rome of necessity
became engaged. Unheard-of harsh-
ness, and cruelty even, were used
against the clergymen who opposed
the government. One vicar-general
was condemned to death. Unhappi-
ly, there were many ecclesiastics, who
had been provided with benefices by
the government, who not only took
sides with it, but, being interested,
were active in keeping up a quarrel
the solution of which, in accordance
with the views of Rome, would have
proved ruinous to them. They sold
Christ for a few pieces of money.
The deputies of the clergy in 1680, in
their regular quinquennial assembly,
at the request of Louis XIV., wrote a
flattering letter in favor of his claims
and agahist the pope. This caused
Madame de S^vignJ to criticise them
caustically. When speaking of the
two prelates mentioned above, she
says, after referring to the then Bi-
* Pr9ch y^rktux dm CUrtf, I. t. p. 377, tq.
shop of Alet, who had succeeded Pa-
vilion, ^* But the shade of his saintly
predecessor, and M. de Pamias—
have they signed that letter of flat-
terv?"
But what were the means used to
bring about the assembly of 1682, in
which the four articles of which so
much has been said were framed?
That which we have recounted up to
this was only the preparation of the
soil; the seed was now to be sown,
and fostered with all the care of roy-
al interest M. G^rin quotes fromthe
Ih?ch Verbaux du Cikrgt^ t. v.
"The general agents or procurators of
the clergy" (these agents resided pem*
nently in Paris to protect the intcreatsof
the church in case of collision with the
state, or in matters partly ecclesiastical asd
partly secular) "were counselled to pet-
sent a memorial to the king, and to pcaf
his majesty to allow them to call together
the prelates who were in Paris, on busints*
connected with their churches, in order tltfl
through their singular prudence they miclit
find means to restore peace and put evcir
thing in order. The king having permitted
this assembly, it was held during the months
of March and of May, 1681, in the archieptf-
copal palace of Paris."
It is himiiliating to a CathoKc \Xi
have to make the avowal, but it is
well known that royal patronage had
well-nigh ruined the French Church,
and that not a few bishops unworthy
of the name occupied high and influ-
ential places. This assembly, known
as " the Little Assembly," (La BttUe
AssembiieJ met the day after the or-
der was given. Fifty bishops, of
whom the great majority ought to
have been at their posts of duty, were
basking in the sunshine of royal ft-
vor, and it was these Louis XIV.
called on for advice. Racine has a
sarcastic epigram on them, which M.
Gdrin quotes :
It
Ua ordre, hicr Tena de S. Gcnittia,
Veut qu*«ni »' assemble ; 00 »'aateinbU i^** '
Notre mrcMv^e et cinqasale^deax antra*
Si
The True Origin of Gallicanism.
535
S*y trouveront Or, de savoir quel cas
S'y traitera, c'est encore un myst^re.
Cest seulement chose Xxk* daire
Que nous avions cioquante-deux pr^ts
Qui ne r eii dai cn t pas.'
ft
The advice these prelates gave was
what might have been expected from
the state of things at the time.
They indorsed the action of the
goverament on four points of discus-
sion with the holy see :
1. The royal perquisite, which Fleu-
ry and Bossuet could not approve.
2. The book of the Abb6 Gerbais,
censured by Rome as schismatical,
suspected of heresy, and injurious to
the holy see ; but which they found
fiill of good doctrine and of deep
learning.
3. In the affair of Charonne.
This was a case of exemption from
royal nomination in which the king
had violated that right. The reli-
gious women of the convent of Cha-
ronne, near Paris, which belonged to
the Augustinian rule, enjoyed the pri-
vilege, recognized by the civil power,
of electing every three years their
superior. Louis XIV., however, in
1676, named for their superior a Cis-
tercian nun, whom the Archbishop
of Paris, Harlay de Champvallon, ac-
knowledged, and to whom he gave
the position. The religious appealed
to the sovereign pontiff, who, by a
brief dated August 7th, 1680, annul-
led the act of the archbishop, and
ordered them to proceed to the trien-
nial election, and take for their supe-
rior one of their own number.
4. In the affair of the diocese of
Panniers, of which we have spoken
above.
** On the 2d of May the assembly resolv-
ed to ask the king to call a national council,
Of general assembly of the clergy, compos-
ed of two deputies of the first order and
two of the second from each province, the
latter to have a consulting voice only. The
other details were to be arranged according
to the advice of the commissaries." *
* Mts. 9517 fir. BibL Impi
The action of this assembly was
much criticised and was disapproved
by the people, as can be seen, accord-
ing to M. G^n's statement, in the
Mss. of St. Sulpice, i. il iii. ; Bibl. Ma-
zarine, Mss. 2392, 2398 fr. From
these he makes several long and in-
teresting extracts.
In consequence of this resolution
of the Littie Assembly, " the king, on
the i6th of July, 1681, addressed let-
ters of convocation to the agents of
the clergy, through whom the arch-
bishops of the territory subject to his
majesty were charged to hold provin-
cial assemblies and cause to be chosen
two deputies of the first order and
two of the second, for the general as-
sembly assigned for the ist of Octo-
ber, 1681."
Before entering upon a history of
this body, M. G^rin gives a clear idea
of the question at issue between the
king and the pontiff, and shows that
it was of the same nature as that
which caused the struggle, in which
the church was finally victorious, be-
tween Gregory VII. and the Ger-
man emperor, Henry IV. The ap-
pointment of proper pastors for the
flock was at stake. Rome sought
likewise to put a stop to the abuse
by which laymen were pensioned on
dioceses, whose funds ought to have
been devoted to supplying the spiri-
tual wants of the people, and relieving
the poor and orphans. The church
was in imminent danger of servitude,
spiritual and temporal, as Fleury him-
self states. So far had the usurpa-
tion of ecclesiastical jurisdiction gone
that, when Louis XIV., at Strasburg,
gave audience to the bishop of that
place, the act of the king in putting
his hand on the crozier of the prelate
as he leant forward to hear him was
interpreted as a resumption of inves-
titure by the ring and crozier. Pelis-
son, however, the intimate fiiend of
the king, teUs us this was not the
536
The Tnu Origin of Gailieanism.
case, as he heard him say afterward
that such an idea had not occurred to
him ; but as the prelate spoke in a
rather low tone, he bent toward him
and leaned for support on.the crozier.
The government of Louis had
wished this assembly for its own
ends; it was therefore determined
that nothing should be left undone to
' secure a favorable result. The tem-
per of all the members of the French
hierarchy was known: there were
some who were feared — these were to
be passed by ; some who were doubt-
ed — these were to be allured to com-
pliance; others there were whose
worldly spirit and indebtedness to the
crown left no uncertainty as to their
course — these were to be put forward,
honored, and made the leaders in the
movement against Rome. Colbert,
ably seconded by the worldly Harlay
de Champvallon, Archbishop of Paris,
set about the work. His master was
all-powerful ; every thing but true vir-
tue was to bend before him. Canon-
ical forms were to be superseded if
found to be trammels, and persons
who contradicted were to be made to
feel the weight of royal displeasure.
The legislative bodies even had been
reduced to a state of passive instru-
mentality, so that, in 1672, a con-
scientious bishop of Languedoc com-
plained to Colbert that votes were
given without discussion, and protest-
ed that explanations should be made in
regard to the advantages or the neces-
sity of the expenses the states were
called on to vote. In this state of
things, the Little Assembly had been
convened and had acted the part we
have seen. Before closing its sessions
it named a commission under the
presidency of Harlay, without whose
bidding it was to do nothing. This-
commission drew up the project of
procuration, and, by order of the
king, no mention was made of the
part he had had in it. On the i6th
of June, 1681, Colbert writes to the
archbishop :
" Sir : You will 6nd accompanTiBg this
a copy of the letter of the king, as approred
by his majesty, for the convocalioo of the
general assembly of the clergy, ift whkh
you will remark that no mutton is nude o(
the plan of procuration, placed by you ia my
hands. His majesty has thought that no>
thing should appear as coming from him
that might determine the matters to be act-
ed on in the said assemblage ; bot he has
resolved to give orders on this svbject hf
word of mouth to the general agents of the
clergy, and to direct that this project or
plan of procuration be sent to the archli-
shops, with the explanation that it has beta
drawn up by commissioners named at the
late assembly, for the purpose of bciag scot
to all parts ; to make known what ought to
be treated of in the said assembly, and to
bring about uniformity of powers ; and in
order to cause the provinciid assemblies to
give powers of procuration to the depoties
of the general assembly, conformably (0 the
project, his majesty will direct that 4e
intendants of provinces be written toy to
command them to impart to the archbishops
his intentions on the subject of the procon^
tion."
M. G^rin gives us here the text of
this plan of procuration ; it is from a
MS. annotated by the pracureur-^t^k-
ml De Harlay, brother of the arch-
bishop. The deputies are
** To repair to the said city of Paris, accord-
ing to the letters of the king and of the
said agents, and there deliberate, in the
manner contained in the resolution of the
said assemblies of March and May, (the Lit-
tle Assembly,) on the means of reconciling
the variances respecting the ro3ral right of
perquisite (regaU) between the pope, on the
one side, and the king, on the odier ; to de-
termine on all the acts which they shall
deem necessary to put an end to these van-
ances, with the deputies of other prorinos,
the same to sign the clauses and coodilioac
that the assembly shall judge fitting; they
are likewise charged and expressly com-
manded to employ all proper means to re-
pair the infractions committed by the court of
Rome in the decrees of the concordat dt cm-
sis et de fnzHAis appeUatiomhus in the a&in
of Charonne, of Pamiers, of Toulouse, and
others which may have or shall ha^-c trans-
pired ; to preserve the jurisdiction of the or-
dinaries of the realm, and the variooi de-
TAe True Orfffim qf GalHcanism.
537
^vves of it in the form sanctioiied by tlM
concordat; to cause the pope, in case of
appeal to Rome, to depute commissaries in
France to judge it ; to procure, by all sorts
of due and proper means, the preservation
of the maxims and liberties of the Oal^can
Church ; to pass the resolutions by a plura-
lity of votes, and, for the reasons explained
above, to frame all acts that shall be requir-
ed, even though there be any thing demand-
ing a more special commission than is con-
tained in these presents, promise being giv-
en that all that shall have been granted and
signed by them shall be agreed to and ob-
served inviolably in every particular, accord-
ing to its form and tenor."
The government foresaw that the
second order of the clergy, the simple
priests, would make an attempt to
vindicate their right to a voice. For
this reason it determined to have a
precedent by which to act. The
Archbishop of Rheims, who was in
the interest of the government, con-
voked his provincial assembly at Sen-
lis; the second order protested; its
voice was stifled, and the plan of pro-
curation accepted. An account of
the proceedings was made out and
sent to the king, by whose command
copies were immediately transmitted
to the intendants of the kingdom
with orders to instruct the archbi-
shops to do the same in like cases.*
As for the choice of deputies, that
was to be made without any appear-
ance or direct proof of royal inter-
vention. But the names of the de-
puties show the pressure that must
have been brought to bear by the
court. M. G6rin quotes here a num-
ber of documents in which the royal
interference is manifest. Thus Col-
bert writes to the Archbishop of
Rouen :
*' FONTAIHEBLBAU, Sq>t. 31, l6Sl.
"The king, being persuaded that the Bi-
shop of Lisieux can be of more use in the
next assemblj^than any other of your suf-
fragans, his majesty has ordered me to
write you that you will please have him
cAoien," etc.
* P. laS. The 1«tter oonv«]ring the orders is given
m&lL
From page 115 to 153 M. GAin
demonstrates this pressure unanswer-
ably ; and from page 153 to page 261,
he shows from the character of the
persons chosen, the nature of the
assembly, and its obsequiousness to
the sovereign. On page 260 he asks,
"Why were not seen there Mascaron,
F16chier, Bourdaloue, Ffenfelon, Huet, Ma-
billon, Thomassin, Ranc^, Tronson, Brisa-
der, Tiberge, La Salle, La Ch6tardie, and
so many others, still more glorious in the
sight of God than in that of men ?.«...
Cease then from saying that the assembly
of 1682 was the iiite of the clergy of the
day!"
One of the most interesting features
connected with the history of the as-
sembly is the new phase put upon the
part acted in it by the famous Bishop
of Meaux — Bossuet. His position
here contradicts what we have seen
him do in the year 1663. But from
all the documents M. G6rin brings
forward, it is evident that he was
drawn in against his will. In one
place he writes :
"The assembly is about to be held; and
they desire not only that I should be pre-
sent, but that I should preach the intro-
ductory sermon.'* (Letter to the Abbt de
Ranc6.)
Fleury in his notes says,
" It was the will of the kmg that the Bi-
shop of Meaux should be present."
It is true that the articles were
drawn up by him ; but it was because
he saw that extreme opinions were
about to prevail, to prevent which he
took the propositions into his hands,
and did the best he could under the
circumstances. This, however, does
not excuse him entirely ; for there are
times in which we should be ready
to suffer for the cause of truth, and
if necessary even to give our lives.
The fault of Bossuet was, that he was
weak, and could not resolve to for-
feit royal favor for the glory of suffer*
538
The True Origin of Gallkanism.
ing in a just cause. After a careful and
thorough perusal of the chapter on
Bossuet and the assembly, it is im-
possible to come to any milder con-
clusion than this. The articles were
drawn up and passed by the assem-
bly. It is not our purpose to go in-
to an examination of these articles.
It will suffice to state that their aim
was to limit that fulness of power
l)elonging to the sovereign pontiff
which wc have seen implied in the
definition of the Council of Florence,
without seeming to do or say any
thing that could be noted as hereti-
cal or schismatical ; and in the third
article there is an indorsement of
the iltHrees of the fourth and fifth
C\^uncil of Constance, which it is
well known were never approved by
the sovereign i>ontifr, and have there-
fore no authority. These decrees
prvxiaim the sui>eriority of a general
iH>uncil of bishops over the pope,
and strike a direct blow at his infal-
HUUty and supremacy, lliey were
the \CT\- decTvcs that caused the de-
ciNiiMX v^* the Council of Florence,
ihoii^h the occision of the dcunitioa
ifcas the uukm of the Greek and La-
tin churches. How were the^ arti-
cles reort\ed ? On the igih of March
thev were a\k^^evi by the assembly.
i^) the nth v^^ Aj^rl* Innocent XL
cen^iureNi them xa h,:> br..'il Lou:s
XIV. >ftj^ so luuvh i:urftss<?d bv this
JKt i.vf the p^^i^ iHai iie prevxTn^ei
the N>hv^:^ v<^ the *s>et:nSv Even
»nkli**ii a c*jrvu**ir to the preLjtKs o«
IV v;;\ ci" Mjit. ie scs^x^rviied tSr
\'«*.v*^atae. v\Hr:: ie Mii<re sa-'S
«xv^e*vrxH' case'" , *■:.! sc ^^a n*:?^
owYK !j.m XT !*:• -:^ ci*cvi ; j-xiciii-
er."* He did not even allow tfic
minutes of the sessions to be put in
the archives of the clergy .t M. G^rin
tells us that the people were opposed
to this assembly from the outset ; and
when the members were about to de-
part, the following epigram sped them
on their way,
" Pr^Uts, abb^ s^par«s-Toas ;
Laisses un peu Rome et I'Egliae !
Un chacun se moque de vous,
Et toute la cour vous m^prise.
Ma foi I Ton voos ferait, avaot 90*0 At «b an.
Signer 4 PAlcoraa.*^
The ministers of the king were
very much irritated ; they dared not
then, as they did in 1688, appeal to
a general council, because this would
bring upon them the censives of the
bull Ex€crabilis of Pius XL It was
determined, therefore, by the king to
permit the proatmtr-^itnh^ to make
a protest privately, in the hands of
the greffur or keeper of the archi>-es
of the parliament, without the know-
leilge even of the first presidenL In
the mean whHe the ckrgr, far from
acquiescing in the decrees of a body
which had falsely assumed to represent
them, were gi\*in^ eriilence in a
marked manner of tbesr t&appffoba-
tion. Like a!I th^se who trr to cosa-
prv^aise between ri^ht lad wroo^
between the scnine c: G-xi aad the
gxyi-*'^ oi the w?r>i dbe fra=>cs5 of
the four irrcles hai N?cci
table to bct*x
tie /nt^-^.-ar^'-Tkr-il l\i
ui a :>'-?rT.:.' vie^ionrca ;
w«if :xx 121; ciierr* act :
M 0<rn r « *s Voes*
The True Origin of GaUicanism.
539
man favorable to the court, the Abb6
Le Gendre; he says,
«*At first the declaration of the clergy
was by no means applauded. Far from
doing so, many attributed it to cowardice,
saying that it was the effect of the servile
obedience of the bishops to the will of the
court. Others thought it was neither pru-
dent nor honorable to rise with levity
against the pretensions of the pope, at a
moment when he was risking every thing to
sustain theirs. This movement of opposi-
tion, which was almost general, gave birth
to spicy writing, in which Mgr. De Harlay
was the most ill-used, as he was regarded
as the first inciter, and almost as the only
author of all that was done in the assem-
bly."
The edict of the 30th of March
ordered that the four articles should
be registered in all the universities,
and be taught by all the professors.
If this doctrine, remarks M. G6rin,
had been but generally received, it
would have been hailed with rejoic-
ing. What happened ? It was oppos-
ed by the most numerous, the roost
learned, and the most pious portion
of the clergy. The faculty of Paris
was composed of seven hundred and
fifty-three members, as appears from
the Mss. Colbert, M61. t. vii. Of these,
one hundred and sixty-nine belonged
to the Sorbonne. The " Plan for
Jteforming the Faculty,'^ in 1683,
(Pap. Harlay,) says,
"The house of Sorbonne, with the -ex-
ception of six or seven, have been educated
in sentiments contrary to the declaration.
The professors, the syndic excepted, are so
opposed to it that those even who are paid
by the ftng have not been willing to teach
any of the propositions presented to his ma-
jesty in 1663, etc .... The principal
of the College of Plessis, and those whom
he employs and protects, in his college and
out of it, are absolutely one with those of
Sorbonne."
As to the College of Navarre, the
MSS. Colbert, t. 155, tell us that its
principal. Professor Guyard, was en-
tirely devoted to Rome, etc., and
others prominent, Saussay, Ligny,
Vinot, were of like opinion. In 1682,
none of the professors except Doctor
Leftvre taught the maxims of the
kingdom.*
Of St. Sulpice, St. Nicolas de Char-
donnet, and the Missions Etrangbres,
we read,
"Those of St. Sulpice, of St. Nicolas de
Chardonnet, and of the Missions Etran-
g^res, who have given their opinion in this
affair, (of the four articles, ) hold the same
views as those of Sorbonne."
Of the religious orders and com-
munities, it was written in 1663,
" Nothing can be hoped for of the Carme-
lites, Augustinians, and Franciscans, who
make profession of favoring his holiness in
every thing,'' etc.
The parliament, therefore, and the
grand council had, by an abuse of
power, decided that each one of the
mendicant orders should have but
two votes in the faculty, so that thirty-
four Franciscans, thirty-eight Domini-
cans, thirty-three Augustinians, and
nineteen Carmelites had only eight
votes in the faculty.
** Forty-three Cistercians and six canons
regular, who are all for Rome, are to be
treated as the above friars.''
That, besides being the most nu-
merous, the opponents of the articles
were the most learned, is evident
from the details we have given; all
the professors of Sorbonne, with the
exception of Pirot, all the professors of
Navarre, except one, Leffevre, taught
the tdtramontane opinions. The mss.
Colbert prove this also beyond the
possibility of doubt.
That the opponents of the declara-
tion were also men most remarkable
for their piety, is acknowledged by
those who were engaged in giving
information to Colbert.
To show the exactness of the facts
given us here, M. G^rin quotes the
words of a famous anonymous book,
* Prpjit dm R^f^nm^ Pap. De Hariay.
540
The True Origim (ff GaUUanUm.
La TVaditum des FaiiSy that appeared
in 1760, by the Gallican AbW Chau-
veHn, clerical counsellor to the parlia-
ment of Paris. The abW \nites,
** When it was resolved to oblige the ec-
clesiastics to profess the maxims of France,
what difficulties stood in the way ? It was
necessary to extort from many of them their
consent. Others opposed obstacles which
all the authority of the parliament could
only with difficulty remove. It became ne-
cessary to use all the zeal and light of seve-
ral prelates, and of several doctors, who
were favorable to the true teaching, to bring
back the great number of ultramontanes in
the French clergy. . . . The ecclesias-
tics ^d not cease from resistance until the '
parliament used its authority to restrain
them. . . . The university and the
faculty of law submitted without difficulty,
hit thty were obliged to proceed by way of au-
tliority to make the faculty of theology obey.^*
The facts given above, the testis
mony of witnesses above suspicion,
of those whose interest it would have
been to conceal what they say, the
action of the parliament, and the pet-
ty ways adopted to coerce the pro-
fessors, v. g., withholding their pay,*
all evince that the maxims known as
Gallican were forced upon the clergy
and people of France. But not only
is this the case, but so fully were the
king and the bishops themselves con-
vinced of their falsity that they re-
tracted them. Before showing this,
we will add a curious and precious
document from the hands of the wily
Achille de Harlay, proatrtur-ghni'
ml, addressed to Colbert on the 2d
of June, 1682. After saying that the
proposed visit of the parliament to
the faculty would have been unfortu-
nate, because it would have revealed
to Rome the divergence between the
latter and the government, he goes
on to add that " of the assembly of
the clergy, the greater part would
change to-morrow, and willingly, if
they were allowed to do so."f
* p. 376, from MS. letter* 10,965. Bibl. Irap. fr.
t BibL Im^ ma. Uari^ 367^ voL v. p. 145-
The act of the assembly, as we
have seen, drew from the sovereign
pontiff an authoritative censure. This
was not all; the pope refused the
bulls of consecration for those who
had taken part in it, unless they
made their formal submission to his
decision. The king, who at heait
was a sincere Catholic, opened hb
eyes to the danger of the church.
As we have said, he withheld the
minutes of the proceedings in the
first instance, although he allowed .1
private protest to be made. Later
he revoked his decree ordering the
doctrine of the four articles to be
taught in the French schools. Page
454 has a letter of Louis to the sove-
reign pontiff, in which he informs his
holiness of this, September 14th, 1693.
A posthumous work of Daguesseau^
says,
«• This letter of Louis XIV. to Pope In-
nocent was the seal put upon the aooomiMV
dation between the court of Rome and tha
clergy of France ; and conformably to the
engagement it contained, his msLJesty did
not any longer enforce the observation of
the edict of Mardi, 1682, which obliged all
who wished to obtain degrees to sustain the
declaration of the clergy made that year
with regard to ecclesiastical authority ; ceas-
ing thus to impose, on this point, the obli-
gation existing, while the edict was in force,
and leaving for the future, as before the edkt*
full hberty to sustain the doctrine."
L'Abb^ de Pradt, in his work. Lis
Quatre Concordats^ speaks of the let*
ter of Louis XIV., and says that
Pius VII. had it with him — " an old
scrap of paper,** as Napoleon ex-
pressed it — and wished the emperor
to sign it This, however, Napole<«
declined to do, imtil he could con-
sult his theologians. On their advice
he refused to sign it He did more.
The abb^ says,
"WTien the archives of Rocne were
brought to Paris, Xapoleoo went one day
to the H6td de Soubise, hi whidi they were
kept Tlwre be obtained tlie letter of Louis
• Vol sSL m 433.
The Tne Origin i^ Gallicanism.
S4I
XIV. He took it with him, and, on his re-
turn to the Tuileries, threw it into the fire,
»aying» 'We'll not be troubled hereafter
with these ashes.' "
Montholon tells us in his M^moires
pour servir d rHistaire de France^
that Napoleon dictated to him these
words concerning the book of the
AbW de Pradt,
*' 'This woric is not a Ubcl : if it contains
some erroneous ideas, it contains a great
number which are sound and worthy of
meditation.' He afterward dictated six
notes upon diflferent points contained in the
work; he takes notice in them of all that
appeared to him deserving of censure ; but
he has not a single word to say against the
story of the destruction by himself of the
letter of Louis XIV."*
With regard to the bishops who
had taken part in the declaration,
they had the good sense and virtue
to submit to him whom Christ has
nained his vicar and die pastor of
pastors. On the 14th of September,
each one of them wrote to Innocent
XII. in the following terms,
"Prostrate at the feet of your holiness,
we profess «nd declare that we grieve deep-
ly from our heart, and beyond what we can
express, on account of what has been done
in the assembly, so greatly offensive to your
holiness and your predecessors ; and there-
fore whatever may have been deemed {cen-
ftfi potmt) decreed against ecclesiastical
power and pontifical authority, we hold,
and declare that all should hold it, as not
decreed. Moreover, we hold as not deter-
mined on whatever may have been deemed
(<emeri pohtU) determined on in prejudice
of the rights of churches ; for our intention
was not to decree any thing nor to do any
thing prejudicial to the said churches."
The following passages from mss.
Mid works of the day add confirma-
tion to this letter.
A memoir on the Uberties of the
Gallican Church, composed by order
of " Monseigneur Louis, Dauj^nn de
Montholoii, mmcins, vol. i. p 113. Paris, iSaj.
France, Due de Bourgoyne, mort en
1710," says,
"This court (Rome) continues always
what it has begun, and often obliges us to
retract or alter what we have judiciously
and necessarily done against her. Nothing
proves this better than the history of the as-
sembly of 1682."
Adrien Baillet, writing his DkmiU
de Philippe le Bel avec Boniface VIIL,
tells us,
"In the first variance, (between Philip
and Boniface,) it was the court of Rome
that gave satisfaction to that of France; in
the second, (of the assembly,) it is the court
of France that has just rendered satis&ction
to that of Rome."
Bayle, Dietionnaire^ art " Braun-
bom," writes,
" France was so far from having brdcen
with the pope, from the year 1690 to the
year 1701, that she became, on the contrary,
more papist. It is known, moreover, that
Innocent XII. gained the day, in having
things put again on their old footing in 1693. "
We have tried to give the sub-
stance of M. Gdrin's work. We feel
that we have given but a meagre
idea of it. Still, this much is evident
from what we have written, that the
doctrine known as Gallican was not
the doctrine of the French clergy.
That it afterward became so, in groat
part was owing undoubtedly to the
influence of the assembly of 1682,
and of those who in high positions
lent their aid to its propagation
among the rising generation of stu-
dents. Tliey, early imbued with
these maxims, were far less to blame
than the men who first broached
such principles. Let us hope that
the comparatively few who hold to
these opinions, seeing the origin of
what they profess, will imderstand
the worthlessness of them, and unite
with the universal church in profess-
ing belief m the infalUbihty of the
Sec of Peter.
54^
Putnam's Defend.
PUTNAM'S DEFENCE.
Our readers will remember, we
presume, that Putnanis Magazine for
July last contained an article which
attracted some attention, under the ti-
tle of " Our Established Church," and
to which we replied in our number
for the August following; the same
. magazine for last month, in an article
entitled " The Uncstablished Church,"
comes out with its defence, of which
we should be uncivil not to take some
notice.
The July article, written in an un-
successful vein of irony, was directed
against the honor both of the church
and the city and State of New York,
and was designed to show that the
church, grasping at wealth and pow-
er, and skilfully availing herself of
political passions and party divisions,
had obtained from the State and city
governments endowments for herself
and subventions for her educational
and charitable institutions out of all
proportion to any granted to similar
Protestant institutions. We replied
that the endowments are imaginary,
for the church here is unendowed;
that the subventions are gready ex-
aggerated; that several alleged had
never been made, while others said
to have been made to Catholic were
in fact made to Protestant institu-
tions; and that Catholics had never
received a tithe of what was requisite
to place them on an equality in
regard to subventions from the public
with non-Catholics. The Magazine^
though with exceeding ill grace, con-
cedes nearly all that we denied, aban-
dons its assumption that ours is the
established church, confesses that it
is uncstablished, and disputes us, ex-
cept with sneers and exclamation-
points, only in regard to two statements
in our reply, one of which is of no
importance, and the other is one in
which it is decidedly, not to say ma-
liciously wrong.
The two points disputed we jm)-
ceed to dispose of. The Magasme
charged the corporation of the dty
with granting leases of valuable »tes
for Catholic institutions for a long tenn
of years at a merely nominal rent
We replied that only one such
lease had been granted since 1847,
which is not technically exact, and
we overlooked the fact that the lease
for the site of the Catholic Orphan
Asylum between Fifty-first and Fifty-
second streets bears the date of 1857 ;
but by the Magazines own showing,
though technically a new lease, and
so recorded, it was really only t
change in the tenure of the old lease.
Catholics had held and occupied the
site under a lease fix>m the city, and
at the sanoe rent as now, for yens
before 1847. So much for the first
point
The Magazine charged that the
State paid out, in 1866, for bene&o
tions under religious control $i29t*
025.14, of which $124,174.14 went
to the religious purposes of the Ca-
tholic Church. Not being able to
find any proof of this, and regarding
tiie unsupported statement f^^ the
writer as presumptive evidence of
falsehood rather than of truth, we
let the charge pass widioot any at-
tempt at a specific lefotation. The
.^VSigdniif reiterates the statement and
refe r s to the report of the cooapcroOer
of the Sute. We have the comp*
trotter's report before us; we have
examined and reexamined it : but we
do not find the sta t enaent in it or
any diing to waxiant it; and it has
Putnanis Deftme.
543
been more than once pronounced on
the highest authority, and proved to
be a forgery, as the Magazim well
knows or is inexcusable for not know-
ing.
We did not meet this statement for
the first time in Putnam's Magazine,
It had been previously made, and
we supposed sufficiently refuted in
the journals, especially in the Utica
Herald^ whose editor, Mr. Roberts,
had been a member of the Legis-
lature and of the committee of ways
and means in 1866. Mr. Roberts
under his own name, pronounced it
a forgery. For honest and fair-mind-
ed men this was conclusive. But
the charge was embodied in an ano-
nymous memorial, and laid on the
desks of the members of the New
York State Convention, held in 1867
and 1868, and was again pronounced
in open debate a forgery, without a
single voice being raised in its de-
fence. The Hon. Mr. Cassidy, of
the Albany Atlas and Argus, dedar-
ed it false firom beginning to end.
The Hon. Mr. Alvord, the distin-
guished member firom Onondaga
County, did the same. The Hon.
Erastus Brooks, member of the Con-
vention firom Richmond, and one of
the editors of the New York Evening
Express, would not go quite so far,
but regarded it as an admirable ex-
ample of one of the many ways of
telling a lie. He exposed its disin-
genuous character, by showing that
the $8000 stated in it to be appro-
priated to St. Mary's Hospital, Ro-
chester, was expressly declared in the
statute making the appropriation to
be for the support of soldiers under
the supervision of Dr. Backus, the
surgeon of the post. The soldiers
were supported and taken care of
in St Mary's Hospital, as the only
proper place, in the judgment of the
military authorities, that could be ob-
tained. Mr. Biooks also gave, as
another instance of the disingenu*
ousness of the statement, its omission
to count $25,000, appropriated to a
Protestant institution in Elmira, we
suppose for a similar purpose. Mr.
Alvord not only pronounced it false
firom beginning to end, but, statute
in hand, showed firom the act of the
Legislature itself, which he read, that
instead of appropriating for charita-
ble purposes nearly $130,000, it ap-
propriated only $80,000, to be divid-
ed among the several counties ac-
cording to their assessed valuation. *
What has beome of our firiend, the
Rev. Leonard W. Bacon, who some-
times writes for Putnam, and who has
such delicate scruples about Protes-
tants using forged documents against
Catholics ?
So much has been said about the
partiality of the Legislature to the
Catholic Church that it may be well
to look at the conditions on which it
grants and distributes its aid to chari-
table institutions. The act of 1866,
so bitterly denounced, appropriates
firom the State treasury $80,000 for
orphan asylums, to be apportioned
to the several counties according to
their assessed value, and distributed
to the several asylums according to
the number of inmates received and
cared for in them respectively, with-
out the slightest reference to the fact
whether they were Catholic or Pro-
testant. Nothing could be fairer, and
if Catholic asylums received more
of the benefaction than those under
the charge of non -Catholics, it was
simply because they received and
cared for a larger number of orphans.
We see no ground of complaint here
against either the Legislature or the
church. It is very possible that Ca-
tholics have a larger number of or-
phans in proportion to their popula-
tion than have non-Catholics, and it
• See Debfttet in the New York Stite CoDTentioB,
1867 and 1868, voL ui. pp. 3736-2744.
L
544
Putnam's D^wHct.
is not unlikdy, also, that they are
more ready to make sacrifices for
their support
In the list of benefactions of the
State to Catholic institutions in 1866,
the Magazine places the item of $78-
000 to the Catholic Protectory. This
was a special grant to enable the
society to purchase a site and erect
suitable buildings for its purpose.
This protectory corresponds very
nearly to the Protestant societies for
the protection and reformation of
juvenile delinquents, and which the
State is accustomed to aid by its bene-
factions. The appropriations for its
support are justified on the ground
that it is of great public utility and
protection of the public from a class
of destitute children not unlikely, if
not taken care of, to grow up vicious
and crimmal, to fill oin: alms-houses,
our jails and penitentiaries. The
community at large, rather than the
church specially, is benefited, and there
is no good reason why grants for its
support should be objected to or re-
garded as made for special Catholic
purposes. The only thing that a Pro-
testant can object to, if any charita-
ble institution is to receive aid from
the State, is, that by aiding a Catholic
protectorate to take care of and re-
form destitute children of Catholics
without the loss of thehr Catholic
faith, it so far fails to aid Protestants
to bring them up in Protestantism, or,
what is perhaps worse, in no religion.
As a matter of course, PutnatfCs
Magazine dwells on the public grants
to certain Catholic schools in this
city. We do not deny those grants.
We conceded and defended them in
our former article, and the Maga-
zine has in no respect invalidated
our defence ; it has only stared and
sneered at it. Give us either schools
to which we can send our children,
or divide the 8cho(^ equitably be-
tween Catholics and Protestants, and
we will solicit no ^)ecial grants of te
sort. As it is, neither the dty nor
the State gives back by way of sub-
vention to our schools more thao a
pittance of what it takes from us
for the support of schools to which
we cannot witfi our Catholic coo-
science send our ciHldreo. If the
State taxes the whole conmnuHty
alike for the support of public schools,
it is boimd to provide schoob for
Catholics as well as Ptotestants, and
for both such as leave the conscience
of each fi-ee, sacred, and inviolable.
If it refiises to do so, the least that it
can do is to make liberal grants to
the schools Catholics are obliged to
establish for themselves.
What we have thus fax said dispo-
ses of the Magazines stadstics, and
sufficiently reHeves the State from the
charge of discriminating in fever of
Catholics, as well as the chuidt fron
the charge of intriguing for s^caA
favors. She has never adced or re*
ceived any special favors from the L^
gislature. The other matters in the
article merit no special reply. The
writer attempts to be witty, but suc-
ceeds only in being abusive. Wit
does not appear to be his strong
point, and his attempts at it onfy
provoke a smile at his expense. Hfe
strong point is hatred of the diorch.
He hates her with a hatred equal to
that of the wicked Jews for our Lord
whom they crucified between two
thieves. Her very presence annoys
him ; her independence enrages him;
and nothing appears able to appease
him but her subjection to Ac state,
and the subjection of tfie state to the
intolerant Protestantism of which he
is a mouth-piece.
The iW^^orwr^r is hard to please. R
condemned, in July last, the dmrck
as our established church ; we made
answer that she neither is nor wishes
to be the established church. ^
now, in Decembd^, condemtts her
{
Pmimtm's- DtfmUk
545
no less as the tmestablisfaed dmrclu
It blames us both for opposing and
for not opposing the common
schools, for agreeing and for not
agreeing widi our own church, and
for opposing and for not opposing
rdigious liberty. Both the church,
and we, personally, must be wrong
anyhow. If its specific charges
against her are £dse, then the contra*
ry must be true and equally charges
against her. If sl|e is not the syna-
gogue of Satan, she is the church of
God, which is just as bad. Nothing
can disconcert it or prove it in the
wrong, since it sees no inconsistency
in urging charges that refute each
other. Yet it represents and speaks
for ^e enU^Uened portion of man-
kind!
The Magazine labors at length to
prove that the church opposes, and
quotes the Syllabus to prove that she
must oppose, the common school
system as it is ; and yet sees in this
fact no reason why Catholics cannot,
with a good conscience, send their
children to them. We are opposed
to the common schools as they are,
because our church condemns tiiem ;
that is, because founded on what we
hold to be a false principle, and hos-
tile alike to religion and society; but
if Protestants want them for tiiem-
selves, they can have them ; for the
church legislates only for Catholics,
not for non-Catholics who reject her
authority. Hence, we oppose the sys-
tem as a system for Catholics, not
as a system intended for Protestants.
We do not approve the system even
for them, any more than we do their
heresy and schism, which we account
" deadly sins ;" but if they insist on
having godless schools for their chil-
dren, they can have them ; we cannot
hinder them. The system might be
modified so that we could accept it ;
but it depends on them so to modify
it or not, for they have the power.
VOL, X.— 35
The Magazine withdraws its false
statement as to the millions of pro-
perty held in fee-simple by the five
bishops in the State, but blames the
law of 1863, which incorporates the
churdi in the several New York dio-
ceses, as securing to her advantages
of whidi the non-Catholic religious
denominations are deprived. This is
a mistake. It only secures to her
the rights secured to these under the
general law for creating, continuing,
and reviving religious societies and
parishes, and which are not secured
to her under that general law. That
law proceeds on the assumption that
in ecclesiastical organizations the pa-
rish is the unit, which is not true with
regard to the church. With us the
unit is the diocese, and the bishop,
net the parochus, is, strictly speaking,
the pastor. To proceed on the con-
trary supposition would be to inter-
fere with the internal constitution
and discipline of the church, and to
deprive her of that control over her
own temporalities which is possessed
by every Protestant denomination in
the State. The law objected to only
seciu-es to the church equal rights
with the sects — only it does it by an-
other method made necessary by the
fact that the diocese, not the parish,
in her constitution, is the imit. The
law only places the church on a foot-
ing of equality, before the state, with
the Protestant sects, and no fiiend
of religious liberty can reasonably
object to it. It seciu-es the public
against abuses, the application of the
property held to church purposes,
and the church the fiee management
of her own temporalities.
The Magazine complains that the
law is no longer equal, because it is
not the same for all religious denomi-
nations. Has it never occurred to it
that one and the same law for all
would operate unequally, for all have
not the same internal constitution?
546
Putnam's JDiffim^.
The law veiy proper and just for
Presbyterians, whose organic unit is
the parish, could in no mannar secure
the same rights to the church, whose
organic unit is the diocese. Here is
precisely where Protestants usually
err in their legislation, and violate the
equal rights they profess to approve.
They overlook tlie fact that the same
law can bear equally only on denomi-
nations that are organized after one
and the same model, and that for the
state to set up a model, and outlaw
all denominations that do not, or in
so far as they do not conform to it, is
a violation of religious liberty and of
equal rights. It is practically to es-
tablish one form of church <^ganiEa-
tion and deny its protection to all
chiux:hes that do not see proper to
adopt it Religious liberty requires
that each denomination be left free,
so far as the civil power is concern-
ed, to adopt such form of chiut:h or-
ganization in relation to its own tem-
poralities as well as spirituals as it
chooses; and the equal rights of all
require the state to respect and pro-
tect each in the full possession and
enjoyment of its own particular form
of organization. The law must not
be simply the same for the Catho-
lic and the Congregationalist, but
must be so framed as to give each the
same rights ; to the church, with her
constitution and discipline, all the
freedom and protection that it does
to the Congregationalist, with his
congre^tional organization and disci-
pline. This is what the law of this
State enacted in 1863 attempts to se-
cure, and partially, if not wholly, suc-
ceeds in doing. The Protestant, that
is, the rabid Protestant, objects to
that law, not because it discriminates
in favor of Catholicity, but because it
gives to the church the same legal
protection that it does to non-Catho-
lic churches, and does not discrimi-
nate in fkvor of Protestantism as all
previous legidation on the subject hid
done, at least in its practical opera-
tion.
We are accused, because we say
the church here desires no establish-
ment by law — for she has what is bet-
ter than such estaUishment— of con-
tradicting the SyUadus, and going
against the supreme pontifil We ac-
cept the Syllabus without the slight-
est reserve, though probably not the
Magazines sense. The Syllabus con-
demns those who demand the separa-
tion of church and state in the sense
of the European liberals; bat not us
for not requiring the church to be es-
tablished by law as the state church.
Those liberals mean by the separa-
tion of church and state the inde-
pendence of the state, and its right to
pursue its own policy irTe^>ective
of the rights and interests of rdigion.
In that sense we also condemn the
separation, and are continually war-
ring against it as political atheism.
But we deny that in that sense, or in
the sense of the Syllabus^ we do or
ever have advocated the separation
of church and state. That separa-
tion does not and ought not to exist
in this country. This is not an infi-
del, a godless country, though it may
be fast becoming so ; and Christiani-
ty is, as it should be, the supreme
law of the land, as it is part and par-
cel of the Conmion Law. An act of
the Legislature of the State or the na-
tion forbidding Christianity or autho-
rizing acts directly against it would be
null and void from the b^;innin^
and be treated by the courts as would
be 9ijus muftoj^ium in violation of the
Jus gentium.
The rights of Christianity are by
our civil institutions recognized as
paramount to all others. They ait
called by us the rights of man, rights
which are held not from the state,
but immediately from the Creator,
and therefore are more prqperiy caO-
Pmtmadt Defma.
547
ed the rights of God than the rights
of man. These rights limit the rights
and authority of the state ; for it is
bound to respect them as sacred and
inviolable, and to protect and defend
them for each and every perscm with*
in its jurisdiction to the full extent
of its power. Among these rights is
the right of conscience, which, in feet,
is the chief, the very basis of all our so-
called natural and inalienable rights.
My right of conscience is the law
for the state, and prohibits it from
enacting any thing that violates it
My conscience is my church, the Ca-
tholic Church ; and any restriction of
her freedom, or any act in violation
of her rights, violates or abridges my
right or freedom of conscience, which,
where equal rights are recognized, the
state has no right to do in my case
any more than in that of any other.
My church, the Catholic Church,
is^ by virtue of my citizenship and
my right of conscience, the law of the
state so £ur as her own freedom is
concerned, and as is necessary to
protect and defend her in the free
and full enj03rment of her rights.
The church b free in and to the full
extent of my freedom of conscience ;
and though I have no right to impose
my conscience on another, I have
the right to protest against any and
every act of the state that is repug-
nant to it or contrary to my church.
The state is just as much bound to
respect, protect, and defend the Ca-
tholic Church in her faith, her con-
stitution, her discipline, and her wor-
ship, as if she were the only rdigious
body in the nation. Other religious
bodies exist and have, not before
God, but before civil society, equal
rights with her ; and if the state can
do nothing to violate their rights of
amsdence, it can do nothing to vio-
late hers, as it in &ct does in its le-
gislation in regard to marriage and
divorce, both here and in nearly
all European states and empires.
It cannot vidate the Catholic con-
science in order to conform to the
Protestant consdenoe.
Here is the way in which weunder^
stand the separation of church and
state, as it exists in this country, and we
feel quite sure that we do not incur
the censure of the .^iS&i^. We have
here done nothing but set forth in its
true light the religious liberty recog-
nized by our American system of gov-
ernment, and which forms the basis
of our civil liberty. Our church
is here with all her freedom, in all
her integrity, by right, not merely
tolemted ; and by a right which is not
a civil grant and revocable at will,
but by the irrevocable grant of God.
Her fUll and entire freedom is recog-
nized by the fundamental principle
of the American state, and we de-
mand that the civil law respect and
protect her freedom against all gain-
sayers. So much we demand on the
ground of equal lights and in the
name of inviolable conscience. When
we go farther and ask more from the
state than equality with the sects, we
give Putnanis Magiume full liberty to
denounce us, and to condenm us as
the enemies of religious liberty.
548
A PoiisA Paimcik JS^n.
A POLISH PATRIOTIC HYMN.
In an obscure comer of the Maza-
rine Libraryi at Paris, was lately dis^
covered by its director or librarian in
chief, Mr. Philar^e Chasles, a small
black prayer-book; an oblong duo*-
decimo, gilt-edged, although printed
on poor gray paper. It was in the
Polish tongue, with the exception of
the vesper-hymns and some canticles
of the church in Latin. No cata^
logue chronicled its existoice, and it
was, evidently, a despised waif, reject-
ed as of too litde importance to be
entitled to a place in the dignified
alcoves.
On examination, it was found to
contain the following original Latin
ode — a remarkable composition in
many respects, touchingly beautifiil
in a simplicity at once tender and
vigorous, and an exquisite combina-
tion of piety and patriotism.
It was doubdess sung in the
chiupches of Poland about the year
1740, when Europe stood alo<^ in
silent ingratitude to those who, fol-
lowing Sobieski's sword, had saved
her torn the Turk; when England
was of course indifferent to the fate
of a Catholic nation; when France
was without sympathy for the &ith-
ful, and her kings proved then, more
than ev^, that Catholicity would
have been better off without their
aid ; when Catharine of Russia gilded
her cupidity with philosophical max-
ims, and Frederick of Prussia, called
the Great, calumniated those he rob-
bed.
As we read the hymn, we can wdl
imagine the crowd in front of the
altar, covered with flowers, in some
rude, white-walled village church.
They kneel befive the in£uit Jens ii
his mother's arms. Pe aaan t t in tiur
national costume— a Iod^ wlufc
Uouse reaching to the knee, the
curved sabre in the bdt— dtfldren,
sclera, women, young giils. Tkqr
chant one of those pecuUaily wiU
Slav(»iic xhythms in f or f. These,
prostrate, with clasped hands, thek
weeping eyes on the mfimt Saviom,
the child Liberator, they intone dieie
beautiful Latin strophes, a rare q|»
dmen of spcmtaneous and pqxte
poetry:
AD PARYULUM CHRISTUM COMTaA
HOSTES PATRL£.
Benerolns aodi
Quae tiuB sunt landi,
O Paunmle delkate I
Patriam defends I
Tu solus es agnos
Et fbrtis et magnus t
Qui perfidnm TarouB
CompeUis ad foicam I
Patriam! patriaml pafriam
Defende!
MerdfbUy listen to those who pfaise aod
implore thee, O tender Infimt t Defend o«
country. Thoa alone art the Lamb^ ikiee
powerfed ! alone great I Eztermipator of
the treacherous Turk. Our country, oar
country, ah ! defend our countiy.
Barbarous and artificial strophes,
perhaps you think ? Yes, measured
by Lucretius and Virgil, they may be;
poor, thin, leonine verses like those of
the twelfth centuiy Benedictine monk
who wrote,
Qoria fidonnn temere conoeditnr hom^
singing verses without prosodial mea*
sure, their vehement and rapid rhyme
A Polish PtttricHc Hymn.
549
ttiswoiiig for eveiy thing. And yet
this learned barbarism, borrowed from
the seventh century, from a poetry in
ndns, gives life to the ardent flame
and the tragic sorrow it expresses. It
is a deep cry of anguish from the in-
nermost depths of a stricken people's
heart
We hear the divine and childlike
victim invoked in his feebleness by a
vanquished nation, and appealed to
in his shivering nakedness (et friges et
faces) by the oppressed in tears, and
these cries form a sad though sublime
harmony. The unknown ecclesiasti-
cal minstrel — for the poetry b anony-
mous—continues :
One£u! O crimen I
Mors transit limep I
O Parvule delicate I
Patrisim defende I
Jam victima sumus,
£t polTis et fbmus.
PatriamI
PatriamI
Patriam defende I
OhiJQStice! O crime t Death advances t
O tender Infimt I defend onr coontry. Al«
ready tfe we victims, naught but smoke and
dnsC Onr country, etc., etc
nusculum^ dunuscmbiSy and displays,
withal, a curious affectation of rh3rming
richness, Jhircam^furcam; IcciuSy pec-
tus/ laudiy audi; magnus^ agnus*
And yet there is deep emotion and
profound lyric agitation compressed
into the ^ortest possible strophes,
all vigorously concise and eloquently
expressive. We omit several beauti-
ful
Grassantur,
Furantnr,
Praedantur,
Bacchanturl
O Parvule delicate I
Patriam defende I
Nil tutum
Nil ausum,
Nil satis est dausum I
Nil fbedera valent
Cum haereses calent
PatriamI
Patriam t
Patriam defende t
Devastating raging, slaying, in orgies
they ruin. O tender Infunt I defend our
country. Naught is safe with us, naught
withholds them. Heresy triumphs 1 Trea«
ties are trampled upon I Our country, etc,
etc.
Tu nndus hie jaces
Et friges et taces I
O Parvule delicate I
Patriam defende t
Minoscnlum pectus,
Duriusculus lectus !
Nihilominus telo
Pugnabis e coelo I
Patriam I
PatriamI
defende 1
* All naked as we see thee, and cold and
^cnt ! O tender Infant I defend our coun-
try. Delicate is thy breast Hard is thy
ooodi I And yet, from heaven on high, wilt
ttiMi ODBu brt Ibr us X Oor oooatiy, etc, etc*
This people's poet and dever La-
tinist is liberal of his diminutives, ml'
Polonia perit
Et spoltum erit
O Parvule delicate I
Patriam defende I
Tu fregeris nisi
Vim hostis invisi,
Op^resseris £acem
Et dederis paoem I
Patriam!
PatriamI
Patriam defende I
Poland perishes. A prey she becomes.
O tender In£uit I defend our country. Seal-
ed is her fete, unless thou breakest the force
of the enemy that crushes her ; unless thou
givest peace. Our country, etc., etc.
Est tempos, est hora
Ne, quaeso, sit mora I
55^0
Through Devious Ways.
O Parnile delicate t
Patriim defende I
Vidni laborant,
Kt aliud orant t
Quod perfidus hostis
N06, tuperi, noetis I
Pltruunl
Patriam I
Patriam defende 1
The time and the hour have come. Oh I
delay not, I implore. O tender Infimt!
aave our country. With other things our
neigfabort are oocupied Tkm,OGodai*
preme 1 knowest the desigDS of the eBCB|k
Defend, defend our country I
How admirable the popular sim-
plicity preserved here — an infantiDe
tendanessy a Slavonian muimur, a
solemn melody resembling the moan-
ing sigh of weeping willows, an echo
of those diarming Lithuanian ballads
finding voice in the grand old eccle-
siastical Roman idiom.
THROUGH DEVIOUS WAYS,
CHAPTER I.
I WAS given to psychological stu-
dies in those days; was fond of attri-
buting vagaries of disposition and
eccentricities of temper to inherited
perversions, insimnountable in them-
selves, and consequently the misfor-
tunes — ^not faults— of their posses-
sors. At that time I firmly believed
in the mysterious attraction of soul to
soul; in the mutual recognition of
kindred spirits, and their sympathy
with each other fix>m behind the bar-
riers of flesh and blood I do not
say I have quite abandoned the opin-
ion now ; but there is a reservation.
I had dipped a little into German
mysticism; had sifted, as I thought,
all creeds to the bottom — all save
one. For Catholicity and its " super-
stitions" I had always entotained
too profound a contempt to seek to
acquire a fiirther knowledge of its doc-
trines than any intelligent American
can learn fix)m the well-read (?) theo-
logians who form its antipodes, and
who launch forth anathemas against
Rome on high-days and holidays
when other subjects weary or grow
flat I flattered myself that my ac-
quaintance with this particular fonn
of idolatry was quite thorough for all
practical piuposes ; the contaminadoo
extended no fiuther; and yet I beliere
my case would represent that of mae
tenths of the thinkiilg, intdligent Pro-
testants of this peculiariy^avored and
grace-illumined country.
It was — for me — the first party of
the season. January had almost
danced itself away, and the fashiona-
bles were beginning to antidpate
Lent; but until to-night I had pe^
sistendy refiised all invitations from
fiiends and acquaintances. Of the
former I had very few ; I had grown
tired of the world, of pleasure^sed^-
ing, of myself What wonder, iHicn,
in the great dty of New Yoric, with
its hundreds of thousands of throb-
bing hearts, there was not one to
whom in solemn truth I could hold
oat the light hand of firienddiq); oot
one upon whose sympathies I cookl
anchor, should the tide of fortune turn
Through Devious Ways.
551
and leave me, a rich man to-day, the
sport of her cruel waves to-morrow ?
I prided myself on being cynical,
turning out of the way of all step-
ping-stones that might have led to a
happier existence; there was little
&ith in human nature in my heart, no
religion in my soul.
Dissatisfied with my own aimless
life, I sought no mirror in the lives
of others; self-sufficient and cold, I
avoided kindness and sympathetic as-
sociations. I was just at that point
when satiety and disgust render the
world and its attributes almost unen-
diurable.
On the evening before mentioned,
I had been introduced to young ladies
by the dozen ; had mentally criticised,
weighed, and found wanting each
one upon whom I had inflicted the
bane of my company through a
dance. Tired and ill-humored, I was
about going forward to take leave of
the hostess, when a few words spoken
just behind me made me pause and
look around, curious to know who
the " sweet singer " might be.
It was a woman's voice, dear and
sweet, and the words were, " No,
thank you ; I never dance the round
dances."
But a surging crowd of feverish
waltzers drifted by me at the mo-
ment, as the delirious strains of
Strauss's Zamora floated up from the
balcony, and the face I would have
scanned was lost amid the throng.
As I moved off a little from the
dancers, and watched cheeks flush and
bright eyes grow brighter at the call
of voluptuous music, I could not but
wonder at the inconsistency of fate
and fortune that had brought into
this ultra-fashionable gathering a lady,
certainly young, and probably beau-
tiful, who " did not dance the round
dances."
I passed into the adjoining room.
Several of the waltzers^ tired and
heated, had left the crowded salon
before me ; here and there a stray
wall-flower tried to look unconscious
and happy in the midst of desolation ;
but my eye psychological wandered
in vain up and down, seeking a face
that would seem to indicate the owner
of the voice heard a few moments
before. At length a very young girl
issued from a group that had been
standing near an open window, and,
as I marked the expression of her
fauldess mouth and soft blue eyes, I
said to myself, " That is the one." But
at the moment a gay young West-
Pointer stepped forward to meet her,
and in another instant my Madonna
was whirling through the giddy maze.
" Pshaw I" I ejaculated half aloud,
disappointed to find my intuitiveness
at fault, and turned as I did so to en-
counter an old fiiend, not seen for
some time, who entered fix)m the con-
servatory in company with a lady.
Surprise and pleasure caused us
momentarily to forget politeness, so
that several sentences were inter-
changed before Armitage recollected
himself, and said, '' Allow me, Helen.
My fiiend, Mr. Moray, Miss Foster."
I muttered something — the young
lady bowed ; that was alL The cou-
ple passed on ; and I am bound to
confess that I did not notice the
color of the lady's eyes or hair, and
never once thought of her expression,
psychologist as I was.
I recognized no kinship of feeling
or sympathy as we stood within the
circle of each other's magnetism; and
yet my " destiny " had come to me,
and the soul within me, that was to
have risen and grown conscious at
the approach^ stood mute and made
no sign.
After that, Fred Armitage called at
my rooms several times, and succeed-
ed in winning me away from my ex-
clusiveness, in so much that I promis-
ed to be at his disposal for New
?52
Through
Year's day, on condition that his
visits of congratulation would be few
and well chosen. He laughed at my
conceit, as he was pleased to call it
" I don't fancy every body any more
than you do, Ed," he said; " but one
must make allowances and be socia-
ble with the world. There's a diflfer-
ence between friends and acquaint-
ances. One need not have the for-
mer if one doesn't wish; but the latter
are indispensable, unless you give up
the amenities of civilization at once."
After which remark we sallied forth.
Toward evening, and when I had
vowed for the fourth time that each
successive call would be my last,
Fred paused before a handsome house
on Fifth Avenue.
'' I am not going in," I said, almost
savagely, as he announced his inten-
tion of entering.
" Only here," he answered, " and I
promise 111 go home with you. I
must call. I should have made this
one first ; but I wanted to save the
best morsel for the last Come; Helen
would never forgive me if I neglected
her to-day."
*<And what daim has the young
lady on your time and affections ?"
I asked, somewhat more quietly than
before, " you are not in love, or en-
gaged, or any thing of that kind ?"
" Ni Pun m Vautre; it is my cousin,
Helen Foster. I introduced you at
Mrs. Parry's."
I had not time to say more; for the
door opened at this juncture, and we
were ushered into a large and elegant-
ly furnished parlor, where sat two
ladies—one old, and very charming
in her old age ; the other young and
beautiful Not lovely; there was no-
thing airy or fragile about her; but
radiant, with a fresh, bright color in
her cheeks that made one think of
long walks taken on wintry mornings;
with large brown eyes, which, while
they did not fall or fear as they looked
Ways.
into yours, yet had a shade «f rati-
cence, almost bashfiilness, in diek un-
troubled depths ; with a wealth of
rippling hair, golden brown, aowning
the well-poised head and definiog tbe
delicate ear ; with a hand that iidt
warm, soft, and friendly, as mmc
closed over it
** We have met before, I bdicrc,"
she said, as Armitage repeated my
name ; then, turning to the other lady,
'< Mr. Moray, grandmamma, a friend
of Fred's." And the dear little figure
in the arm-chair rose and greeted me
most kindly.
" Has there been no one hoe to-
day, Helen ?" asked Fred ; "you look
as though you were quite fresh, and not
at all fatigued from the exchange of
compliments, hand-shaking, etc"
'* Oh ! yes, there have been some
few," she said. "But grandmamma
lives entirely at home, and you knov
I patronize society but seldom ; con-
sequently, we have been spared tbe
dear five hundred particular friends,
and flatter ourselves we feel quite as
comfortable, notwithstazKling. Isn't it
so, grandmamma ?" And she placed
her hand affectionately on tbe old lady's
arm. As the tones of her clear, w^
modulated voice reached my ear, a
vision of lights and flowers and flying
feet rose before me, and I almost
heard the bewildaing waltz-musk
float through the air. And then, lift-
ing my eyes to the face of the lady
before me, I recognized my rara avis
of that evening — the girl of the period
who did not dance round dances.
To say that I was not interested
in her from the first, would be to say
an imtruth. Her personality afiiectfid
me pleasandy,and somewhat strangfdy.
There was a fireshness and elasticity
about her that did not proceed from
inexperience or unacquaintance with
the world; for dignity and self-pos-
session characterized her every move-
ment, and yet she seemed cntirdjr
Tknugk Dmfkui W^s.
553
unooneciouB of any Jaim to oricpna*
lity or naturalness ; because she was
so natural. Our call, that was to
have been so shorty laigtiiened i^f
into an hour. Fred and his cousin
made themselves mutually agreeable.
I addressed myself to the elder lady,
now and then exchanging a few words
with the others.
When Fred arose to take leave, I
fidt no disposition to join him, and
Teiy unacoountably and inconsistent-
ly reproached him in my own mind
for being in a hurry. •
For the first time in many months
I had felt sociably disposed, and had
endeavored to make mjrself agree**
al^; and I was reluctant to leave
diat quiet, home-like parlor and its
cxxupants, both so different from the
brilliant, giddy butterflies within the
flutter of whose wings I had been
vadUatiag all that day. As we passr
ed out into the sdll, cold night, I
looked up at the quiet stars with a
kindly feeling. Fred talked in an
unbroken stream until we reached my
rooms. Arrived there, we spent the
vest of the evening smoking and chat*
tbag. I expressed myself pleased with
his cousin and her grandmother,
whose only granddiild and sole heir-
ess he informed me she was. The
€^ock struck twelve as he rose to ga
After I had come back to the fire, I
remember the wholly strange, almost
smiowful feeling that possessed me.
Crazing into the dying embers, I
dreamed a half-waking dream, where*
in the ghosts of other New Years dead
and gone took form and shape, and
with shadowy, reproachful gestures,
•eemed to beckon me away, back
through old scenes and hopes and
yearnings'*— faded — buried^-vanished
all for ever.
CHAPTER II.
One afternoon in early spring, I
happened to pass the caUiedral just
as service was over. I had spent the
previous evening with Miss Foster —
an event of not unusual occurrence
now, although I never called unless
when accompanied by Armitage. The
current of my thoughts flowed plea^
aantly as the crowd of devout wor-
shippers issued forth from their devo-
tions. A lady passed out of the gate,
and I immediatdy recognized the
figure as that of Miss Foster. '< Ec-
centric, certainly," I thought; <'just
like what I would imagine she might
do. Strange that some of our most
intelligent and highly educated wo-
men can fancy this attending Catholic
churches."
I quickened my steps, and in amo-
ment was at her side.
<' Have you been at vespers, Mr.
Moray ?" she asked, as though it were
the most natural thing in the world
that I should have been there.
"Not I," I replied laughingly;
** but you have, I presiune ?"
" Yes»" she rejoined, " grandmam-
ma will be scolding me, I am afraid.
I went up-stairs to lie down after din
ner, having a slight headache. But
once in my room, I fdt as though
a walk would benefit me more, so I
stde out"
" A crowded church is not the best
place in the world in which to get
rid of the headache," I responded.
" Mine has vanished, however," was
the reply. " It had quite disappear-
ed before I reached the church."
<< Do you aflect Catholic ceremo-
nies generally, Miss Foster ?" I ask-
ed; "or rather do you admire Catho-
licism in the abstract ? Or is it the
incense and music and wax tapers
that possess charms for you ?"
" All these collectively have attrac-
tions for me," she answered; " but
not in the way you imagine. You
are inclined to bdieve, no doubt,
that it is some romantic and impres-
sionable vein in my nature that sends
554
Tkro9i£^ Dtmous Waj^s.
me within the influence of Catholic
ceremonies and Aeir accessories. But
we are all liable to error; and you
will not be deeply wounded, I hope,
if I venture to advise you of your
mistake in this instance. I am a Ca-
tholic, and hold all these things as a
part of my faith."
*'A Cadiolic!" I exclaimed in un*
disguised astonishment ^ A Catho-
lic! Not a Roman Catholic, Miss
Foster? You mean that you are
one in the true sense of the term ?"
^ I hope I do— I think that is what
I mean. I am, by the grace of God,
a Roman Ca^olic." And it seemed
to me she spoke almost maliciously,
as though deliberately to wound my
dearest prejudices.
" You will the more readily excuse
me for my inability to realize this in-
formation," I replied, "when I tell
you that until now my acquaintance
with members of your church has
been very limited, and that those
whom I have met have always be-
longed to the lowest classes of so-
ciety. I find it difficult to convince
myself that you can profess a belief
whose tenets have always appeared
to me to be a web of superstition.
My associates have been altogether
Protestant, and my prejudices, as
you would call them, very decided
wherever Rome was concerned. You
may dunk me blunt, even imperti-
noit; but allow me at the same time
to acknowledge that I fed confident
there must be sometiiing good and
beautiful in a rehgion that one of
your intdUgence and refinement ad-
mires and professes."
^Thete is somedung good and
beautiful in aH religions," die answer-
ed, ''orthey wooldnotbe wordiyof
the name — mere attempts and half
promises as most of them one. But
in oan all is goodness and beaaty.
I can pardon«eveii ondentand yo«r
pfft|wiices; Kr 1 s&area okbi
I was bom and educated in die Pres-
byterian &ith ; a &ith hard, cold, and
unconsding. I can remember the
time when I regarded Catholicity as
but another fonn of heathenism. Fdr
your estimate of my intelligence and
refinement I can only thank you — all
the more as you have never bad op-
portunity to judge correctly of eidwr;
consequently I must take the verdict
for what it is worth. But here I am
at home, and the lamps are lighted.
How late it must be. Thank you
again, and gdbd evening."
M^th a litde rippling laugh she kft
my side, and almost before I had time
to answer her puling salutation, slie
had tripped up the steps and entered
the house.
A crowd of confiictmg dioog^
pursued eadi other in my mind as I
continued my walk. A consdousnea
that I endeavmed vainly to ignore
grew stronger as I reflected on what
had passed, and weighed mote mi-
nutdy all the circumstances of our
meeting and acquaintance. And with
it was minj^ a feeling of disappoinC*
ment, almost of vexation and pain, as
though I had been toudied and as-
safled by some detested enemy.
I grew restless; nothing satisfied
me. People said I looked iH No
wonder, when I sat up half the night
trymg to divert my nmid firom tbe
sdidy of its own problems, to diose
of incomprehensible German pliio*
sophy. I reasoned wkh what I
pleased to term my weakness^
what Goukl I do? I had kept cot
of the way of frmptatiop; I \aA
avoided a. s B rm Wiei where I knew die
wvtikdy tobe; twenty tunes I bad
stood upon the tfare^old of her
and as often tmaed and i c tiJ iLe d
step& One night I sat akoe in Bf
room, and almost vovod to pat the
thought of her from my mind at oooe
andlbrevec As I
TA$vugk Divi0us Ways.
555
** Desdate andmelandioly asever,'*
he said cheerfally, and the sound of
bis happy voice made me desperate.
Saddoily, involuntarily, I might say,
I found myself answering him,
'^ I am tired of being desolate and
melancholy though;" then cardessly,
*^ What if we saunter down to Miss
Foster's?"
Fted was all willingness^ while snr-
Xjrised at my change of mood We
walked leisurely along. When we
reached the house, Fred remaiked
that the shutters were closed, and
that there was some probability of
the young lady being out I said
nodiing, but made a solemn compact
with myself while we waited " If she
is not at home/' I thought, « tiiat vow
shall be registered and kept; if she is,
che sera semJ*
Miss Helen was at home, the ser-
vant said 9ie reproached me for
not having called in such a length of
time, and wondered if the revelation
made at our last meeting had not
helped to keep me away. Then turn-
ing, to her cousin she said laughingly,
** Mr. Moray was horrified the other
day, to hear of my being a Cathdic"
** The other day?" I answered. "It
is fiilly three months ago, and I have
not yet been able to reconcile my
mind to the feet."
" It is a feet though, Ed," said Ar-
niitage ; " and gready as I deplored the
calamity when it happened four years
ago, I must confess that Helen has
changed for the better in the interval.
You see, she was most irrepressible,
some time since — before her conver-
sion, as she calls it — doing every thing
by fits and starts, and holding every
one under the severest of despotisms ;
but I actually believe this litUe devo-
tion she has, this habit of confessing,
has toned her down and made her the
rational creature we see her. That's
how you account for the change, isn't
it,coz?"
"Fred, you are unconscionable.
Mr. Moray knows you as well as I
do, no doubt, and weighs your vera-
city prop(»tionately. You don't ad-
mire Shelley, Mr. Moray?" interro-
gatively, as I turned over the pages
of a richly bound edition of that au-
thor whidi lay upon a litde table near
me.
"No; and yet I do not look at
him from the same point of view as
you probably would. I think he was
crazy. You, I suppose, would pass a
more merciless judgment."
" Let us be charitable," she said,
" and hope that he was insane. But
unhappily his was a species of insani-
ty of which diere are but too many
instances."
After that, the talk fell upon books
generally. The hours slipped by, and
eleven o'clock had struqk before we
took leave. Before I left her that
night, I had thrown down the barriers
crumbling so long; I had seen and
recognized a true, womanly woman,
and, all unknown to her, had accept-
ed what I knew to be the inevitable.
After this I went often to the en-
chanted castle. My feiry princess
was neariy always accessible, but so
she was to the rest of the worid as
well. How could I hope to be the
fevored knight, when her smiles were
bestowed on all so generously ? She
was invariably kind and cordial;
sometimes slightly sarcastic and criti-
cal, but never moody or sad. I often
wondered from what source she drew
her abundant cheerfulness, and how
she managed to preserve it.
Never by word or look had I inti-
mated my own feelings toward her;
something told me to linger at the
gate of paradise, content to see the
roses blooming without daring to ven-
ture in. I felt that a suspicion once
aroused in her mind would change
our relations completely; and I had
not begun to hope.
$5«
Tlu^g^ l>0pkus IK9V.
As thmgs stoody we grew to be
excellent friends. Our views diffared
widely on many points, but religion
was the only reaJly sensitive topic*
More than once I had noticed a look
of pain in her &ce when I startled
her with some of my materialistic
views, and at last we tadtly avoided
the subject altogether. While I ad-
mired her beautiful sin^city and
iaitb, I could not understand then, as
I do now, how any a^rsion cast
upon that faith could wound her as
deeply as though it sought harsel^
and I had never wished to take it
from her. In hopeful moments, few
and far between, when I had dared to
think of her as my wife, the thought
of her religion and the absence of it
in me had, strangdy enough, never in-
truded itself upon me. Consequent-
• ly« it was from no desire to weaken
or alter her convictions in any parti-
cular that I became almost involunta-
rily instrumental in bringing matters
to a crisis.
We had been reading Prench to-
gether, or, to qpeak more correctly, I
had been reading it to her, one even-
ing of every week, with the ostensible
purpose of in^)roving my pronunda^
tion imder her tutelage ; for she spoke
the language beautifully.
One day an old Parisian who lodg-
ed in the house with me, and who oc-
casionally made my sitting-room the
theatre of a homily on Victor Hugo^
Sainte-Beuve, and their confrhres^ laid
upon my table a copy of Kenan's
^^ grand succh^*
''Read it," he said; ^read it in the
original; it loses by translation."
I promised to do sa That ev^i-
ing I took it with me to Miss Fos-
ter's. As I walked leisurely along, the
thought struck me that my '' teacher"
might probably not admire the ^^ grand
succks/' but it only lingered a mo-
mentf and troubled me but little.
'' No harm in bringing it, any how-*
the style is good," I sobloqniaed^ and
rang the bell in a happier frame of
nujid than I had known f<x week&
Fred usually joined us on Fxench
evenings, but to-ni^ another en^
gagement claimed him. Helen was
sitting alone when I entered the par*
lor.
"Grandmamma has a headache
this evening, and wiB not be down,"
she said apologetically.
I sat down, made a few trifling re-
marks^ to which she responded, tad
then arose to bciag the book we had
been reading.
''Wait, I have something else to-
night," I said, takii^ the volume from
the table where I had placed it
" What'b it ?" she asked, resunung
her seat
"Kenan's book," I reined ooni-
d^tly. " I thought I would brii^ it
with me. He has an excelloit style
— ^unique and polished He is the
last sensation, you know."
" I will not read it," she said in a
low tone.
" I'll read and you will listen," I
answered. "That is the usoal ar-
rangement, is it not ?"
" I will not listen;" she replied, and
I saw by the angry flush mantling
her f(M:ehead that I had committed a
grave error; that she misundeistood
my motives and was vexed.
" Pardon me," I said. « We will
not read it, if you so desire ; but at
the same time there can be no haim
in informing one*6 self on opposite
views fn^n our ovni. This is the ^
rit in which I should read the book,
not fearing that it would bias my miiid
either one way or the other. Can
you not be as liberal ?"
She left her seat and began finger-
ing in a nervous way the omam^ti
that lay upon the mantel
" I have BO wish to hear my God
and my religion railed and bl a yhcm*
ed at either at first or second hand,"
Through DmoMs Ways.
557
aliesakl. ' '^ It would be none the less
pdnlBl coming from the Hps of one
whom I had almost leameid to call
IHend; butwhohasto<»nightinaverf
few words shown me my mistake.
F<Mr my rdigion I have long been
aware that you dieririi an imdisgoia-
ed contempt; for mysdf I had hoped
you entertained no con tempCuons fed*
ing. Surely, I have never given you
reason for yoor action of diis evening."
While she was speaking I had
shaped my course. Precipitate as it
might be, diere was nothing left me
now but a declaration of my real sen-
timents, unless I would forfeit her es^
teem kx ever. Fully conscious of the
disadvantages of time and circum*
stance as I was, and without any
presumption of success, I then and
tiiere resolved to tell her the whole
truth. It was but a hastening to the
end.
•* Stop cme moment," I rq>lied ; " a
word with you. You have wronged
me by intimating that I purposed
aught of disrespect to you or your
vdigion by what I have unthinkingly
ckmediis evening. Icoulddonetdier;
for I love you. How deeply, I, who
have struggled with that love for
months, alone can know ; how entirely
and unsdfishly, you perhaps might
learn, could you find it in your heart
to let me i^ow you ; how vainly, my
own heart tells me while I watch your
&ce. Surprised you may be — I have
no doubt you are ; displeased too, but
I take no blame to myself for that
An honest man dares liift his eyes to
a noble woman ; and whatever be my
faults, and they are many ; wherever
lie my errors, and they are thickly
sown, I still can call myself an honest
«f
She moved further away from where
I stood, and once or twice, while I
was speaking, made a movement as
though to interrupt me. As I uttered
the last words, I saw her eyes flash,
and a half sarcastic smile wreathe it-
self about her hps.
^ You call yourself an honest man,"
she said ; ^ an honest man ! What is
your code, and who the law-giver?
Is it honest to leave untitled and brier-
strewn the soil that has been given
you in trust for an endless harvest
time ; to waste the talents that have
been bestowed on you with lavi^
hand; to qpend da3rs and months
and 3rear8 in pleasant idleness, as you
have done, and as you do ? Is it
honest to wrap yoursdf in a mantle of
fiilse and hollow cynicism, lest your
better nature might have opportunity
to assert its capacities and prove its
possibilities ; to scoff at all creeds and
professions of religion as so many
shams and superstitions, because from
the nature of the life you lead 3rour
own ideal must be both hypocrisy and
sham ? I am only a woman, and stich
men as you place but Htde confidence
in a woman's judgment and fo-sigh ted«
ness. But I have read you deeper
th^ you suppose. Evening afler even-
ing, while you sat here reading, talk-
ing to me, I have been studying you.
I have recognized emotions that your
pride would caU weaknesses; thoughts
that your worldly wisdom seeks to
cover with a jest or smile ; great capa-
Inlities of sacrifice that your every-day
exterior conceals under dikttante tastes
and careless ways. I have seen that
in your eye, hewl that in yoiu: voice,
which has made me marvel how a soul
Mke yours could be content with hu^
and bitterness. For you, yourself, I
could have sympathy; but I scorn the
evil spirit that is in you."
I had loved her before ; but as she
stood there taxing me with that to the
consciousness of which I was but just
awakening, my love gave one great
bound and seemed to sit enthroned
high above sight or sound of human
passion, even while, with every word
she uttered, the knowledge of its vain
558
TMv^gk Ikvicut WofS.
endeavOT listened itsdf moie finidj
upon me. I was about to speak, but
she interrupted me, and the words
came more dowly now, and more
kindly.
'' I may have spoken haxshly," she
said. <' Indeed, I am sure I have. But
it was of yoiu-self with regard to your«
self, and in what I said there was no
thought of my own connection with
the subject As to that part of it, I can
have none ; but I think, however much
or little a woman esteems a man, Aere
must be something especially tender in
her dealings with one who has made
her the offering of his love. You will
believe me, then, when I say that I
am pained, deeply pained, that you
should have given yours to me, or
deemed its acknowledgment necessary.
Words are idle and superfluous here.
I can and do appreciate it; I can be,
I am your friend. Forgive me if I
have been harsh; in calmer moments
you will come to think of me as one
whose words were quick and too im-
pulsive, but who had your interest
at heart Now let me go. Do not
speak further, I beg of you; it would
only pain us both."
" But a few words," I said; " a very
few. You have aimed surely, and
struck deep. I do not blame you for
my mistake, nor for that which you
term harshness. I cannot, since I
recognize its truth. The difference
between you and most women is, that
you are brave enough to speak that
truth; for you are too free from
vanity or frdsity of any kind, I know,
ever to speak other than your earn-
est thoughts. I may have scoffed at
creeds; I have never scoffisd at God;
give me at least this merit I have
dreamed a dream — ^we all do at some
time, I believe; may yours be happy
.ealizations always. Good-by."
With a sudden glare the firelight
flashed upon the wall, and the red
glow shone full upon her face, paler
than usual, but calm. There vcfe
tears in htf eyes as diey met mme;
but what woman wkh a woman's
heart could be unmoved at such a
moment?
^ Good-by," she answered, abnoit
inaudibly. 1 paused to hearnomoie;
the next moment the door dosed ht-
hind me, and I was in the street
CHAPTBR m.
I went abroad, throu^^ the pdad-
pal cities of the old world, and l^
quiet ways to uiqxetaiding places
where travellers seldom go. My
heart sought rest and quiet; my soul
was beginning to shake off the tor-
p(»r that had enchained it ; taking iQ»
ahnost unconsciously, silent infloea-
ces that pervaded my whde beiiig*
Truths forced themselves upon me
unawares, and my ears did not refose
to hear them. Across the wide Aflan-
tic some one was praying for me^
although I did not know it while she
inayed— one whose £Eu:e I vamly
strove to banish from my memocyf
whose voice ran through the cuneDt
of my trouUed dreams. And yet it
was with no hope of winning her love
in the future that I opened my heirt
and mind to the study of sacred
things. That idea never came to
me. The whole purpose of my
life seemed changed. How often I
thought of her denunciation of my
aimless existence, my ^ diieUank tastei
and careless ways." How often I
thanked her that, all unamsdoosly
though it were, she had opened tome
new avenues of thought and actioo.
"^ Better to have loved and lost than
never to have loved at all," andsotbe
work went on. Silently but surely
my heart unclosed to the heavenly
dews that fell upon it and renewed it
I remained some time in France and
Italy, spent a few mondis in Ge^
many, and dien returned to EngUnd
Tkrwgk Devious Wcfys.
559
At the feet of one of the &tbeisof the
Oratory in Londcm I made my fiist
ccmfession, and tasted the inefiable
sweetnsss of divine compassion.
Nearly two years had passed, and
die Mce nonfar nknte life, so natural
osx^e, grew wearisome now. At home
there was work for me to do ; there
lay my field and my mission. I did
not attempt to disguise firom myself
the pain and renewal of old wounds
that must inevitably follow my return.
However, I resolved to nerve myself
£)r the ordeal, and promised my ti-
midity the struggle would be short,
and dien the world lay before me. A
world in which there were great things
to be learned and conquered.
I had written to Armitage once
after my departure, and received an
immediate answer, asking me to con-
tinue the correspondence. To his
letter I had not replied, and I was
almost entirely ignorant of afiairs at
home.
I landed in New York one bright
Sq>tember day, and the first feeling
of strangeness vanished as I walked
through the crowded streets, and re-
cognized the familiar faces of former
acquaintances. My whilom landlady
received me with open arms; my old
quarters had just been vacated, and
I was speedily reinstalled. I had not
been in town two days, when Armi-
tage rushed in one evening, glad to
see me, and brimful of news.
^ Strange fireak of yours that, Ed,"
he said. *' I came around here one
night by appointment; old lady met
me with the information that you had
sailed that day. I couldn't believe
it Went to Helen's, to see if she
knew any thing about it; but she
didn't Then I felt sure the whole
thing was a joke. You and she were
such firiends that I could not think
you'd have gone ofif in that way,
without saying good-by. That soU-
taiy letter of yours was worse than
none at all ; i»rovokmg in you |o re-
lapse into sdlence again, when a fellow
thought he had got on your track.
How soon do you intend to be ofif
again?"
" Not for a while yet," I answered.
" I think I shall remain at home now.
By the way, how is Miss Foster ?— -or
is she Miss Foster yet? — and her
grandmother ?"
" The old lady died the winter after
you left New York; but Helen is liv-
ing in the homestead yet A married
sister of mine is domiciled there too,
at present — Laura ; you've heard me
speak of her. She was living in Balti-
more when you were one of us. He-
len is not married ; not fbr the want
of suitors though ; she has refused be-
tween ten and fifty splendid offers, to
my certain knowledge."
*' Of course she makes you her confi-
dent ?" I said quizzingly.
^^jRis du toui — a fine one I'd be;
but I guess all these things. She is
an odd girl. Not too pious, although
a devout Catholic, but hard to please.
By the way, I am due at Helen's to-
night; won't you come? You can't
expect her to call on you."
I made some excuse; and Fred
went ofif without me, promising, how-
ever, to report me '* safe and sound."
Although I knew that, sooner or later,
I should meet her, I could not face
the ordeal as yet ; and preferred that,
when it did take place, the meeting
should be accidental
The next week I attended a con-
cert at the Academy of Music. Di-
rectly in firont of me two seats re-
mained unoccupied until the prima
donna had made her first bow to the
audience, and was preluding her song
with a few prefatory trills.
I turned my eyes from the stage
to meet those of a lady who passed
to one of the vacant chairs; and the
next moment Fred Armitage was say-
ing, ''You here, Moray ? I am glad
56o
Through Devieus Ways.
we are near you. He has changed,
Nellie, don't you think?" as his com-
panion extended her hand in silence.
Then, as I greeted her, a single " wel-
come home " fell from her lips, and
that was all.
No change in her. The same pure,
truthful eyes ; the old-time sweetness
in her voice and smile j the old-time
charm about her still. As I looked
at her, and heard her speak, I realized
how vain had been the delusion that
prompted me to seek peace and dis-
enchantment within the sphere of her
influence. Once, during a pause in
the music, she asked my opinion of
the singer. I must have appeared
constrained and awkward ; for I have
a half recollection of muttering some
indistinct answer. I left before the
•
performance was over. I did not care
to court misery — ^my present situation
was deplorable enough — and I was
anxious to get away from Fred's per-
tinacity, which I knew would assert
itself if we went in company from the
music-hall.
Afterward I steadily resisted all so-
fidtations from Armitage to call at his
sister's; although he often expressed
a desire to introduce me. However,
having met him one day in company
with his brother-in-law, I promised
the latter gentleman to call at \as resi-
dence. Not to have done so would
have made my conduct appear eccen-
tric and ridiculous. About dusk the
next evening Fred came in.
" Come to Auvcrgne's with me to-
night," he said. "Walter has gone
to Baltimore on business, and Hden
with him. She intends spending die
winter with some relatives dicre.
Laura is alone, and may be we couM
chet^ her up. I am sorry Waher and
Nellie are absent ; but youTl get ac-
quainted with the best little woman in
the wcffld.'*
There was no help for It Thepte-
senl, too, afiforded die best opportv-
nity. I went, and received a conGri
welcome from Mrs. Auvergne, who
was all that her brother had described
her, and more.
'' So this is Mr. Moray," she said,
as Fted introduced me. **I have
heard of you so frequently tiiat I
know you already, ^d Hden has
sometimes mentioned you."
The evening passed pleasandy. As
we were about leaving, our hostess
warmly invited me to renew dieMsit
''Come soon, and as often as yoa
like," she said ; " we shall be always
pleased to see you."
Inconsistendy enough, I departed
from my proposed line of conduct in
so far as to accept her invitaticm. It
was londy sitting in my bachdor
abode those long winter evenings;
and, after five or six weeks' acquaint-
ance, I had called so frequently at
Mrs. Auvergne's as to io^i more at
home there than anywhere else k
New York. I did not think mudi ol
die future, of the difficulties that mist
arise when another member of die
&mily should resume her place in the
circle; or, if I did, I was wise or fool-
ish enough not to anticipate them.
Meeting Mr. Auvergne near home
one evening, he brought me mtUem
volens in to tea. We found his wife
in the parlor, with her diree channing
litde girls, who had become great
friends of mine, and who knew me
under the tide of "Unde Fiwft
brother."
** Something for yon, Laura," said
Paterfrmailias, as be threw a letter into
her lap.
** From Hden, is it not ?•
** Yes; excuse me, Ifr. Moray, while
I glance over it I always give He-
len*^ letters two or three Te«ifiiig&.
She is growmg quite dissipated. * I
have been to three parties this week,*
she writes; 'much against my kidi-
nation, you win imagiDe. But Maod
and Alke kftd sock gay ivcs that
Through Devious Ways.
561
one is kept in a perpetual round of
sight-seeing and enjoyment — as the
world goes. I could never be con-
tent to live this way ; and feel dubious
as to whether I can find it compati-
ble with real duties at home to re-
main the promised time. You re-
proached me before I went away with
being low-spirited, Laura. Your pa-
nacea has not proved beneficial. I
am, if not melancholy, not half so
cheerfiil in my mind, as Fred would
say, as when I left you. So don't be
surprised to see me any morning
about breakfast time. Tell the chil-
dren, "Cousin Helen is glad they have
found a new friend; but" — ^here the
reader paused; and, after a hurried
perusal of the remainder, replaced the
missive in its envelope.
" Foolish Helen !" she said, as
though talking to herself; then, sup-
per being announced, there was no-
thing more said on the subject
On Christmas eve I called with
some presents for the children. I
had promised them to enlist Santa
Claus in their favor, and waited until
I thought they would be asleep to
bring what toys and trinkets they had
told me confidentially would be ac-
ceptable. Ushered into the parlor,
I did not at first perceive in the dim
light that some one was standing near
the window. The noise of the door
closing caused the occupant of the
room to look round, and, as she did
so, I recognized Miss Foster.
" Excuse me," I managed to arti-
culate in my surprise; "I did not
know you had returned, or that you
were expected."
" I was not expected," she answer-
ed smilingly. "But I grew home-
sick as Christmas approached, and as-
tonished them all this morning at
daylight Will you sit down, Mr.
Moray ?" And she drew a chair for-
ward.
« Thank you," I replied, " not this
VOL. x. — ^36
evening. I have merely brought
some trifles for the little ones. We
are great firiends. I have become
quite at home with them during your
absence."
" So Laura tells me," she answered;
"and they have not been silent
either. They are very lovable chil-
dren."
" I have found them so," I rejoined.
" I suppose they are all three dream-
ing of Santa Claus at this moment
But I must be going. Be kind
enough to present my compliments
to Mrs. Auvergnc, who is probably
busy this evening. And allow me to
wish you a very merry Christmas."
As I ceased speaking, the parior
door opened and the mistress of the
house entered, bonneted and shawled
for a walk, and accompanied by Fred,
who announced himself a complete
wreck firom a firolic in the nursery.
" Good evening, Mr. Moray," said
the little lady cordially. " These for
the children ? Thank you ; you are
very kind ; they wiU be so delighted.
You see our wanderer has returned.
Is she not looking well ? Sit down,
you must nt)t go yet Rather late
for a lady to go shopping, is it not ?
But I want something down-town,
and Fred has volunteered to accom-
pany me. We shall not be absent
long; you must stay till we return.
You and Helen are old firiends, I
know, and can manage to pass an
hour pleasantly together."
I fancied Helen looked at me im-
ploringly, as though to say, " Do
go away," and I ventured to remon-
strate.
" I am inexorable," was the reply.
"You are to remain till we come
back. Fred, take his gloves; and
Helen, ring for lights."
There was no withstanding such
importunity. Reluctantly, but with
as good grace as I could summon, I
allowed myself to succumb to the
562
Through Devious Ways,
force of circumstances. Seeing there
was no help for it, my companion in
distress took some fancy knitting from
a table near her, and soon appeared
lost in its intricacies. For fully five
minutes after the door closed on Mrs.
Auvergne and her brother we sat in
embarrassing silence — silence that at
length grew unendurable.
" You are sitting too far from the
fire," I said, by way of endeavor to
mend matters ; " there must be some
draught from that window too."
" I prefer being near the light," she
answered, without looking up ; " and
I am not at all cold."
Another five mintites of silence.
What should I say next ? Could I
sit there much longer? I did not
think so. I felt as though I must make
a desperate move and take my leave.
Suddenly, pealing out upon the
silent night, I heard the sound of
bells. She heard them too, I knew,
for I saw her lift her head to listen.
"The Christmas chimes," I said;
" how beautifully they sound. I have
heard them in Rome and Naples;
last year I was in England at this
season ; but home music has charms
{>eculiar to itself, and dearer than all
other— at least so it seems to me."
" You believe in Christmas, then, as
an institution ?" she answered smiling-
ly, and with a touch of the old sar-
casm in her voice.
" Surely," I replied gravely, " since
I believe in Christ Inasmuch as a
Catholic believes and reverences all
that his church teaches and believes."
I looked at her face to see what
effect my words would have, but it
evinced no emotion of surprise. She
answered quietly and assuredly, as
though our ways had never been
separate,
" Yes, we who are Catholics enjoy
the capacity of feeling and appreciat-
ing these things as none do beside.
Especially converts such as you and
I, who have known the eiq>erience
of doubt and fear."
"I was not aware," I rejoined,
" that you knew of my conversion."
" No ?" she replied. " I have known
it some time, having seen you several
times at Mass and Benediction. I
do not believe you would make the
sign of the cross unless you held it to
be the sign of salvation. And you do
make it, I think."
" No doubt the discovery surprised
you. Miss Foster," I continued.
"No, it did not," she answered.
" I did not think the change wouM
be accomplished so soon, but I hoped
great things for you."
" Even when you accused me most
bitterly ?" Why tread on dangerous
ground ; but the words were spoken,
and I could not recall them.
" Even when I accused you most
bitterly," she said, in a low tone.
"You are far-sighted, I perceive.
Perhaps you may also have some
idea of the manner in which this
change was brought about Perh^
I may have felt, may still feel, an
indebtedness to some one, to whom
it has been a matter of doubt with me
as to whether I should acknowledge
the obligation, or suffer it to go un-
paid."
" I may have an idea," she replied,
" yet not just such a one as that to
which you make allusion. Some one
may have been instrumental in awa-
kening thought on the subject But
I have not been able to advance the
idea further."
For a moment I sat silent " Shall
I tell her what she has done for me ?^
I asked myself; " shall I open the old
wound and let it bleed afresh ? Will
it be any sacrifice of my manliness if
I tell her what a few moments ago I
held it my duty and purpose to con-
ceal?"
I drew my gaze from the fire and
directed it toward her. The ivorf
Through Devious Ways,
563
needle flew in and out between her
slender fingers ; it seemed she had a
task to do. My resolve was taken.
But there was not the shadow of a
hope in my soul when I spoke.
Something impelled me — something,
I knew not what ; a desperate spirit,
I thought it then ; my good angel, I
know now.
" There is a debt and an obliga-
tion," I began, " and an acknowledg-
ment which I am proud to make,
although the fact of its existence be
almost death to me. A little more
than two years ago, circumstances led
to the revelation of that which but for
those circumstances might have been
unrevealed to-day. I offered you a
love that had grown in my heart un-
til it interpenetrated every fibre of my
being. You rejected it ; and that you
did so, or why, I find no fault or
blame. The folly was mbe ; I alone
have borne the consequences. But
while you disabused my mind of any
wild hope it might have cherished in
moments quite as wild, yoti told me
some unpalatable truths. Until I met
you I had lived a selfish, useless life.
After I met you, the germs of some-
thing better in me stirred now and
then, and impulses that I more than
once fought down knocked at secret
doors where the dust and cobwebs of
the world had gathered. Then the
deftoitement came, and after it the
change in me."
Still knitting, the soft wool flew
through her fingers faster and faster,
as though she bade defiance to my
moan. She did not look up as I
paused, but her lips were compressed
and her cheek brightly flushed.
" I went away loving you. Far
away fi"om your visible influence, the
thought of you followed me through
all my joumeyings. I passed through
new scenes and experiences loving
you; I come back loving you still.
I am here to-night with no intent of
pleading a lost cause, with no hope
of drifting firom desolate seas into
pleasant waters, with no dream of
Lethean draughts to be taken firom
your hands. As in the former instance,
circumstances have forced it all upon
me. To-morrow I shall wonder at
the folly which prompts me to say
what I am saying. But to-night, be-
fore I dose the book for ever, let me
thank you for what you have done
for me; let me leave you with the
knowledge that, while I have been
rash and presumptuous, I have not
offended you or caused you pain."
She had risen fi-om her chair while
I was speaking. Standing for a mo-
ment irresolute, with lips half parted
and eyes downcast, she made a pas-
sionate gesture with her clasped hands,
as though impatient with herself.
" I do not forget," she said, " any
part of what I told you that night,
two years ago. I was harsh — unneces-
sarily so. But it all came on me so
suddenly that I hardly knew what I
did say. I remember there was some-
thing about misused talents and a
wasted life, of what you might be and
were not, of great possibilities slight-
ed and contemned. But," here her
voice faltered and the words came
slowly, "I do not remember telling
you then or at any other time that I
did not, could not love you* Do you
remember it ?" Looking up, her gaze
met mine half smilingly, half tearfully.
" No, I do not remember it," I said ;
" but you sent me away firom you, and
I have not forgotten that there was
nothing of encouragement for the fu-
ture in your dismissal of me. Can it
be — dare I hope that — that — ?"
Somehow two warm, soft hands
were clasped in mine, and the Christ-
mas bells pealed out a tuneful chime,
now softly low, now musically clear.
And then she told me what I had
never even fancied in my dreams : of
the love that had dwelt in her heart
564
Miscellany.
of hearts so long ; of fears that had
assailed her when she grew conscious
of it ; of a hope in the future and its
unborn possibilities that had filled her
Soul when she seemed most indifferent
and cold; of prayers that from their
fervency had been heard and an-
swered.
" I knew you would come back to
me," she said ; " I knew that God would
do great things for you. And even if
you had not come; if some one else
had taken my place, or some ambition
occupied your heart, it would have
been the same in the end, or nearly so.
I think I could be contented to love
you silently all my life long, if I knew
you to be in thought and purpose
what I had so longed to have you ; if
I felt that my prayers for you were
heard and answered."
O wonderful unselfishness of wo-
man's love ! O marvellous constancy
of woman's faith ! How often do ye
bum and die away unheeded and un-
prized on hollow altars !
Three short bright years have pass-
ed, and it is Christmas eve. Outside I
hear a group of merry boys, battling
with the bitter wind and laughing at
its fierceness. Frost glittere on the
window-panes and chills the air to-
night ; and blazing fires roar up the
chimneys, pouring forth a welcome as
they go. Here, in this quiet room,
there is an atmosphere of peace and
calm content that almost fills me with
a reverential fear lest the sweet spell
should float away and leave me des-
olate.
I can watch her all unnoticed as
she sits in the deep shadow of the fi^^
light, the angel of my hearth and
home. The face is perhaps a shade
more thoughtful than of old ; but the
bright head, golden brown, has still the
same graceful poise and movement ;
the truthful eyes are still as kind and
tender as of yore.
And as she sits there musing, I iajr
down my busy pen, and my full heart
throbs with gratitude and thankfu^
ness, as I think how lonely life woaM
be without her this happy Christmas
Eve.
MISCELLANY.
The Council.— It is said that the
Cardinals de Reisach and Cullen, and
the Archbishops Manning and Spalding,
have been appointed on the commission
for treating with those Protestants who
may come to the council for that purpose.
Bishops and priests speaking twenty-
eight different languages had applied
to the cardinal vicar for permission to
say mass, and confessionals for confes-
sors speaking eighteen languages are
provided in St Peter's. The great
variety of complexions and costumes
now to be seen in Rome excites much
remark in the letters of correspondents.
The Archbishop of Lima, who is ninety-
four years of age, being unable to attead
the council, has sent to the Pope a pas-
toral staff of gold valued at two thou-
sand pounds. The students of QuHo
University have sent him all their gold
and silver medals of honor, and the
President of the Republic of Ecuador
has sent a jewelled medal given him by
the state as an official decoration. An
lulian priest, D. Mariano Matteini,has
himself designed and made a small beU
for the Pope's use during the council,
Miscellany.
565
which is a perfect gem of artistic orna-
mentation. It bears the appropriate in-
scription,
loTocatA Immaculati, Pius Nonus pastor bonus,
per condliom fert auxUium. Mundus crebris tot
teoebris, impNcatus, obccecatus, per hoc Numen et
hoc lume n, eztricatur, illustratiir.
The early date of going to press for-
bids oar giving any notice of the solemn
opening of the council in the great
Basilica of St. Peter, which will have
taken place before this number is pub-
lished. We hope to have constant and
authentic communications respecting
the council, directly from Rome, in our
ensuing numbers.
Abjuration of the Protestant
Minister of Cordova. — Don An-
tonio Soler, an apostate priest, who
has for the past nine years officiated as
Protestant pastor at Cordova, in Spain,
has publicly abjured his heresy in pre-
sence of the clergy, magistrates, and a
large concourse of the people of the city.
Eastern Affairs. — The Civilta
Catiolica gives a very interesting ac-
count of a council of bishops of the
Latin rite, in the East, held at Smyr-
na last Pentecost Mgr. Spacca-
pietra, Latin Archbishop of Smyrna,
presided as apostolic delegate ; three
other archbishops, five bishops, and a
deputy from the Latin church at Con-
stantinople were present The sessions
were conducted with great splendor, and
attended by vast crowds, both of Catho-
lics and schismatics. A council of the
Catholic hierarchy of the Armenian
rite was celebrated at the Armenian
cathedral of St. Mary, in Constantino-
ple, on the seventeenth of- July. The-
patriarch presided, and eighteen bishops
were in attendance. On this occa-
sion a large relic of St Gregory the
Illuminator, presented by Pius IX., was
brought to the church in procession, and
there deposited. The splendid proces-
sion of the bishops, accompanied by a
large body of the clergy, was escorted
by a detachment of Turkish soldiers,
and witnessed by a vast concourse of
people. Solemn mass was then cele-
brated by the patriarch, and the council
inaugurated. This was the most open
and splendid display of the Christian
religion which has ever been made in
Constantinople since it came under Mo-
hammedan rule. Since that time, the
same church has witnessed a ceremony
of equal if not greater splendor and
significance, on the occasion of the
visit of the Empress Eugenie. At the
close of the high mass, at which the
empress ass^ted in state, she gave an
illustrious example of that piety and
Christian humility so frequent among
royal personages in former times, but
now so rare among the great Rising from
her throne to exchange the customary
marks of respect and honor with the bi-
shops who passed before her, when the
patriarch bowed to her, and was about
to move on, she requested him to pause a
moment ; bending over, she kissed his
ring, and, descending from the dais of
the throne, prostrated herself before
him to receive his blessing. This was
done in presence of her brilliant suite
of French and Turkish officers, and of
the UiU of the Christians of Constanti-
nople. We trust the example of the
most illustrious lady of Christendom will
not be lost on Christian women in a high
social position throughout the world.
It appears from the Greek papers that
Nilus, the so-called Patriarch of Alex-
andria, whose impertinent reply to the
Pope's missive of summons to the coun-
cil gave so much joy to our Episco-
palian neighbors, was an intruder. This
monk was for a time supported in his
position as designated successor to the
actual patriarch, and administrator, by
the viceroy. Giving out that the pa-
triarch was ill, and had intrusted him
with delegated powers, he kept him as
a prisoner in his palace. He was de-
nounced by the Patriarch of Constanti-
nople, and at length abandoned by the
viceroy, and, as says the Byzantine
Telegraphy "this vainglorious monk, not
being able any longer to resist the popu-
lar outcry and contempt, abandoned by
the government and by his few friends,
succeeded in escaping the anger of the
people by leaving Egypt"
A letter from the Patriarch of Con-
stantinople to the Archbishop of Canter-
bury has been published, which is a
566
Miscellany.
masterpiece of Greek irony. With a
profusion of compliments, he acknow-
ledges the receipt of a copy of the acts
of the Pan-Anglican Synod, and of the
Anglican Prayer-Book, and then pro-
ceeds to condemn the latter as heretical
and insulting to the Eastern Church in
a manner which cannot be very palatable
to those who have sought to win from
him a nod of recognition.
HiNDOSTAN. — Every one who has
read the accounts published in the pa-
pers of the new Hindoo sect, under the
direction of Baboo Chunder Sen, called
the Brahmo Somajy must have seen the^
great interest and importance of this
movement The Dublin Review fur-
nishes us with a great deal of valuable
information about this matter, and the
relation generally of Hindooism to
Christianity in India, accompanied by
most curious extracts from publications
of the party of Chunder Sen, written in
very nervous but peculiar English. It
is surprising to see with what force and
keenness these educated Hindoos pierce
and destroy the inconsistent fabric of
Protestantism, which they call a system
of "paper revelation and second-hand
religion," whose untenable position is
shown by the fact that it gives twenty
different interpretations of the same
book. We are most happy to learn that
Bishop Meurer, S.J., the Vicar Aposto-
lic of Bombay, is about to recommence the
missionar)' enterprise of De Nobili, so
shamefully and stupidly thwarted by the
enemies of the Jesuits. He intends to
found a missionary college, whose pupils
will be thoroughly instructed in Brah-
minical and Buddhist literature, and
when they arc sent out on missions, will
enrol themselves in one of thle high
castes, adopting their dress and'customs.
In this way the Catholic religion will
be brought in contact with the educated
Hindoos, who at present know it only
through the misrepresentations of Pro-
testant missionaries.
M. Lecointre on the Passage of
THE Red Sea. — M. Lecointre, a gra-
duate of the Polytechnic School and chief
engineer of the iron works connected
with tlie Suez Canal, has investigated,
with the assistance of M. de
the question of the place where the Is-
raelites crossed the Red Sea, and pub-
lishes his conclusions in the Etudes
Religieuses of Paris, accompanied by
a map. He gives, in the first place, a
resume of the events of the march out
of Egypt. Pharaoh feared an immense
conspiracy under the leadership of
Moses, and, as Josephus relates, formed
an army of 250,000 men, which was as-
sembled at Memphis. The events re-
lated in Exodus forced him to give the
denied permission to the Israelites to
go into the wilderness to sacrifice. He
well knew the real intention of Moses,
which was no secret, either, to the people
themselves, to quit Egypt for ever. The
orders for preparing to celebrate the
passover on the 14th of Nisan had
been given by Moses through the chiefis
of tribes some days before. These or-
ders had the effect of arranging the peo-
ple in little groups under a head, as the
best organization for a sudden march ;
for which they were well prepared by
a substantial meal and the enlivening
effect of a festivity. The signal of de-
parture was probably given by signal-
fires previously arranged. The march
to Palestine was not expected to occupy
more than twenty or twenty-five days,
by a route well known and provided
with water, and the fiocks and herds
which they took with them assured
them a plentiful subsistence. The
main body left from Rameses, a city
where a gieat proportion of them dwelt,
the others starting from the other pla-
ces of their residence and moving toward
a common rendezvous. Their first halt-
ing-place was Succoth, where they waited
for those who were behind to come up ;
'the second at Etham, on the border of
the desert, from whence they expected
to go directly into the desert above the
Red Sea, and to take a direct route for
Palestine. But Moses changed his
route, brought them back along the coast
of the Red Sea, and encamped in the
plain of Pi-hahiroth, between Magdal
and the sea, where they were surprised
by Pharaoh's army in a situation which
rendered fiight in any direction impos-
sible. The miraculous events which fol-
lowed are well known. The point of pas-
Miscellafiy.
567
sage is placed on the twentieth parallel
of latitude, which nearly bisects the lar-
ger one of the Bitter Lakes, now sepa-
rated from, but formerly forming a part
of the Red Sea. The events related by
Moses would then probably have oc-
curred as follows. On the night of the
15th, the nucleus of the host made a
short stage from Rameses to Succoth,
waiting from the morning of the 15th to
the morning of the i6th for the entire
host to arrive. Distance travelled, five
kilometres. Distance from Succoth to
the most remote points of Gessen, where
the Israelites lived, forty to fifty kilo-
metres, easily travelled in twenty-four
hours. Moses and Aaron could have
made the journey from Memphis on the
15 th on horseback, a distance of one
hundred and twelve kilometres, in ten or
twelve hours. On the i6th, from Succoth
to Etham, twenty-two kilometres. On the
17th, from Etham to Pi-hahiroth, twenty
to twenty- two kilometres. From the even-
ing of the 17th to the evening of the 20th,
encampment at Pi-hahiroth. The change
of route at Etham is supposed to have
alarmed the Egyptian commander at
that post, who sends a courier on the
morning of the 17th to Memphis, one
hundred and twenty-four kilometres, a
distance which could be passed in twelve
or fifteen hours by a swift horse or
dromedary. On the i8th, the army
marches from Memphis in a straight
line for Beelsephon, a distance of one
hundred and twelve kilometres. On
the morning of the 20th, the advance-
guard of cavalry, after a march of forty-
eight hours, arrives on the heights of
Beelsephon, cutting off the retreat of the
Israelites. A heavy fog separates the
two armies. The Egyptian infantry comes
up on the 2i9t. During the night of the
2oth, the Israelites pass the Red Sea,
whose width was from ten to twelve
kilometres; they are followed by the
cavalry and chariots on the morning of
the 21st, who traverse five or six kilome-
tres, when they are overwhelmed by the
returning waters, the main body witness-
ing the catastrophe from the heights be-
hind. The march from Memphis requires
for the cavalry two stages of fifty-six
kilometres and for the infantry three of
thirty-eight, which the author says is
within the power of fresh, well-equipped
troops.
Reform Movebient among the
Jews. — The recent convention of Jews
at Philadelphia appears to have been
the work of a party bent on radical and
destructive reforms. The orthodox and
conservative Jews condemn it wholly.
We should be very sorry to see the
synagogue converted into a poor imi-
tation of the most radical Protestant
sects, and this ancient, wonderfully pre-
served nation blended with the mass
of other peoples. The ancient and
venerable observances of Judaism, and
the continued distinct existence of the
people descended from the patriarchs^
are a palpable, living witness to the
divine origin of revelation, and the in-
spired truth of the writings of Moses
and the prophets, the basis of Christi-
anity. The reforming Jews are the suc-
cessors of those who imitated the hea-
then in the reign of Antiochus and of
the infidel Sadfiucees. Their approxi-
mation to Protestantism is not an ap-
proximation to Christianity but to infi-
delity, and, if carried out successfully,
would destroy their nation. This can-
not be done, however. We believe firm-
ly that the nation is indestructible, is
destined to be restored to the posses-
sion of Palestine, and to fulfil literally
the predictions of the ancient prophets
in such a manner as to furnish the
most splendid proof of the truth of the
divine religion handed down through
Sem, Abraham, Moses, the Prophets,
to the Messiah to whom shall be the
expectation of nations. Alieninon tran-
sibunt per Jerusalem amplius; nam in
ilia die stillabunt monies dulcedinem^
el colles fluenl lac el mel^ dicil Dominus,
It is the infidel party among the Jews
of Europe that is leagued with infidels,
of Christian origin in the war on the
Catholic Church. Those who adhere
strictly to their law have many princi-
ples in common with Catholics. Their
law of marriage with those of their own
nation exclusively harmonizes with that
of the Catholic Church, which forbids,
intermarriage with them. Their genuine
and ancient ritual bears witness to the
antiquity of the liturgical and ceremo-
568
Miscellany,
nial idea embodied in Catholic worship.
Their printiple that the education of
the youth should be religious is identi-
cal with ours, and we hope they will in-
sist on the right of having separate
schools and their just quota of the funds
raised by taxation for purposes of edu-
cation. So long as they remain in ex-
ile from their proper home, and separat-
ed from us in religion, we cannot desire
any thing else than to see them adhere
to their ancient customs. They do not
seek to proselyte ; their prosperity is
therefore in no way dangerous to the
Catholic Church. The more splendid
their synagogues and the observance
of their traditional rites, the more bril-
liant is the testimony they give to those
facts and events in sacred history denied
by infidel Jews and infidel Christians
alike.
The Education Question. — The
NeW'Englander^ as the organ of the
venerable Yale University, has recently
contained some admirable articles on
the methods of promoting the higher
education. It makes war upon bogus
universities, colleges, and systems with
calm but resolute force. Among the
sound and sensible suggestions it makes,
these are some of the chief ones : (i)
The preparatory schools should be im-
proved by a more thorough and exten-
sive course of study in the classics, and
in some of the modem languages. (2)
The collegiate course should be corre-
spondingly improved, and modified, by
imitating in part the tutor system of the
English universities ; but, by no means,
changed into the loose system of mis-
named universities. (3) The university
should be gradually formed as a se-
quence of the improved collegiate sys-
tem, and should consist of the college
proper, together with post-graduate
courses of higher studies in all the
tranches of science. The necessity of
religious instruction is unanswerably
proved, and the especial fitness of cler-
gymen for the work of education well
defended and advocated. The necessity
of having every college under the reli-
gious care of some one denomination is
also satisfactorily shown. We wonder
that the remarkably frank and candid
writer in The New-Englander docs not
see, however, that he has proved this
necessity as a pis alter, and Indirectly
furnished a terrible argument against
his own sect and all Protestantism. He
directly acknowledges that it is neces-
sary to have sectarian teachers ; that,
nevertheless, sectarianism is too narrow
a thing for a liberal university, and that
the teachers must suppress their secta-
rianism and teach in a sort of catholic
spirit This is as clear a proof as we
could wish to have that Protestantism
is incompetent to the funct!on of a reli-
gious teacher, and, therefore, that a per-
fect university cannot exist except in
the Catholic Church. We hope, at all
events, that the influence of New Haven
will be thrown fully and consistently
against godless schools of all sorts, and
in favor of the right of parents to have
schools where their children can be
taught the religion which they them-
selves profess.
The Christian World on the
Rev. H. Seymour. — This organ of the
anti-Catholic crusade deserts Mr. Sey-
mour and Mr. Bacon, in their attack
on Catholic morality. The November
number furnishes us with the following
editorial remark, the last clause of
which we would especially recommend
to the attention of all our opponents,
the editors of The Christian Wortd in-
cluded : " The interest awakened by
the present discussion of this subject
leads us to print the foregoing. There
is much of force in Mr. Seymour's
statements and reasonings respecting
the matter of homicide, even though a
double or treble percentage is allowed
for Protestant England. But we are
constrained to say, in the interest of
idAX dealing, that the remaining statistics
of Mr. S. respecting illegitimacy seem
to us to lack the precision and discri-
mination essential to a conclusive argu-
ment in that direction. Moreover, the
force of these statistics is, to say the
least, greatly counteracted by the ad-
mitted facts respecting foeticide chaiged
against certain Protestant communities.
In conducting the issue with Romanism
it is wiser to avoid every questicnabli
position."
r
New Publications.
569
Dr. Bellows threatening Civil
War. — The Liberal Christian is prov-
ing itself the most illiberal of all our
religious journals of late. It recent-
ly violated literary courtesy by charg-
ing upon the editor of this magazine a
deliberate falsehood, without any other
reason than an unauthorized and incor-
rect conjecture that he was the author
of an article published in our columns
entitled, " Free Religion." In its issue
for November 20th, it publishes a most
arrogant and inflammatory article, by
Dr. Bellows, on " Romanism and Com-
mon Schools," which is quite in the spirit
of several other utterances of that gen-
tleman, who appears to have contracted
a taste for civil war that was not satiated
by our late one. Whoever seeks to dis-
turb the civic peace existing between
Catholics and Protestants in this coun-
try, to rouse theic angry passions, to ar-
ray them against each other as hostile
political Actions, is the greatest enemy
of his country, and deserves to be class-
ed with the men who endeavored to
fire our hotels, and those who stirred
up the mobs of Charleston, Philadel-
phia, and New- York. Happily, Dr. Bel-
lows's fits of ill-humor are so well under-
stood that they make but slight impres-
sion on any one.
Caricaturing as a Fine Art. —
One of our popular magazines (^tf/^^^r'j)
has recently sought to distinguish itself
in this line, and has succeeded both in
its articles on Catholic questions, and
in its burlesque illustrations, in produc-
ing something strictly sui generis and
far exceeding, in the strict exclusion of
every other element except caricature,
the feebler efforts of artists less skilled
in the work of distortion. We may say
without exaggeration that it has attained
the ne piu$ ultra of caricaturing as a
fine art.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
The (Ecumenical Council and the
Infallibility of the Roman Pon-
tiff : A Pastoral Letter to the Clergy,
etc. By Henry Edward, Archbishop
of Westminster. London : Longmans,
Green & Co. Pp. 151.
We have received within the past
two months five or six dissertations on
the question of the infallibility of the
excathedrd judgments of the sovereign
pKjntiffs and other closely connected
topics, written by some of the best
theologians in Europe. They handle
the subject with great learning and abi-
lity, and in a manner much more satis-
factory and to the point than is usually
found in treatises on the same topic in
our theological text-books or popular ex-
positions of doctrine. The reason is, that
the controversy has been revived and as-
sumed a new importance since the indic-
tion of the council, and that the advocates
of what is commonly called ultramontane
doctrine have applied themselves in-
tently to seize hold of and minutely
analyze and refute the objections of the
opposite party, who have themselves en-
deavored to bring up anew all these ob-
jections with as much force as possible.
Archbishop Manning has given us one
of these learned dissertations in the form
of a pastoral letter, which makes a con-
siderable pamphlet, divided into four
chapters. The first chapter is on the
effect of the council already felt in Eng-
land and France. The second is dn the
opportuneness of defining the infalli-
bility of the Roman pontiff, in which he
discusses (i) The reasons against the
definition; (2) answers to these rea-
sons ; (3) reasons for the definition.
In the third chapter he makes a concise
but very copious exposition of the tra-
dition on the subject, tracing it backward
from the Council of Constance to that
570
New Publications.
of Chalcedon, and afterward giving a
history of the Galilean controversy since
the time of the Council of Constance.
The fourth chapter is on the effect which
the council is certain to produce on the
evidence and proposition of the faith,
and on the relations of civil governments
to the church. A postscript is added
on the recent defence of Gallican doc-
trine by Mgr. Maret The most note-
worthy and distinctive feature of this
very learned and lucidly written docu-
ment is, the manner in which the reasons
why the council should issue a clear and
precise definition of the true doctrine
held by the church are presented. The
illustrious archbishop argues with great
force that an omission to make such a
definition will be interpreted as a tacit
permission to hold and teach the Galli-
can opinions as sound and safe probable
opinions. There can be no doubt that
his views and. those of prelates in equal-
ly eminent positions who have public-
y expressed themselves in equivalent
terms will receive that grave considera-
tion from the bishops of the Catholic
Church in council which they merit Un-
doubtedly, also, those who may hold
different opinions will Jiave the most
ample liberty of arguing their side of
the question. The decision of the coun-
cil must be accepted by all as final apd
infallible ; and if such a decision is ren-
dered, the controversy will be set at rest
for ever ; a consummation, in our opin-
ion, devoutly to be wished.
We will venture to add a few words
of our own to the point of the argument
presented by the Archbishop of West-
minster. The ultramontane doctrine
has been almost universally held and
taught in the Catholic Church in the
United States. Nevertheless, the man-
ner of handling the Protestant contro-
versy in many English books, some of
whi(5h are translations from French
authors, has been such as to create an
impression that the doctrine of the in-
fallibility of the pope in definitions of
faith is merely a pious opinion. This is
supported by the fact that the opposite
opinion has not been formally condemn-
ed, and that those who held it have been
recognized as in full communion with
the Roman Church, and even raised to
eminent positions In the hierarchy. This
same impression has been created m
other countries as well as in our own,
and exists to a very great extent in tho
mind of the Catholic laity as well as to
some extent in that of the clcigy.
The real facts in the case are not fully
known. It is not generally known that
those who have carried the GallicaD
opinions so far, and reduced them to
practice in so consistent a manner, as to
refuse implicit obedience and unrcsenr-
ed interior submission to the pontifical
decretals, or who have appealed from
papal decisions to an cecumenical coun-
cil, have been condemned under censure
of excommunication, that the whole
church has given their assent to this
judgment, and that it is a point of the
canon law. The truth is, that the holj
see has always regarded the Gallican
opinions as erroneous, although it has
judged it wisest to tolerate them thus
far, and to proceed by the way of in-
struction and inculcation in teaching
the opposite doctrine, waiting until the
complete discussion of the subject by
theologians and the pastoral teaching
of the bishops should have brought
such a flood of light on the subject that
the truth should gain over the intelli-
gence of enlightened Catholics, before
pronouncing a formal , and definitive
judgment. There is a great danger,
however, that this cautious and indul-
gent treatment of those who have held
Gallican opinions in good faith and witli
a practical submission to the supreme
authority of the holy see, may give ati
advantage to bold and indocile spirits to
make the toleration of these opinions h
point d^appui for a resistance to the
teaching of the sovereign pontiffe ex
cathedr&y having in it a schismatical and
heretical tendency. The defenders and
advocates of sound doctrines are placed
at a disadvantage by the lack of a defi-
nitive judgment declaring the sense of
the church in such a manner as to pre-
clude all dispute or ambiguity of inter-
pretation. There can be no question
that the holy see, and the great body
oif bishops, including those of France
with few exceptions, hold the doctrine
of the papal infallibility to be a certain-
ly revealed truth contained in Scripture
New Publications.
571
and tradition, and consequently regard
the contrary opinion as an error wliich
has only been for a time tolerated. The
whole action of the cliurch is regulated
by this view, and will always be so re-
gulated. There appears, therefore, to
be a very strong reason why the present
council should put the whole question at
rest for ever by a final decision and a de-
finition defide. We can answer for the
clergy and laity of the United States
that tiiey will welcome such a decision
with the greatest joy. As for the objec-
tion that it will place aCn obstacle in the
way of conversions, it is groundless.
Those who are solidly converted from
Protestantism in this country are con-
verted to Catholicity pure and simple,
and not to Catholicity with a Gallican
reservation.
The Woman who Dared. By Epes
Sargent. Boston : Roberts Brothers.
1870. 1 8 mo, pp. 210.
We have every disposition in the
world to treat Mr. Epes Sargent. with
respect, and to speak well of this his
latest poem ; for he has a name in the
literary world, and his poem is not
without some artistic merit ; but, un-
happily, we can do neither with a good
conscience. We cannot tolerate false
doctrines, mischievous sophistry, and
bad morals, because expressed in chaste
language and attractive verse. Mr.
Sargent has poetic feeling and .talent ;
but we do not accept the doctrine that
art is necessarily moral or religious.
It may be used to embellish error
as well as truth, vice as well as virtue,
to corrupt as well as to purify and en-
noble. In the poem before us the
poet has used all his art, genius, and
talent to seduce his readers to swallow
as a wholesome Christian beverage a
most poisonous compound of spiritism,
free-lovism, woman's-rightsism, ration-
alism, and all sorts of radicalism.
No doubt we shall be told that the
poet is sincere, and that he really be-
lieves that he is chanting a great truth,
and laboring in downright earnest to
develop and confirm a purer and higher
civilization than the world has ever yet
known. It is not unlikely that Eve
thought as much when, seduced by tlie
subtle reasonings and false promises of
the serpent, she reached forth her hand,
plucked and ate the forbidden fruit, and
gave of the same to her husband ; but
this did not excuse her for violating tlie
command of God, or save her from ex-
pulsion from paradise. Men who have
no infallible criterion of truth and fabe-
hood, no infallible standard of right and
wrong, have no authority from God to
teach, and no right to open their mouths
on any subject that seriously affects
the interests or the conduct of life. No
one, on tlie strength of his own person-
al conviction alone, has the right to ar-
raign and condemn what the common
sense and experience of mankind in all
ages and nations have sanctioned. It
is no justification, no valid excuse even,
for a man who promulgates and does
his best to get accepted &lse and mis-
chievous doctrines— doctrines which
weaken the hold of religion on the con-
science, pervert the moral sense, render
the family impossible, and sap the very
foundation of society — to say, " I am
sincere ; I really believe I am laboring
for a true and much needed reform."
Do you know it ? Do you not know
that you do not know it ? Do you not
know that all the presumptions are
against you ? Uncertain as you are and
must be if you ever think, why attempt
to teach at all ? Who compels you ?
Men are accountable for the thoughts
and intents of the heart no less than
for outward acts, and God will bring
every man into judgment for every
thought, and word as well as for every
deed. Every man is bound to conform
his thoughts, words, and deeds to the
law of God, and to use with all diligence
his faculties to ascertain that law and
what it enjoins. Invincible ignorance
excuses from sin, it is true, one in that
whereof one is invincibly ignorant ; but
an ignorance that may be overcome by
due diligence and the proper use of the
means within one's reach, is not invin-
cible, but vincible, and therefore no ex-
cuse. The man or the woman that can
seriously entertain the doctrine and
morals of Mr. Sargent's poem cannot
plead invincible ignorance ; but must be
572
New Publicatiofts.
under a delusion never possible in the
case of the pure in heart, or to any but
those who take pleasure in iniquity.
We have no intention of reopening
the discussion of the woman question,
or that of spiritists and spiritism ; the
questions of divorce and free religion
have also been amply discussed, at
least for the present, in this magazine.
We can touch here only on two ques-
tions raised by the author — that of free-
love and that of the right and propriety
of female wooing. The aim of the au-
thor has been. to defend the woman who
dared woo openly and in plain words
the man she wished to be her husband
and the father of her child. He con-
tends, in the smoothest and most seduc-
tive blank-verse he is master of, that
this is proper, and woman's right ; and
that it is only the tyranny of a barbarous
custom, created by male predominance,
that requires the woman to wait till she
is sought. Linda Percival, the bastard
daughter of a bigamist, is for him the mo-
del woman. She dares break through
this custom and proposes to a very re-
spectable young gentleman ; but gets
at first the mitten, and succeeds finally
only by buying him up for a hundred
thousand dollars in hard cash, paid
down to his swindled and bankrupt
father. Yet Linda is a combination of
incompatible qualities, an impossible
woman, a monster in nature, and her
conduct is no precedent for the sex.
She is a man-woman, and the last in
the world that a real man could love or
marry. The woman who does not in-
stinctively shrink from soliciting a man
to marry her could appreciate no argu-
ment that would prove its impropriety or
the gross immorality that would result
from the practice, were it once held
reputable. Mr. Sargent knows well
enough, without our telling him, that
nature has made woman strong for de-
fence, but weak when acting on the
offensive. When she solicits a man to
be her husband and ** the father of her
child," she steps out from her strong
fortress of modesty and reser\'e, throws
off her defensive armor, and places her*
self at his mercy. Resistance after-
ward avails nothing. She has surren-
dered at discretion. No training on
either side can protect her virtue, secore
her respect, or belief in the parity of
her intentions ; for no educatioa or
training can reverse nature* The prac-
tice, if adopted and become general,
would degiade woman to the lowest
level, put an end to marriage, extinguish
the family, and with it society and the
race.
Mr. Sargent, whether he intends it or
not, advocates free-love as he does free
religion. Love, he says, must be fi^ee,
and bound by no chain but its own
silken cords. The least constraint kills
it The marriage is all in the mutual
love ; and when that leaves, the marriage
is dissolved. To compel a couple who
do not mutually love to come together,
or, after the love is dead, to live to-
gether, as husband and wife — we beg
pardon, as wife and husband — is down-
right tyranny, outrageous cruelty. This
is the cant of nearly all female and
much of male popular literature, which
relies for its tragic interest on the ob-
stacles thrown in the way of true love
by an imperious mother, a despotic Ei-
ther, a hard-hearted old uncle, barba-
rous custom, or cruel and tyrannous
marriage laws. This literature, the
only literature except newspapers this
restless, busy age reads, has already
corrupted modern society, made away
with parental authority, obliterated the
love and leverence of children for their
parents, and rendered a happy house-
hold well-nigh impossible.
This popular doctrine mistakes the
love marriage demands as well as the
nature and end of marriage itself. The
love it extols is at best only a romaotic
sentiment, which in its own nature, like
all sentiments, is capricious and eva-
nescent It can give no security to
marriage, for it can neither control the
senses nor be controlled by r^uon«
Suppose it as pure and as lof^y as that
of the fabled knight of chivalry for bis
**ladie fair," to whom he devotes bis
sword and worships as a distant star
pure and serene in the heavens above
him, it cannot survive possession, and
never does and never can exist between
husband and wife. The reason why
love matches are so seldom happy is,
that they are formed with the expects-
New Publications.
573
lion that the chivalric and romantic love
of the lovers will survive in the spouses.
But this is never the case, and never
should be ; for it is incompatible with
the duties of L'fe. The love that makes
marriage blessed and is its true basis
must indeed be free from coercion ; but,
while unconstrained by power or exter-
nal force, it must be constrained by
duty and subject to laws. It must be a
love that it depends on one's own will
to give or to withhold.
Marriage requires the free assent of
the parties ; and when that free assent
is refused by either party, there is no
marriage, and we are aware of no law of
church or state that treats it as a mar-
riage, at least of any professedly Chris-
tian state. That the assent, when once
given by the parties competent and free
to give or withhold it, should be held
to be irrevocable, is no hardship. The
parties understand and intend — ^nay, de-
sire — the contract in forming it to be
during their natural life, or so long as
both continue to live. The nature of
the contract, the purposes for which it
is entered into, require that it should
be indissoluble, save by death only ; and
this, too, even without taking into the
account its sacramental character. In
extreme cases the law does not oblige
Ae parties to live together, and grants
a divorce a mensa ci toro; but the Chris-
tian law allows never a divorce a vin^
culo; for the end of marriage is not
primarily nor chiefly the happiness of
the husband and wife, but the preser-
vation of purity, the founding of the
£&mily, and the rearing and training of
children, on which depend the continu-
ance of the race and the existence of
society. Even if the sentimental love
be wanting, with good-will on each side
and a diligent study of each to perform
the duties of their state, which it de-
pends on each to have and to do, and
which neither is free to neglect, the lit-
tle repugnances and incompatibilities of
temper may be easily got over, a solid
friendship spring up, and much genuine
happiness after all be enjoyed. There
may not be much romance ; but romance
and romantic love end always with mar*'
riage, and never survive, and ought not
to be expected to survive, the " honey-
moon." But happily, what is better for
this work-day world, duty may take its
place.
Mr. Sargent is mistaken in saying in
his notes that the church does not re-
gard marriage between Protestants as
indissoluble. The case he cites is not
in point ; for the marriage he supposes
was dissolved was no valid marriage in
Brazil, in consequence of the disparitas
cultusy which,where the discipline of the
Council of Trent is in force, is an im-
pedimentum dirimens. So also is he
mistaken in his assertion that '* up to
the time of Charlemagne . . . concubin-
age and polygamy were common among
Christians, and countenanced by the
church." The church has never coun-
tenanced either ; and if either has ever
been practised by Christians, it has been
only in violation of her express laws.
In point of fact, at no time has either
been common ; but some of the Mero-
vingian kings wished to continue, af-
ter professing to be Christians, the old
practice by the pagan German princes
and higher nobles of polygamy, and the
church, no doubt, had great difficulty
in forcing them to conform to the Chris-
tian law. But it, as concubinage, was
in the eyes of the church always illicit
and sin^L On this subject the law
or discipline of the church has never
changed. The poet is not well qualified
to speak of Catholic or Christian sub-
jects.
The Pastor and his People; or.
The Word of God and the Flock
OF Christ. By Rev. Thomas J.
Potter. Dublin : James Duffy. New-
York : Catholic Publication Society.
1869. Pp. 337.
Father Potter has written this volume
to give pastors some practical hints in
regard to the instruction of their people.
The book is really the second volume
of a work published some years since,
under the title of Sacred Eloquence;
or^ The Theory and Practice of Preach-
ing, That work set forth the great
theoretical principles of pulpit oratory ;
this volume reduces those principles to
practice.
574
New Publications.
The contents of the volume are ar-
ranged under three general heads :
Holiday Preaching, Familiar Instruc-
tion, and Delivery. In the first of
these divisions we find minute instruc-
tion concerning the material that should
be used in what is known as the *' set
sermon." Not merely for sermons that
are preached on holidays though, but
for every occasion on which a formal
discourse is suitable. A chapter in this
portion of the work is well devoted to
a defence of tbese elaborate sermons.
Not that such preaching will be the
most useful or the most expedient, as a
general rule ; but simply this, that there
are occasions on which the faithful have
a right to expect a carefully prepared
sermon. These are called set sermons,
because they are composed in conformi-
ty with the fixed rules of oratory. They
suppose a chaste and elevated style ; and,
more than this, they suppose even that
the subject should be treated grandly.
At such a time the preacher, by the
dignity of his manner, forces us to re-
jcognize him as truly the " ambassador
of Christ." We feel that the divine
word is treated, as it deserves to be,
with the same respect as the body of
Christ But it is true that sermons
such as these can only be preached on
rare occasions, because they are expect-
ed to accomplish extraordinary results.
Their frequent repetition would destroy
the very •effect that they are intended
to produce. The people, habituated to
these stirring appeals, would cease to
be moved by them, until at length it
would be impossible to rouse them even
by the most fervent and skilfully plan-
ned discourse.
Father .Potter does not give too pro-
minent a place to this elevated and po-
lished form of preaching. By far the
largest portion of his work is taken up
with the most valuable hints regarding
the familiar instruction of our people.
He tells us that it has been '* his unva-
rying purpose to throw out substantial
ideas, to suggest leading thoughts, and
to indicate lines of study.** Nowhere
is this object accomplished more com-
pletely than in the section of the work
which explains the nature and excel-
ence of " Familiar Instruction." No
part of the book has pleased us more
than this. Simple, clear, suggestive,
and practical in its suggestk>ns, the
zealous pastor will scarcely rise from
reading the chapters on the Homily, on
the Commandments, on the Sacrament,
and on Prayer, without feeling a re-
newed desire to teach these elementary
though essential truths which the Ca-
tholic people of a missionary country do
not know, or at least only know in ai
extremely vague and indefinite way.
The Illustrated Catholic Family
Almanac for the United States
FOR THE Year of Our Lord 187a
New York : The Catholic Publica-
tion Society, 126 Nassau St 18691
An almanac for the family has k)o;
been an imperious American necessity.
Judging from the success of the Catho-
lic Publication Society's Almanac fof
the year now drawing to an end, a Ca-
tholic almanac was much needed and
greatly desired by our Catholic popu-
lation throughout the United States,
and that it should have met with a
large sale was not surprising when
we remember that, in addition to all
the useful information furnished by
all well-prepared almanacs, Tlu Catk^
lie Family Almanac provided agret-
able, edifying, and instructive literary
matter profusely and admirably illus-
trated with superior engravings.
In size, amount of matter, illustra-
tions, and literary merit, the Catholic
Almanac for 1870, just published, is a
decided improvement upon its prcde-
cessor^ and must receive universal ap-
probation.
The Life of Christopher Coluh-
BUS. From authentic Spanish and
Italian Documents. Compiled from
the French of Rosselly de Lorgnes.
By I. I. Barry, M.D. Boston; P.
Donahoe. 1869.
The translator or compiler of tbif
work states in his preface that he has
had to condense the matter oi some
pages into almost as many lines. We
N*w Publicatiotts.
575
feel compelled to add that neither his-
tory nor literature would have suffered
if he had gone on condensing indefinite-
ly, even i^ in the process, the book had
been compressed to the vanishing point
Rosselly de Lorgnes, a veteran writer,
the author of Le Christ devant U
SilcU^ and other works well known in
Europe, is entided to all respect and
honor for his sincere and enthusiastic
vindication of the memory of Colum-
bus, and of his claims to veneration
as a man of saintly character, over and
above all his other well-known merits ;
but his work, in two volumes of nearly
six hundred pages each, independently
of other objections to it, sadly wants
brevity and method
The truth is that, notwithstanding the
praiseworthy efforts of M. De Lorgnes,
and of various authors who have pre-
ceded and followed him in this field,
the life of Columbus is yet to be writ-
ten. More than that, it can only be
well written in Spain and with Spanish
materials. When that country has a
historian who is not afraid of telling the
truth about the king of Spain who was
the husband of the noble Isabella of
Castile, and will use without fear or
favor the writings of Columbus him-
self — for, after all, such a great soul is
his own best interpreter — ^we shall have
a life of Columbus, and not until then.
The Improvisatore. The Two Ba-
ronesses. Romances by Hans Chris-
tian Andersen. New York : Hurd
& Houghton.
These two volumes, from the fasci-
nating pen of the great Danish novelist,
we recognize as old friends in new gar-
ments, and hasten to bid them welcome.
Andersen, who charms the little ones
with the beauty and naturalness of his
fairy tales, is equally a favorite with
children of a larger growth.
His powers of description are sur-
passed by few writers in any language,
and the places he has visited, Rome,
Naples, Vesuvius, Venice, Copenhagen,
with the islands nestling about Den-
maik, stand before the reader in living
colors, glowing with light and truth.
One feels that these graphic represen-
tations are not drawn from a highly-
wrought imagination, but that they are
living realities. The narratives of the
ascent of Vesuvius, the Infioratay the
first impressions of Venice, are wonder-
ful samples of this power of delineation.
High-toned morals and an utter free-
dom from maudlin sentimentality mark
both these volumes ; the tales are told
with vigor, and the interest sustained to
the end.
The Improvisatore^ who is bom
and passes most of his years in Italy,
tells his own story, and claims, as do
most of the characters introduced, to
belong to the Catholic Church ; but we
think ^ true Catholic would detect the
fact that the kind-hearted, genial man
who wrote the tale had not the happiness
of being in the faith : though there is
nothing harsh or unkind, or perhaps
no intentional injustice, toward the
church, yet there is here and there the
slight touch of sarcasm concerning
what the writer supposes to be a dogma
of the faith, or a hit at some local
Catholic custom, which would not have
come from the pen of a loyal son of our
holy Mother.
The scene of The Two Baronesses is
laid in Denmark, and though not so cap-
tivating as the Improvisatore^ the tale is
well told, and hangs on the lovely mot-
to " that there is an invisible thread in
every person's life which shows that
it belongs to God.*'
The binding of these volumes is in
excellent taste, and the print clear,
doing credit to the Riverside press.
The Stories and Parables op Perb
BoNAVENTURE, New York : P. O'-
Shea. 1869.
These stories and parables commend
themselves to the reader by their quaint-
ness and brevity. The excellent moral
which forms the essential part of many
of them could hardly be presented in a
more pleasing manner. The explana-
tions given by the author are, in general,
satisfactory. This book should be in
in every Catholic household in the
country.
576
New Publicatiotis.
Through Night to Light: A No-
vel By Friedrich Spielhagen. New
York : Leypoldt & Holt
Were one of our first American
novelists to put forth such a story as
the above, it would be hissed by the
voice of public opinion ; but it seems
we may receive from the German, and
call poetic, ideal, and spirituelU^ what
would be considered coarse and im-
moral even in a penny journal.
We will give a specimen of the au-
thor's philosophy. Speaking of a mar-
ried woman who had been in more
cases than one unfaithful to her mar-
riage relations, the author sajrs,
" Have you not paid the penalty of the
wrong, if wrong it was to follow the impulse
of a free heart ? Is it reasonable to sacri-
fice the wife to a rigorous moral law which
the husband does not consider binding?
Who has made that unwise law ? Not I,
not you." (He might have added only Al-
mighty God.) " Why, then, should you
obey it? I tell you the day of freedom
which is now dawning will blow all such
self imposed laws to the winds, and with
them all the ordinances devised by a dark,
monkish disposition to fetter nature and
torment hearts.*'
To the corrupting influence of this
style of literature we owe such scenes
as the one which recently in this city
shocked the public mind. The title of
this book is a misnomer. It should
be, not Through Night to Ught^ but
Through Light to Night.
The Two Cottages. Showing how
many more families may be comforta-
ble and happy than are so. Balti-
more : Kelly, Piet & Co. 1870.
Of this simple story of humble life we
cannot speak too highly. It is as valua-
ble for its suggestions as it is truthful
in its delineations.
Mary and Mi-ka : A Tale of the
Holy Childhood. With an account
of the Institution. Boston : Patrick
Donahoe. 1870.
This little volume, dedicated to tbe
members of the Holy Childhood in tbe
United States, will, no dotdyt, give in-
creased publicity to that most adnunbk
institution, and hence increase nateii-
ally its sphere of usefulness. FqU de-
tails ot its aim, origin, and progress are
given in the appendix, to whk^ 1st
would particularly direct attention.
The Lost Rosary ; or. Our Iwsb
Girls: Their Trials, Temfta-
tions, and Triumphs. By Cob
O'Leary. Boston: Patrick Doaa-
hoe. 187a
The title of this volume is somewbit
suggestive of its contents. In it tiie
author graphically describes the variovs
dangers and temptations to which tk
recently-arrived female emigrant is ex-
posed, and also pays a well-merited tri-
bute to the many virtues that distingmst)
the vast majority of Irish giris in Ame-
rica ; virtues to which. In the fxt di
many troubles and vexations, they bafc
so heroically adhered.
The Life of Blessed Margaret
Mary, (Alacoque.) With some Ac-
count of the Devotion to the Sacred
Heart By the Rev. George Tickdl
S.J. London : * Burns & Co. (Fo^
sale by the Catholic Publication So-
ciety.)
This life of a remarkable person, die
chief instrument of establishing that
devotion to the Sacred Heart so dear to
all devout Catholics, which was one of
the most efficacious weapons against tbe
odious heresy of Jansenism, is much
superior to any heretofore puUishcd
We arc glad to see certain extrara-
gant statements concerning the treat-
ment of the saint in the convents of her
order, which were discreditable to thctn
and likely to give scandal, entirely dis-
credited by the author of the present
life. He is not only a copious and dcfout
biographer ; but what is equally impor-
tant and less frequent, a judicious on^
The book is published in elegant styk»
and we cordially recommend it to aO oor
readers.
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
VOL. X., No. 59.r-FEBRUi
THW FUTURE OF PROTESTANTISM AND CATHOLICITY .•
SECONP ARTICLE.
The AbW Martin divides his trea-
tise bto nine books, each of which
he subdivides iilto several ch^^ters.
In the first book he labors to prove
that Protestantism is imperishable ; in
the second, he discusses the Protestant
revival and its eflfects ; in the third, he
treats of the Protestant propaganda,
or Protestant missions and their re-
sults; in the fourth, of the wealth and
well-being of Protestant as compared
with Catholic nations ; in the fifth, of
Catholic and Protestant tolerance and
intolerance; in the sixth, of liberty
and its influence on the future of Pro-
testantism ; in the seventh, of religious
liberty in its relations with Protestan-
tism; in the eighth, of the decline
of Catholic nations and governments,
and the progressive march of Protes-
tant nations and governments; and in
the ninth and last, of the union or al-
liance of Protestantism with the revo-
lution, or the revolutionary spirit so
active in nearly all modem society.
In our former article we reviewed
the subjects treated in the first, se-
•/V fAvfmr d^ ProUstoMiuttu ei dm CatkolU
came. Par M. TAbM F. Martm. Paris: Tobra et
ffatfliii t869b Sm^ pp> 6oib
VOL. X. — ^37
cond, and part of the third books,
and reserved for our present article
two of the three causes the author as«
signs for the partial success of Pro-
testant missions in old Catholic na-
tions, namely, the prestige which Pro-
testant nations enjoy of surpassing
Catholic nations in wealth and well-
being, and of having founded and
sustained civil and religious liberty.
But these two causes, though treated
by the author in his third book, really
embrace the subject of the remaining
six books. We cannot say that the
author has so digested and arranged
his ample materials as to avoid re-
petitions, or so as to bring all that
belongs to the same topic imder one
head ; but treats it partly imder one
head and partly under another. A
glance at the titles of the last six
bodes will satisfy the reader as well as
the reviewer, tfiat the subjects treated
fall under two general heads. First,,
civil and religious liberty; second,,
the comparative wealth and well-be-
ing of Catholic and Protestant na-
tions ; and under these two heads we
shall arrange our summary of the:
578
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity,
views of the author, and our own
comments. We begin with the last
I. The author assigns, as we have
seen, as one of the causes of the suc-
cess of Protestant missions in old
Catholic nations, the prestige which
Protestant nations enjoy of surpassing
Catholic nations in material wealth
and well-being. That this prestige
attaches to Protestant nations is a fact
not to be disputed; but is it well
founded ? The author seems to con-
cede that it is, and maintains that
''there is in Protestant nations and
Protestant individuals a superior apti-
tude and a greater eagerness and te-
nacity in the pursuit and acquisition
of the goods of this world " than there
is in Catholic nations and individuals.
"Place,** he says, "Catholics and Pro-
testants side by side on the same territory,
in conditions perfectly equal, and leave each
to act under the influence of their respective
principles, and not a half-century will elapse
before the Protestants will have taken in the
material order a marked superiority. The
Protestants will have the finest vineyards, the
best cuhivated fields, the greenest meadows,
the most elegant mansions, and the freshest
shade. They will have almost the monopoly
of industry, commerce, large capital, the
bourse, the bank, money at interest, and
own all the mills and factories, if any there
are. If you doubt it, consult Alsace and
Strasburg, Nimes, Montpellier, the envi-
rons of Bourdeaux, the mixed Swiss cantons,
and the conquests the American Union has
made of the Spaniards of Mexica . . .
Wherever Protestants plant themselves, they
are able to attain a preponderating influence
in all civil aff&irs. With only a fourth of the
population they will hold three fourths of
the public oflices, have the minority in the
municipal council, the mayor of the com-
mune, if not the adjunct, the highest grades
in the national guard, the member of the
oonseil-gin^ral, the deputy, sometimes the
senator, and the most widely circulating
journal of the district, daily flUed with eulo-
giums on their merit.
"It is the same on a large scale among
nations. Who knows not that there are more
wealth, more well-being, more comfort, ele-
ganter houses, softer couches, more sugar
and coflee, in England, Scotland, Holland,
Prussia, at Zuridi, Berne, Geneva, New
Vork, than in Spain, Portugal, Aastrit, it
Rome or Rio Janeiro?
" It would seem that there is a sort of
preestabiished harmony between Protestao'
tism and the earth, that they know and attract
each other. Where the earth is most smil-
ing and wears the richest decoratioos, it
naturally becomes Protestant In Svritzer-
land, the richest and most fertile districts are
Protestant, the rugged and barren are Gi*
tholic. The former, with their fiuale enjoy-
ments, seem to invite to very forgetfoloess
of heaven ; the latter only to raise and fix the
affections above the earth, and can be made
or become Protestant possessions only bf
force or violence. * * (Pp. 186-1 8S. )
We are not prepared to make quite
so large concessions. Protestants do
not monopolize all the pleasant, ricb,
and fertile spots of the earth. Tlie
fact may be true of Switzerland, bat
it is not true of the Italian peninsula
nor of the Iberian, in which are the
richest and most fertile districts of
Europe ; nor, in point of clinute, soil
and productions, does Protestant Ger-
many surpass Catholic Germany.
The preestabiished harmony allegd
has no foundation in fact, and ve
have heard the contrary more than
once maintained by well-infoimed
Catholic prelates. Nor are we pie-
pared to concede that, if you speak
of the whole population, there is
more comfort and well-being in Pro-
testant than in Catholic nations. The
peasantry of Italy, before the late
political changes, had as much com-
fort and well-being as the peasantry
of Denmark, Sweden, or Norway, or
even Great Britain and Holland, and
•
the peasantry of Austria proper arc m
the same respects better off than those
of Prussia or Hanover. In no coun-
tries in the world is there to be found
such squalid wretchedness as in those
under the British crown, and govern-
ed by the head of the Protestant
church. There may be more wealth
in Great Briuin than in France, but
there is also more and far deeper
poverty. France, by a war with afl
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity.
579
Europe, was prostrated in 1815; her
capital was held by foreign invaders,
and she was forced to pay millions
by way of indemnification to the in-
vaders, and to support an allied army
cantoned on her territory to compel
her to keep the peace ; and yet she
met her extraordinary expenses, great-
ly reduced her national debt, reassert-
ed her freedom of action and her po-
sition as a great European power, and
extended her territory by the con-
quest of Algiers, in less than fifteen
years, under the restoration and un-
der a Catholic government No na-
tion under a Protestant government
can be named that has ever carried
so heavy a burden so easily, or done
so much in so short a time to lighten
it. We have seen nothing like it in
England, the model Protestant na-
tion. Since 1830, France has ceased
to be a Catholic nation, under a Ca-
tholic government, and has to a great
extent adopted the British industrial
and commercial system. She has
shown nothing since of that marvel-
lous recuperative energy she showed
under the Bourbons. She is burden-
ed now with a constantly increasing
national debt, her people are taxed
for national and municipal expenses
to the last cent they can bear, and
there can be no doubt that she is re-
latively poorer and weaker to-day
than she was during the last years of
the Restoration.
Our experience in this country
does not warrant the concessions of
the author. Placed side by side and
in equal conditions with Protestants,
Catholics have shown themselves in
no sense inferior to Protestants in
their aptitude to get on in the world.
Their progress here in wealth, in com-
fort, and ease has been relatively
greater than that of the older Protes-
tant population; for they started from
an inferior woridly position, and with
iax inferior means. To be convinced
of it, we need but look at the schools
and colleges they have founded, at
the costly and splendid churches they
have erected, and at the large sums
they have contributed for the support
of Catholic charities and their friends
in Ireland and other countries, from
which the majority of them have emi-
grated. With an intense Protestant
prejudice against them, they have, in
a very few years, risen in the social
scale, gained a respectable standing
in the American community, carried
away the first prizes in law and medi-
cine, and secured their full share of
public offices both civil and mili-
tary.
The United States have proved
themselves too powerful for the Mexi-
cans, we concede, and they well
might do so, with vasdy greater re-
sources and a population three times
as large. The Mexicans are only
about one in nine of pure Spanish
blood; the rest are pure-blooded In-
dians, or a mixed race of whites and
Indians, and of Indians and negroes.
Yet if our officers who served in the
Mexican war may be believed, bra-
ver, hardier, more enduring or en-
ergetic soldiers than the Mexicans
cannot easily be found. The feeble-
ness of Mexico is not due to her Ca-
tholicity, but to her lack of it ; to her
mad attempts to establish and main-
tain a republican form of government,
for which her previous training, man-
ners, and habits wholly unfitted her.
Had she, on gaining her indepen-
dence of Spain, established monarchi-
cal institutions, and not been influenc-
ed by our example and intrigues, and
the insane theories of European revo-
lutionists, she would not have fallen
below her non-Catholic neighbor.
No Protestant pec^le surpass in bra-
very, boldness, enterprise, energy, na-
tional or individual, the Spaniards of
the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries,
and they were far better Catholics
S8o
The Future af ProtestanHsm and Catholicity.
then than they or Spanish-Americans
lure now.
There is an important fact too often
lost sight of in discussing the alleged
superior aptitude of Protestants in
rdation to this world. We find no-
where braver soldiers, bolder sailors,
more enterprising merchants, or more
ingenious workmen than were the
Venetians, the Genoese, the Floren-
tines, and the Portuguese when in
their best estate. A Portuguese sai-
lor opened the way by the Cape of
Good Hope to India; a Genoese
discovered this western continent,
which bears an Italian name; an
Italian, also, was the discoverer of this
northern half of the American conti-
nent; and it was a Catholic sove-
reign who aided the Anglo-American
colonies to assert their independence.
Yet Portugal, Venice, Genoa, Flo-
rence, when they were greatest, were
Catholic, and their decline in later
times is not owing to their Catholici-
ty ; for they were Catholic all the time
that they were rising from their feeble
beginnings, and at the period of their
greatest power and splendor, more
bigotedly so, as our liberals would
say, than they are now; and what
did not hinder their rise and growth
could not be the cause of their de-
dine. They have declined through
other causes, and causes well known
to the student of the rise and fall of
nations.
It is, no doubt, true that in France,
Belgium, and Italy, and perhaps in
other old Catholic states. Catholics,
even where they are the immense
majority, permit the public offices to
be filled, and themselves to be ruled
by Protestants, Jews, infidels, and
such secularized Catholics as hold the
state should govern the church ; and
we have often felt not a little indig-
nant to find it so ; but modem socie-
ty in all Catholic states recedes from
the old aristocratic constitution of
Europe, and tends to democracy ; and
democracy, as our American expert*
cnce proves, elevates to power not
the best men in the community, but
often the worst, the least scrupukMM,
the most intriguing, selfish, and am-
.bitious. The fact may also be ex-
plained by the fisilse politic^d educatioa
which the Catholic populations have
received. Under Gallicanism thcj
are not instructed to regard Catho-
licity as cathoUcy and are taught to
look upon politics as exempted from
the law of God as defined by the
church. For them religion wid pot
tics are wholly disconnected, have no
necessary relation one to the other,
rest not on a common principle. Their
political education relegates religion
to private and domestic life, to the
personal and domestic virtues, and
has nothing to say in public afi^n^
Why then should not Protestants, Jews,
infidels, or merely nominal Catholics,
fill the public offices, and take the
management of public affiiirs ?
The French, and other Cathdics,
who see and deplore this, having r^
ceived the same sort of education,
make the evil worse by laboring not
to bring politics up to Catholicity, biA
to bring the church down to the
level of politics, thus lowering the one
without elevating the other. They
assume an attitude toward the gov-
ernment of distrust, if not of hostility,
and exert their influence to Jacobinixe
the church instead of destroying her,
as the revolution would do if it could.
Practically, they are only Cathofic
instead of infidel Jacobins ; and what-
ever their personal hopes and inten-
tions, simply play into the hands of
the revolution. It is not the church
that needs liberalizing, bat the sute
that needs Catholicizing. The erili
the political imbecility of Catholics in
these old Catholic nations, results from
the divorce of politics fix)ra rdigiofli
or the withdrawal of the pofitical or-
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity,
S8i
cier from its proper subordination and
subserviency to the spiritual. It is
the fruit of the so-called "Gallican
liberties," and the remedy is not in the
alliance of the church either with de-
mocracy or with monarchy, with Ja-
cobinism or with absolutism ; but in
bringing the faithful to understand
that the Catholic religion is cathoiicj
and has the right from God to govern
them alike in their public relations
and in their private and personal rela^
tions ; in their public and official life,
and in their private and domestic
life.
In all these old nations the pre-
dominant religion is Christian, but the
politics are pagan; and Protestants
take the lead in political affairs be-
cause they have succeeded in pagan-
izing their own religion, and in elimi-
nating all antagonism between it and
their politics ; while the Catholics are
politically inefficient because, owing to
the paganism of the state, they have
not been able to Christianize their
pK>litics and bring them into harmony
with their religion. They themselves
sympathize politically with Protes-
tants, byt are less efficient than they,
because more or less restrained by
their religion. Eliminate, by Chris-
tianizing politics, all antagonism be-
tween politics and religion, which now
renders Catholics politically indiffer-
ent or imbecile, and enable them to
act with a united instead of a divided
mind, and they will show even a
greater aptitude for the afi^irs of this
world than Protestants, because they
will act from a higher plane, from
profounder and more luminous princi-
ples, and with the energy and tenaci-
ty of an ever-present and living faith,
instead of interest or expediency.
But how can they do so when politics
in every state in Europe are divorced
from Catholic principle, are pagan,
and at war with Christianity, and to
take part in them they must sacrifice
their religion and give up heaven for
earth?
It is not Catholicity that renders
the Catholics of old Catholic nations
politically imbecile, and that permits
a miserable minority of Protestants,
Jews, and infidels to control the stata,
but the lack of it ; not the fact that
they are, but that they are not, tho-
roughly Catholic. It is the pagan-
bm that rules in the state, and is the
basis of modem politics, that renders
them timid and inefficient. In all
Protestant nations religion itself is pa-
ganized, and there is as little conflict
between religion and politics as there
was in old pagan Greece or Rome.
They are torn, distracted, weakened
by no internal conflict between the
two powers; fbr the first act of the
Reformation was to subject the spi-
ritual (Kd^ to the secular. Hence,
they can act polirically with undivid-
ed mind and undivided strength and
energy. They have conformed their
religion to their politics. But in all
Catholic nations the governments,
and, therefore, politics are pagan, and
really, if not avowedly, at war with
their religion that remains Christian.
Those nations are therefore distracted,
divided, weakened by the irre^wessi-
ble antagonism between pagan poli-
tics supported by the secular authori-
ties, and the Christian religion sustain-*
ed only by the church, crippled by be-
ing denied her freedom.
It is easy now to understand why
Protestant missions in old Catholic
nations should not be wholly barren
of results. They are backed by the
whole weight of Protestant nations,
governments and people ; they are aid-
ed by the real sympathies and tenden-
cies of the so-called Catholic govern-
ments and the pagan politics of Ca-
tholics themselves. What is surpris-
ing is, that their successes are no great-
er. It is no mean proof of the life
and power of the church, and of her
582
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity,
divine assistance, that she is able to
retain so strong a hold as she does on
90 large a portion of the old Catholic
populations, and to bear up against so
many and such powerful enemies, ene-
mies within as well as without the
fortress.
The explanation offered by the au-
thor of the facts he concedes does not
wholly satisfy us. He attributes them
to the influence of the Catholic faith
in mducing a renunciation of the
world, producing in the minds and
hearts of the faithful indifference to
it, and a disposition to live only for
piety and heaven.
That Catholicity has, and was de-
signed to have this tendency, of course,
we ourselves maintain ; but we have
studied the Gospel and Providence as
manifested in human affairs to little
effect if the renunciation of the world
for Christ's sake is not the very way
to secure it. They who give up all
for Christ have even in this world the
promise of a hundred-fold, and in the
world to come life everlasting. " Seek
first the kingdom of God and his jus-
tice, and all these things shall be add-
ed unto you." The true principle,
bpth of political and domestic econo-
my, is self-denial, renunciation. He
who seeks the world and lives for it,
shall lose it, since in so doing he vio-
lates the divine order, and takes as his
end what at best is only a means. Oth-
er things being equal, then, we should
expect a truly Catholic people to sur-
pass in wealth and well-being, as in
industry and virtue, a heathen, an infi-
del, or a Protestant people. Certain-
ly, the inferiority of Catholic nations
in material wealth and well-being is
no argument against Catholicity ; but
it is, in our judgment, a proof that its
government and people are not truly
Catholic. We do not admit, to the
extent the author does, the alleged
superiority of Protestant nations, even
as to the material goods of this life;
but as far as they can claim any su-
periority over Catholic nations in this
respect, we attribute it to what wc
have called paganism in politics, or
to the fact that in no Catholic nation
since the revival of pagan literature
in the fifteenth century have politia
been elevated to the Catholic stan-
dard and made to harmonize with the
Christian religion.
The author concedes, also, that,
during the last century and the pre-
sent. Catholic nations have been
steadily declining, and Protestant na-
tions advancing. At the opening of
the seventeenth century, the Catholic
were the great and leading nations
of the world. Italy, it is true, had
begun to decline ; Spain had attained
its zenith ; but the German empire was
still the first power in Europe. France
was succeeding to the rank of Spain,
and Poland was regarded as the bar-
rier of Catholicity against the North
and the East, while England was
weakened by revolution at home.
Prussia was only a principality,
though soon to become a kingdom,
and the United States did not exist
At present, England is the undisputed
mistress of the ocean, is a great Asia-
tic and a great American power,
weighing heavily on continental Eu-
rope; Prussia is absorbing all Ger-
many. The United States have the
mastership of the new world, and arc
exerting a terrible pressure on thedd;
while, on the other hand, Portugal
has become virtually a colony of
England ; Spain has lost a world, ceas-
ed to be a great j>ower, and b worse
than nothing to the Catholic cause;
Poland is divided among her nei'gii-
bors, and annihilated; Austria is ex-
pelled firom Germany, and threatened
with the fate of Poland ; Italy, at war
with the pope, throws her weight on the
side of the Protestant nations. Russia
and the new Greek empire that is to
be are not Protestant; but, as schis-
The Future of Protestantism €utd Catholicity.
583
made powers, will sustain the Pro-
testant policy as against Catholicity.
France, if she has not declined, has
abandoned her mission as a great Ca-
tholic power, and is as little to be
counted on to resist Anglo-Saxon as-
cendency as Russia or the revived
Greek empire.
The excellent abb6, however, ad-
monishes us that this decline on the
one side, and growth and preponder-
ance on the other, is political, not re-
ligious; and indicates no decline in
Catholicity, or progress of Protestan-
tism. The Latin races, except in
France, have declined; but the
church has gained more members
than she has lost. Only the Anglo-
Saxon race, the bulwark of Protes-
tantism, has advanced. Denmark,
Sweden, and Holland, considerable
Protestant powers at the opening of
the seventeenth century, have lost
their political importance. Holland
is half Catholic, and the Dutch Ca-
tholics are not less devoted to the
church, less tenacious of their rights,
nor less politically active and ener-
getic than the Catholics of Ireland,
and even less distracted by questions
of national relief or national inde-
pendence.
One third of the population of
Prussia is Catholic, and a larger pro-
l>ortion will be if she, as is likely, ab-
sorbs Southern Germany. Not much
reliance is to be placed on Prussia as
a Protestant power. The future be-
longs to the Anglo-Saxon race — Eng-
land and the United States — to be
disputed only by schismatic Russia
and the new schismatic Greek empire
in the process of formation. This re-
lieves the gloom of the picture a litde.
But while we agree with the author
that Britain and our own country are
the principal supports of Protestan-
tism and of Protestant politics, unless
we except France, usually reckoned
as a Catholic power, we do not be-
lieve that even the United States and
Britain, acting in concert, are so for-
midable, in an anti-Catholic sense,
as he represents them. The British
crown has more Catholic than Pro-
testant subjects, and its Catholic sub-
jects are for the most part enfranchis-
ed, and beginning to exert a power-
fill and constantly increasing influ-
ence on the policy of the government.
England is obliged to count with Ire-
land, not only as to Irish interests in
Ireland, but, to some extent, as to
Catholic interests throughout the em-
pire. The Catholic population in the
United States is rapidly growing in
numbers, education, wealth, and in-
fluence, and is already too large to
be oppressed with impunity, and large
enough, when not misled by foreign
passions and interests, to prevent the
government from adopting a decid-
edly antiOatholic policy either at
home or abroad. Were the United
States even to absorb the Catholic
states on this continent, it would be
advantageous, not detrimental, to Ca^
tholic interests. Mexican and Cuban,
as well as Central and South American
Catholics would gain much by being
annexed to the Union, and brought
under the direct action of the eccle-
siastical authority, as are the Catho-
lics of the United States. We see no-
thing reassuring, we own, to the so-
called Latin races in the growth and
preponderance of the Anglo-Saxon
nations, but not much that is promis-
ing to Protestantism ; for we cannot
believe that Christianity has failed,,
or that the future of society belongs
to paganism.
The abbfe does not attribute the
decline of the Latin races to any re-
ligious cause, but finds its explana-
tion — I. in the law of growth and
decay, to which nations as individu-
als are subjected; 2. In climate — ^the
southern climate tends to soflen and
enervate, the northern to harden and
5*4
The Future ^ Prdtestauttsm and Catkolidiy.
invigorate; 3. In geographical posi*
tion; 4. In difference of tempera-
ments; 5. Political constitutions; and
6. In accidental or providential caus*
es, not to be foreseen and guaided
against — the presence or absence of
a great man, the defeat of a well-de*
vised, or the success of a blundering
policy, the gain of a battle that should
have been lost, or the loss of a battle
that should have been gained, etc.
(Pp. 497-5<^-)
Most of these causes we examin*
ed and disposed of, some time ago, in
a review of Professor Draper's works.
The first and second we do not count
We do not believe that nations, like
individuals, are subject to the law of
growth, maturity, old age, and death.
There are no £acts or analogies fix>m
which such a law can be adduced,
and a Catholic nation, if truly Catho-
lic, has in its religion a fountain of
perennial youth. Whatever disasters
befall a Catholic nation, if not ab-
sorbed by another, it has always in
itself a recuperative power. We be-
lieve just as litde in the influence of
climate as one of the causes of the
decline of the Latin nations. The
climate under which they have de-
clined is ttie same imder which they
grew up and became the preponde-
rating races. The extreme heat with-
in the tropics is less unfavorable to
mind or body than the extreme cold
of the Arctic regions. The Latin races
have lived both in dieir growth and
in their decline under the finest,
mildest, and healthiest climate within
the temperate zone. The ablest men,
as scholars, artists, statesmen, and gene-
rals, of France have belonged to her
southern departments ; and we found
in our recent civil war that the men
fit>m the extreme Southern States,
in their physical qualities, bravery,
activity and vigor of body, and pow-
er of endurance, were not at all in-
ferior to the men of the more Nor^
em States. In fact, they could bear
more fatigue, and suffer more priva-
tions, with less demoralization dua
the Northern man. We make just as
little account of difference of tempe-
rament The southern nations, wilh
the same temperament, were once thd
preponderating nations of Europe, and
the French are in no req>ect inijenor
to the English, and in many thingi
superior. Spain in the sixteenth cen-
tury not only surpassed what England
then was, but even what she now is;
and there was a time when it was said
of Portugal, the sun never sets on ber
empire. We do not believe much in
differences of race ; for God hath xaade
all nations of one blood.
Geographical position counts for
something. The nations that have
ports only on the Mediterranean, or
access to the ocean only through that
sea, have been unfavorably affected
by the discovery of the passage to
India by the Cape of Good Hope,
and of this western continent in the
fifteenth century. These maritime
discoveries, which have changed the
routes of commerce as well as the
character of commerce itselfl haTC
given the advantage to the natioDS
that open on the Atlantic, and su&
ciently account for the decline of the
Italian republics. The canal acro« the
Isthmus of Suez, just opened, will do
something, no doubt, to revive the cooh
merce of the Mediteranean, but can-
not restore it, because the Indian trade
is not now of the same relative ia-
portance that it was formerly. The
Americ^i trade comes in for its shar^
rivals and . even exceeds it, and this
trade, whether a ship-canal be or be
not opened across the Isthmus of
Darien, wiU be chiefly in the haadi
of the United States and the wcstett
nations of Europe, for their geographt
cal position enables them toconunand
The Future of Protestattiism and Catholicity.
585
it The insular position of Great
Britain has also given her some ad-
vantages.
Political constitutions also count for
something; but in the beginning of
the seventeenth century, the political
constitutions of the several European
states, except the Italian republics,
the Swiss Cantons, and the United
Netherlands, were essentially the same,
that is, Roman monarchy engrafted on
feudalism. Monarchy was as absolute
ki England under the Tudors and the
Stuarts as it ever was in France or
Spain, and the other estates counted
for no more in her than in them. The
Protestant states of Germany were
not more popular in their constitution
than the Catholic states, and Austria
has never been so despotic as Prussia.
We cannot, however, attribute much
to this cause ; for why have the Latin
states been less successful in develop*
ing and ameliorating their political
constitution than the Anglo-Saxon, if
we .assume that they have not been ?
The accidental or providential caus-
es, in the author's sense, being mea-
surable by no rule and subject to no
known law, cannot be very well dis-
cussed, and we are not inclined to at-
tach much importance to them. A
nation is already declining, or passed
its zenith, if the loss of a single bat-
tle can ruin it ; and on its ascending
course, if the winning of one can se-
cure it a permanent ascendency. Na-
poleon won many important battles,
and yet he died a prisoner on the bar-
ren rock of St Helena. A victory
by Pompey at Pharsalia, or by Brutus
and Cassius at Philippi, could not
have restored the patrician republic
or changed the fate of Rome. The
republic was lost before Caesar cross-
ed the Rubicon. Great men play an
important part, no doubt; but a nation
that can be saved by the presence of
a great man is in no serious danger,
or that could be lost by his absence
cannot be saved by his presence. In-
dividuals count for less than hero-
worshippers commonly imagine. The
race is not to the swift, nor the batUe
to the strong.
Except in the loss of the commer-
cial supremacy of the Italian repub-
lics by the maritime discoveries of the
fifteenth century, we regard, though
not in the sense of Protestants, the
chief causes of the dedine of the La-
tin nations as rdigious, and the as-
cendency of Protestant nations as,
in the main, the counterpart of the
decline of Catholic nations. The
Catholic nations have declined, not
because they have been Catholic, but
because they and their governments
have not been truly Catholic. Some^
thing, indeed, is due to the fact that
England completed her revolution a
hundred years before that of the La-
tin nations began. She had passed
through her principal internal strug^
gles, established the basis of her con-
stitution, setded her dynasty, and
was in a position when the Latin re-
volutions broke out to turn them to
her own advantage. She used the
madness of French Jacobinism, and
the o*er-vaulting ambition of the first
Napoleon. Being earlier too, the
English revolution was less demo-
cratic than that of the Latin nations,
and did not so essentially weaken the
nation by eliminating the aristocratic
element England is only just now
entering upon the fearful struggle be-
tween aristocracy and democracy, and
it is very possible that she wiU lose
her ascendency before she gets through
it Still we find the principal cause of
the deterioration of Catholic nations
connected, at least, with religion.
Both the nations that became Pro-
testant and those that remained Ca-
tholic were affected by the revival of
Greek and Roman paganism in the
fifteenth centiuy. The northern na-
tions, adopting it in politics, speedi-
586
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity.
ly conformed their religion to it, sub-
jected the spiritual to the secular,
abandoned the church, made them-
selves Protestant, and harmonized
their interior national life. The
southern nations adhered to the church,
for there were in them too many
enlightened, earnest-minded, and de-
vout Catholics to permit them to
break wholly with the successor of
Peter; but their governments, states-
men, and scholars, artists and upper
classes, adopted pagan politics, litera-
ture, art, and manners, and thus creat-
ed an antagonism between their re-
ligion and their whole secular life,
which greatly impaired the influence
of the church, and led to a fearful
corruption of politics, manners, and
morals. The cause of the deteriora-
tion of these nations is precisely in
this antagonism, intensified by the
so-called Renaissance^ and which, has
continued, down to the present time,
and will, most likely, continue yet
longer.
The Council of Trent did something
to check the evil, but could not eradi-
cate it ; for its cause was not in the
church, nor in the abuses of ecclesi-
astical discipline or administration, but
in the secular order, in which the se-
cular powers would suffer no radical
reforms either in facts or principles.
They were willing the church should
reform her own administration, but
would not conform their own to the
principles of which she was the ap-
pointed guardian. They would pro-
tect her against heretical powers ; but
only on their own terms, and only so
far as she would consent to be made
or they could use her as an instru-
ment of their ambition. Charles V,
would protect her only so far as he
could without losing in his military
projects the support of the Protestant
princes of the empire ; and when he
wished to force the pope to his terms,
he let loose his fanatical troops under
the Constable Bourbon against Rome,
who imprisoned him and spoiled and
sacked the city for nine months ; Phi-
lip II. would also serve the church
and make a war of extermination on
heretics in the Low Countries, but only
in the hope of using her as an in^ni-
ment in attaining to the universal
monarchy at which he aimed. Loub
XIV., and after him Napoleon I., at-
tempted the same. They all thought
they could use her to further their
own ambition ; but they £uled— and
failed miserably, shamefully. He to
whom it belongs to give victory or
defeat, who demands disinterested
services, and who will not suffer his
church to be used as an instrument
of earthly ambition, touched them
with his finger, and their strength
failed, they withered as grass, and all
their plans miscarried. It was better
that her avowed enemies should tri-
umph for a season than that she should
be enslaved by her protectors, or
smothered in the embraces of her
friends. God is a jealous God, and
his glory he will not give to another.
Here we see the cause. Paganism
in the state corrupted the sovereigns,
their courts, and the ruling classes in
morals and manners, enfeebled cha-
racter, debased society, in the Catho-
lic states. The failure, through divine
Providence, of the ambitious and sel-
fish schemes of such professedly Ca-
tholic sovereigns as Philip II., Louis
XIV., and Napoleon I., reduced the
Latin races to the low estate in whidi
we now find them, and gave, in Ae
political, commercial, and industrial
order, the ascendency to Protestant
nations, as a chastisement to both,
and a lesson to Catholics fironi which
it is to be hoped they will profit If
the Catholic nations had been truly
Catholic, if the educated and ruling
classes had recognized and defended
the church steadily firom the first on
Catholic principles, and unfiinchinglf
TJt€ Future of Protestantism and Catholicity,
587
maintained her freedom and inde-
pendence as the kingdom of God on
earth, representing him who is King
of kings and Lord of lords, these na-
tions would have retained their pre-
ponderance, the church would have
reformed the morals and manners of
society, and the Protestant nations
would never have existed, or would
have speedily returned to the fold.
Yet we do not despair of these
Latin races ; for, though their govern-
ments have betmyed the faith, and
the people have been alienated from
the church by attributing to her the
political faults of their rulers, from
which she and they alike have suffer-
ed, they still retain Catholic tradition,
and have in them large numbers of
men and women, more than enough
to have saved the cities of the plain,
who are true believers, and who know
and practise in sincerity and earnest-
ness their faith. They have still a re-
cuperative energy, and may yet re-
ascend the scale they have descended.
The present emperor of the French
believed it possible, and his mission
to recover the Latin races. He at-
tempted it, and his plan, to human
wisdom, seemed well devised and
practicable. It was to break the alli-
ance between England and Russia ;
to create an independent, confederat-
ed, or united Italy; to divide the An-
glo-Saxon race in the United States,
and to raise up and -consolidate a
Latin power in Mexico and Central
America, while he extended the
French power in North Africa, defeat-
ed English and Russian diplomatic
preponderance in the East, opened a
maritime canal across the Isthmus of
Suez, and recovered the commerce
of India for the Mediterranean pow-
ers. By these means he would give
to France the protectorate of the
Latin races, and guard alike against
Anglo-Saxon and Russian preponde-
rance. But his plan made no ac-
count, or a false account, of the moral
and religious causes of the decline of
Latin races, and sought to elevate them
not as truly Catholic but as temporal
powers, and to use the church for a se-
cular end, instead of using the secular
power he possessed for a spiritual and
Catholic end. He committed over
again the error of his uncle, Louis
XIV., and Philip II., and has failed, as
he might have foreseen if he had under-
stood that the church must be served,
if at all, for herself, and that she serves
the secular only when the secular
serves her for her own sake.
The result of Napoleon's policy
has been not to elevate the Latin ra-
ces and to bring them to gravitate
around France as the great central
Latin power, but to weaken the pow-
er of the church over them, to strength-
en the antagonism between their faith
and their politics, and to depress
them still more in relation to the Teu*
tonic and Slavonic races. The em-
peror of the French, whether he had
or had not Catholic interests at heart,
has done them great injury. He
began by subordinating the spiritual
to the secular, when he should have
begun by subordinating the secular to
the spiritual He would then have
secured the divine protection and
assistance, and been invincible. He
has, in reality, only defeated the end
he aimed at, and left the Latin races
in a more deplorable condition than
that in which he found them. As a
Catholic and as a Latin sovereign, he
has not been a success. The Protes-
tant and schismatical powers have
grown only by the faults and blun-
ders, the want of submission and fide-
lity of the professedly Catholic pow-
ers ; not by any means, as they suppose,
by the errors and abuses of the eccle-
siastical administration, nor by any
positive virtue, even for this world, in
their heresy and schism. God, as we
have just said, is a jealous God, and
S8S
The Future of Protestantism and Catholicity.
his glory he will not give to another.
The Latin races, so called, when in
power sought not his glory but their
own, and failed But they may yet
recover their former power and splen-
dor, if not their commercial prepon-
derance, by rejecting the subtle pa-
ganism which has enervated them, the
infidel politics they have adopted ; by
restoring to the church her full firee-
dom and independence as the spiri-
tual order, and by subordinating the
secular to the spiritual order; that is,
by making themselves real^ and tru-
ly Catholic
In France there was, at an early
day, an attempt made to reconcile
paganism in politics with Catholicity
in religion, in what is called Gallican-
ism, which, however, only served to
systematize the antagonism between
diurch and state, aad to render it all
the more destructive to both. We look
upon Gallicanism, as expressed in the
four articles adopted at the dictation
of the government by the assepibly
of the French clergy in 1682, and
which had shown itself all along fi'om
Philip the Fair, the grandson of St
Ix)uis, which broke out in great vio-
ience with Louis XII., and his p€tit
council of five cardinals at Pisa, acted
on by ^tpotitiques of Henry IV., and
formulated by the great Bossuet un-
der Louis XIV., as the most formi-
dable as well as the most subtle ene-
my the church has ever had to con-
tend with.
The essence, the real virus, so to
speak, of Gallicanism is not, as so
many suppose, in the assertion that
the dogmatic definitions of the pope
are not irreformible — ^though that is a
grave error, in our judgment — ^but in
the assertion of the independence of
the state in face of the spiritual order.
No doubt Bossuet's purpose in draw-
ing up the four articles was to pre-
vent the French government from
going farther and carrying away the
kingdom into open heresy and schism;
but the subde secularism to which
he gave his sanction, especially as
sure to be practically understood
and applied, is far harder to deal with
than either heresy or schism, and it
seems to us far more embairassing to
the church. It forbids the Catholic
to be logical, to draw firom his Ca-
tholic principles their proper conse-
quences, or to give them their legiti-
mate application; takes away from
the defences of faith its outposts, and
reduces them to the bare citadel, and
proves an almost insiurmountable ob-
stacle to the church in her efiorts to
reach and subdue the world to the
law of God. It withdraws the scoi-
lar order from its rightful subjection
to the spiritual order, and denies that
religion is the supreme law for nations
as well as for individuals, and for
kings as well as for subjects.
The principal fault we find with
the author, as may be gathered from
what we have said, is that he appears
to see in the antagonism between pa-
gan pditics ^nd Christian, or in the
original and inextinguish2d)le dualism
asserted by Gallicanism, no cause of
the deterioration of Catholic nations,
or of the partial success in old Ca-
thohc populations of Protestant mis-
sions in unmaking Catholics, if not
in making Protestants. He seems
to accept the one-sided asceticism
which places the goods of this life in
antagonism with the goods of the
world to come, and, though he does
not avow Gallicanism, originated by
paganism in the state, he does not dis-
avow it, or appear to be aware that it
has any influence in detaching the
people from the church, by making
them Catholics only on one side oi
their minds, and leaving them pagaa
on the other.
The enemies of the church under-
stand this matter hi better, and they
look upon a Gallican as being as
Untying Gordian Kn4fis.
589
good as a Protestant. James I., the
English Solomon, declared himself
ready to accept the church, if allowed
to do it on Gallican principles. Pro-
testants have very little controversy
with out-and-out Gallicanism. They
feel instinctively that the Catholics who
assert the independence, which means
practically the supremacy, of the se-
cular order, and bind the pope by
the canons which the church herself
makes, are near enough to them ; and
if they are not separated from the
church, it is all the better, because
they can better serve the Protestant
cause in her communion than they
could if out of it. It is the Papal,
not the Gallican church they hate.
We do not agree, if we may be
permitted to say so, with the author
as to the superiority of Protestant
nations, or that they are likely to re*
tain for any great length of time the su-
periority they appear now to have, nor
do we accept, as we have already inti-
mated, the one-sided asceticism which
supposes any necessary antagonism
between this world and the next.
The antagonism grows out of the
error of placing this worid as the end
or supreme good, whoii it is, in fact,
only a medium. We as Christians
renounce it as the end we live for;
but if we so renounce it, and live only
in Christ for God, who is really our
supreme good, we find this world in
its true place with all its goods; and
a really Catholic nation that holds
the spiritual and eternal supreme,
and subordinates the secular to it,
will have a hundred-fold more of the
really good diings of this life, than a
nation that subordinates the spiritual
to the secular, and seeks only mate-
rial goods. We believe, and the au-
thor proves it, that there is even now
more real wealth and well-being in
Catholic than in Protestant nations;
though we agree with the author,
that if it were not so, it would be no
argument against the church.
The question of tolerance and in-
tolerance, and of civil and religious
liberty, as related to Catholic and
Protestant nations respectively, will
form the subject of a future article.
In the mean time we commend again
to our readers the work we are re-
viewing.
UNTYING GORDIAN KNOTS.
I.
XAOY SACKVIL'S JOURNAL.
Venice^ April 3//, 185-. Arrived
this afternoon, and was received by
Flora at the station in an embossed
gondola with crimson awnings. Ah
me ! the delicious glow of a new sen-
sation. By what blessed exception
was Venice reserved to me for the
thirty-&8t jrear of diat stagnation we
call life, and for the second year of
dowagerhood ? As we floated up to
Beldoni Palace, the blood of nine-
teen flowed in my veins. But in the
marble court, perfumed with orange-
blossoms exhaling youth and hope,
the twins rushed out upon me, cry-
ing, ''Auntie!" Bah! I was again
myself, smothered in crape and bom-
bazine, with the heart of a jade-stone
and the circulation of a crocodile.
590
Untying Cordian Knots.
As we stood beneath the fig-trees
in the garden, Flora whispered, " Look
at the middle window of the third
story." I looked, and beheld a brown-
haired woman, in a soft blue dress,
pushing aside a mass of passion-vine,
and watching us. A pretty picture
enough, made warm and glowing in
the last rays of sunset! "Who is
it ?" " Nicholas Vane's wife. I wrote
you of his marriage two years ago.
They have taken an apartment we
do not use, and we are constantly to-
gether. You remember that George
owes his success in life to Mr. Vane,
and he has always been like an elder
brother to Nicholas."
" She's rather pretty, is she not ?"
" Not exacdy pretty, but excessive-
ly nice, George respects her immense-
ly."
"George, George, George!" the
point of every moral and adomAient
of every tale. George does not re-
spect me immensely ; but I am not
sure that I value his opinion less for
that reason — heaven help me !
Well, if Nicholas Vane makes
his wife half as wretched as he made
me ten years ago, I pity her. I have
always wished for an hlaircissement
with him on the subject of my mar-
riage with Sackvil. Perhaps it may
come now.
4M. — Created a revolution in the
household to-day; persuaded Flora
to have the Erard "grand" moved
into a great old bam of a room sel-
dom used, where one can write and
practise without interruption. She
had intended to give up one of her
prettiest rooms to me; but I've taken
a fancy to this one, which will be too
desolate to tempt any one to share
my solitude.
George is charmed to have me es-
tablish myself at such a distance from
the rest of the family. He at once
ordered in orange-trees and ivies
to adorn my dungeon — a delightful
thought ; but the dreary waste is fiist
becoming a blossoming oasis. I am
writing now by the jalousied window,
half listening to the dip of oars as
the gondolas go lazily by in the af-
ternoon light.
A glorious piano-tuning this mora-
ing, much to Flora's disgust " Let
me send to Lupi's for a timer, dear,"
she entreated, as I produced fork and
key from the depths of a show woik-
basket. " It looks so masculine."
"It should be feminine to bring
harmony out of discord," I answered
" No piano of mine shall be intrust-
ed to a hireling."
I talked and tuned, tuned and talk-
ed — ^not simultaneously but in strata^
and had possessed myself of the in-
terior history of the Vane family by
the time the piano answered my
searching ears harmoniously.
Mary Terence was the daughia
of a clever author, of so%e preten-
sions to literary fame, but better
known in Boston as a brilliant talker.
She was left an orphan at nineteen^
poor and improtected. Vane, who
had been one of the habituls of her
father's house, admired her sweet
devotion to the crotchety old man.
She was a Catholic, too ; and though
Nicholas never cared much for his
religion himself, he was always fond
of seeing other people practise it,
as I remember painfully. But, how-
ever it happened, through religion or
love, or caprice, or whatever, he mar-
ried the young thing, and fancies
there was never seen her equal
The piano tuned, I betook myself
to practising Variations Shieuses^ and
Saran's variations in the same style,
but founded on a theme far nobler
than the one Mendelssohn has taken.
Saran is capable of great things, but
will probably fail to accomplish them*
as this period of our century cqjc-
cially discourages development To
Untyins Gordian Knots,
591
excite hopes and disappoint them
appears to be the summit of youth-
fill ambition, at least in the musical
world.
I was feeling very happy at the
piano ; keys cool and smooth ; nerves
impressionable but not impressed ;
my ivy-garnished dungeon excellent
in its acoustic effects; Flora, in a sense-
less sort of way, a sympathetic listen-
er. Now and then a servant came
to her for orders, but her voice is one
that harmonizes with stillness. Flora
IS surely the sweetest, calmest, most
beautiful simpleton I have ever known.
Mendelssohn and Saran having tir-
ed me, Chopin came to the rescue —
mazurkas, preludes, nocturnes. Why
did I play so well? Why was that
scherzo on the music-desk, and why
do its leaves turn so inconveniently ?
As I came within two bars of the
close of the third page, a hand turn-
ed it deftly. I knew the hand of old,
and its rare faculty for turning music
well With difficulty I repressed a
start of surprise, for I had thought
myself alone with Flora. But the
agony of recollection quivered in my
nerves, impressed now as well as im-
pressionable. I had not believed
myself susceptible of such emotion,
or capable of such repression of feel-
ing, if once aroused.
The scherzo ended, I paused, but
for a moment could not summon
courage to break the silence that
followed. At last I turned to leave
the piano. Vane was sitting be-
hind me on the right His lips part-
ed painfully in a smile as he greeted
me. Strange ! What was it to either
of us but a glance into a past we
would both destroy if that were pos-
sible; a furtive peep into a magic
mirror we thought broken long ago.
The brown-haired nymph of the
passion-vine was half reclining on a
kHmge with the happy, musing look
of one who seldom muses. I had
meant to take the initiative with her,
accepting her as Flora's friend, and
gradually admitting her to intimacy.
To my surprise, I found myself re-
sponding gratefully to her pleasant
welcome, and wishing in my hidden
soul she might find something in me
to like. Where lies her power ? As
yet I cannot tell. Y^ne is very little
changed in ten years ; lines deepened
but not altered. There is evidently
a charming relation between him and
his wife. She is the stronger of the
two in character, I fancy — a sin^ple,
genuine person, what more I do not
yet know.
II.
Nicholas Vane's library overlook-
ed the garden of Palazzo Beldoni.
The dimensions of the room, the
windows curtained with vines in the
month of April, the glowmg sunlight
that forced its way in between sway-
ing branches, all spoke of Italy;
but New England comfort held a
cozy reign within doorsi; husband
and wife were occupied together be-
fore the great-study table covered
with plans of fortifications; she in
making extracts from books of refer-
ence, he in working out the minor
details of a design.
•* How odd that I should have for-
gotten!" Mary said suddenly, paus-
ing in her work with a look of sur-
prise and recollection. " Flora charg-
ed me to tell you that Lady Sackvil
has written to say that she is coming
here. She will arrive this afternoon
in all probability, and I was to have
told you of it yesterday. However,"
she added after a pause, " you don't
seem to take much interest in my
great piece of news, so the .d.^lay has
done no harm."
"Amelia Grant is coming — Lady
Sackvil, I mean !" Nicholas said slow-
ly, but without pausing in his work.
" Very well, I hope you will like her,"
59i
UntyUig Gordian Knots.
" It never occurred to me not to
like her," Mary answered. " In the
first place, she is Florals sister; in
the second place, she is a very fas-
cinating woman ; in the third place,
she is a riddle I hope to solve ; in the
fourth place — "
" In the fourth place," exclaimed
Vane, throwing down his pencil with
one of those short laughs that quench
enthusiasm and kindle wrath at the
same moment ; " in the fourth place,
my beloved CEdipus, she is a sorceress
who will read you at sight Amelia
Grant is the minor of the person she
is with; when you fancy you are de^
ciphering her, you will be simply gaz-
ing at a reflection of yourself — ^no un-
pleasant sight, I acknowledge," he
added kindly, seeing that his rough
answer had brought the color to her
cheeks; "but it will not solve you
the riddle. Look here, child. I
am sorry Lady Sackvil is coming
here. She is a worldly, heartless wo-
man ; full of ability, full of attraction ;
but let me tell you this: if eating
your litde innocent heart could afford
her an afternoon's entertainment, she
would not hesitate to do it."
He paused, rose and went to the
window. Mary remained at the ta-
ble, making sketches upon the baize
cover with her pen-handle.
"She must play for us, though,"
said Captain Vane, coming out of a
brown study and returning to his
seat. "She was the cleverest ama-
teur I have ever heard ; and they say
Lord Sackvil indulged every whim
and carried her from Leipsic to Wei-
mar, and from Weimar to Berlin,
as her fancy suggested. She went
through a conservatory course at
Leipsic, and graduated most credita-
bly. Yes, she is astonishingly clever,
beyond dispute, and capable of great
self-devotion to her art Of all the
persons I have known, men or wo-
men, she is the most impressionable,
mobile, sympathetic, dramatic." And
again he merged into a reverie, whik
Mary cootinued the ungratefiil tadt
of drawing on the table-cover.
"Miss Grant had a great many
lovers, I suppose," she said at length,
"I don't know — yes— probably—
perhaps not Just look at plan four,
and give me the length of line A-Q.*
" One inch — three inches — six feet
If you don't answer my question, i
shall not answer yours," said Maiy,
laying her head down on the table.
Vane laughed, and looked out the
reference himself.
" She was married at twenty, yoa
goose; so it is not probable that she
had many declared lovers."
"What sort of man was Lord
Sackvil ?"
" Lift up your head and go to woik
and I will tell you — there. Lord
Sackvil was a clever, kindly man of
about forty-five, rich but fond (tf
diplomatic life. He came to Wash-
ington on a special mission. Amdie
met him in society, mirrored his de>
vemess, and kindliness, and diploma^
cy, and married him after an engage*
ment of three weeks."
" Was the marriage a happy one?"
" I don't know — I never asked—
I don't care. Stop asking questiooi;
I'm sick of the subject."
" I verily bdieve she has come. I
hear voices in the garden," cried
Mary, springmg fh>m her seat and
running to the window. " Yes ; it
must be Lady Sackvil, talking with
Flora under the trees. There, she
turned and looked at me. Ohl do
come here ; she is very lovely."
" Mary, come here," said Vane
sharply. "Don't stand staring st
what does not concern 3rou. There,
I've upset the inkstand. Now you
must come and help me."
" If you had upset the univenc, I
shotikl leave you to wipe it up your-
self. Why, my dear, I never aqpcct*
Untying Gordian Knots,
593
ed to know a live countess. I really
must look at her."
"Mary, come to me," said Vane
sternly, rising from his seat.
She came slowly toward him, and
stood looking up in his face with an
expression half of fun, half of amaze-
ment
" I had not supposed you capable
of such babyish conduct," he said,
the blood rushing to his face.
"I have been very silly," Mary
said. " O Nicholas 1 you don't know
how silly I have been. I will never,
never behave so again — or think such
thoughts again," she added, looking
at him with an expression of absolute
sincerity and trustfulness. " I will all
my life trust you as you trust me,"
" Do no such thing," he answered
hastily. " I am a man like half the
men in the worid, and women like
you are very rare. My darling," he
said tenderly, " I love you, and I revere
you too— words which should be very
precious to a wife. Love may pass,
but reverence never. You are my
preserver in this world ; you are my
strength, my patience, my all, God
help me! When I look into those
sweet, truthful, innocent eyes, they
give me all the strength I need for
life. Mary, never distrust me — ^never,
never distrust me, for I love and hon-
or you."
"Thank God for that!" she an-
swered softly. "But please don't
place your dependence on me. If I
had strength to give you, you should
have it if my very life had to pay for
the gift. But you cannot live vicari-
ously. You cannot receive strength
through me. I do not regret behav-
ing so foolishly to-day merely because I
have displeased you. If I antsilly, you
had better know it. But I am afraid
you will think that confessing my faults
does me so little good that you will
be less than ever inclined to confess
your own."
VOL. X. — ^38
" Make yourself quite easy on that
point," said Captain Vane, smiling.
"I will not judge things good in
themselves by your malpractices. But
let me speak to you very seriously, my
dear child. I love you tenderly, and
I love no one else in the world ; but
if your suspicions had been correct,
you took the worst means in the world
to mend matters. Suspicions are ex-
cessively irritating to a man, and none
the less so, you may be sure, when
they are well-grounded. And now I
freely forgive you all your sins toward
me, real and imaginary, and I think
if Angelo were to come and wash
away that pool of ink on the parquet^
all traces of this terrible passage of
arms might be effaced."
III.
LADY SACKVIL'S JOURNAL.
Flora came into the room to-day,
while Josephine was dressing my hair.
My cap was l)ang on the dressing-ta-
ble. She took it up and examined it
thoughtfully. " Milly," she said at
last, " do me a favor. Give up wear-
ing caps. I cannot bear to have your
lovely hair covered. Besides, the
usual time for wearing close mourning
is passed; and I afh convinced that
common rules of etiquette should be
followed in these matters. If you
continue to wear black beyond the
usual period, you will lay it aside some
day because your grief is diminished,
and that is not a pleasant idea."
Flora is a wise woman, within a
very narrow range. And so the caps
are laid aside. I do it with a kind
of regret I remember fancying,
when I first adopted them, that I had
assumed unworidliness with them. I
do not wish to make the smallest
sacrifice to duty, but no one enjoys
feeling good more than I do. My
hair is beautiful. It looks so nicely
594
Untying Gordian Knots.
in great smooth rolls fastened with
an ivory comb. I think I should go
mad if I were ugly; if I were not
sure of attracting any one I care to
attract — except George Holston.
But never mind his disapproval ! It
is pleasanter to be disliked than disre-
garded, at least to an egotist like my-
self. To-night we had good music.
Only the Vanes were here, Flora, and
I. It was interesting to introduce
them to certain Schumann songs they
had not seen \ Franz songs of which
they had never even heard; then
Chopin, as the moonlight streamed in
at the great window by the piano,
making candles unnecessary. " More,
more," said Mrs. Vane, when I paus-
ed. " No more of that kind," said
Nicholas, laughing. " I need rebuild-
ing at present." So we had glorious
John Sebastian Bach, ending with an
organ prelude and fugue arranged by
Liszt Vane listened, looking out
of the window upon the canal. Mrs.
Vane looked transfigured, like one
who had found a great calmness and
strength. I envied her, and yet
what should I do with calnmess and
strength if I had them? Throw
them into the great pool of life and
watch the bubbles rise to the surface.
Nothing can add to Flora's serenity.
She rolled up har crochet work, laid
it away in a blue velvet sarcophagus,
and said, " Come into the other room
and we will have chocolate." When
we were alone, she asked, " Did you
ever notice how beautifully Nicholas
.Vane's hair grows on his forehead?
And he has the most expressive eye-
lids I ever saw. You must look at
them some time." I promised to do so.
I am arranging a Schumann quar-
tette for the piano. I find that Mrs.
Vane knows very litde of his mu-
sic How enchanting transcription is !
One finds in it, I am confident, some
of the delights of creation. It is only
eleven ; I can have two good hours
of work before going to bed.
IV.
" Nicholas, did you ever tell yoiir
wife of your engagement to Axuelia
Grant?" asked George Holston, abus-
ing the occasion of a visit from his
adopted brother by asking unpleasant
questions.
Vane knocked the ashes off his
cigar and answered curtly, " No."
" Why not ?"
" Because it was a disagreeable sub-
ject; because the matter was dead
and buried years before I saw Mary ;
because I didn't choose to speak of it.**
'^ I think you made a mistake.*'
" I don't"
"I do; and I will tell you why,
though you don't wish to hear* A
man can't put too many barriers be-
tween himself and temptation. You
are now brought tunexpectedly into
daily intercourse with Amelia. Long
after actual love dies out, personal in-
fluence continues dangerous. If you
had told your wife of your former
connection, it would have acted as a
useful check upon you, unconsciously,
of course."
" I need no check," answered Vane
in a tone of annoyance, '* beyond my
love for Mary, and my distrust of
Lady Sackvil. Mary knows I had
an old love afiair, but does not know
^'ith whom. You need not disturb
yourself. I know Amelia Grant of
old."
" I doubt it You exaggerate her
faults. She is by no means deficient
in good qualities, if she chose to use
them. She is a woman ruined by bad
training; educated systematically to
selfishness, vanity, self-will. She is
the most worldly woman of her years
I have»ever known; but her most
dangerous trait, as accompanying so
many faults, is the yearning for bet-
ter thmgs that makes her interesting.
She thinks I dislike her. On the con-
trary, I find her very attractive, though
I am determined to do nodiing to
Untying Gordian Knots,
595
induce her to prolong her stay with
us."
" I don't know any thing about her
capacities for good," Vane remariced
dryly. "I know that we had not
been engaged twenty-four hours be-
fore she was receiving Lord Sack-
viFs attentions freely. At the end of
three days of befooling, I put an end
to the farce and left the coast clear
for his lordship. Flora knows all
about this, of course ?"
" Evidently not They were never
together during their girlhood. Be-
sides, Amelia never reveals any thing
discreditable to herself, you may be
sure. Keep out of her way. Vane ;
she has gifts which are especially at-
tractive to you. But, by Jupiter ! it
is ladier an insult to fancy that any
one can fascinate you after your wife,
who is nearer perfection than any wo-
man I ever saw."
" Upon my word !" said Vane, glad
of a diversion, " these are agreeable
sentiments. I think if any body has
ground for jealousy, it is poor me. I
have not the slightest doubt that
Mary will eventually be canonized,
but 111 thank you to defer all senti-
ments of veneration until then."
At this moment a servant announc-
ed that Mrs. Holston and Lady Sack-
vil were in the gondola waiting for Cap-
tain Vane.
Nicholas took his hat and rose.
**Keep your eyes and your wisdom
to yourself, George," he said, in an-
swer to Holston's glance of amuse-
ment " It is a bad thing to be wiser
than your day and generation."
" So Cassandra fqund," replied
Holston ; " but she was right, for all
that"
V.
**Lay her down by me, Debby,**
said Mrs. Vane to the comfortable-
looking old body who was serving as
nurse to a second generation. '' Lay
her beside her own little mamma.
Was she very good? Did Padre
Giulio think her lovely ? Didn't she
cry the least bit while he was pouring
the water ?"
*' Just enough, mum, to let the old
Adam out," answered Debby, tuck-
ing up mother and child energetical-
ly. " As for the Paddry, he thought
s^e was a perfect pink ; and he'd had
the chill took off the water, thanks
be to praise 1 It seems only yester-
day," continued Debby contempla-
tively, " I was a holdin' Mr. Nicholas
to be christened. He roared loud
enough for two generations, I recol-
lect, and now he's a cap'n m the
army. Well, we're all agin'. Now,
mum, I'll trust her with you a little
while till I can get that gruel made.
That Jovanny puts sorrel into it the
minute my back's turned. Now you
can take just as good care of baby.
Miss Vane, ias if I was here, and
don't you go a tirin' yoursdf. Mr.
Nicholas lays all the blame on me if
your cheeks bum."
As the door closed behind the
nurse, Mary nesded the baby close,
and gave herself up to the ecstasy
of her new joy. We wiU follow her
thoughts as if they had been spoken.
Happiness like hers seldom finds vent
in words.
"I need no book of meditation
with you beside me, baby. I gave
you to God before your birth; I
brought you into the world to be a
saint, and, so help me heaven, I will
never stand between yow and Him,
no matter what the struggle may cost
me. O holy little head! glorified by
the waters of baptism, with this kiss
I offer you to God, that he may fil!
you with pure thoughts always tend-
ing to heaven. Sweet litde mouth,,
speak comfort to every living crea-
ture. Sweetest eyes, look heaven-
ward; and when you turn to earth,
may you see it strewn with roses as it
596
Untying Gordian Knots.
has been to me. Tender, pure feet,
may you never be stained with the
world's clay; walk firmly, bravely,
steadfastly, where the Infant Jesus
trod before you — ^yes, sweet, though
it should be on thorns, my tender,
precious one. And O littie lovely
hands! work for God, work for his
poor and suffering ones, work for neg-
lected altars, O God! O God! it is
too sweet, too sublime, the possession
of this soul which I am to train f9r
thee. Make me as unflinching as
Queen Blanche, steadfast as St. Moni-
ca, wise as St. Paula. May my child
and I revere each other, remember-
ing the Child Jesus and his Mother!
When I stand at thy judgment-seat,
dear Lord, may this plead for me,
that never by example or omission
have I caused my child to desist
fit)m following thee."
Turning her head upon the pillow,
Mary saw her husband standing by
the bedside, looking at her and the
child. His eyes were ftiU of tears as
he stooped and kissed her.
•* This is the happiest day of my
Hfe," she said as he sat down by her;
**the day of our baby's christening.
And do you know that I chose for it
the anniversary of the day when I
found out that you loved me."
" Tell me about that day."
"Won't nurse be here in a mi-
nute ?"
" No ; I have come in her stead,
as bearer of apologies. Giovanni has
•done or left undone something with
regard to your dinner, I believe. And
now for the day when you made that
wonderful discovery. Come, I should
think the time for blushing about it
was over."
^*It was the day before 1 was
to leave Boston," Mary explained.
"Almost every thing in the house
had been sold at auction. Oh! it
was so dismal I Only my room and
die library were comparatively un-
touched. I was sitting on my tnmk,
Counting the money that was left a^
ter poor papa's debts were paid"
" How much was there ?"
" Just ten dollars. Enough to pay
my fare to Drewsville and leave me
within a few dollars of absdute depen-
dence. I hated the idea of going
to live with my Aunt Jane. But that
was not what I was thinking of^ nor
my poverty, even while I counted my
money."
" What were you thinking of, dear?"
Her cheek flushed brighdy. "I
had never loved any one before, you
know, Nicholas," she said apologeti-
cally. " I did not know what it wis,
or perhaps I could have helped it
I knew there was a reason why it was
agony for me to leave Boston, and I
did not dare to try to find out what
the reason was. I knew there wis *
pain within me harder to bear than
the grief for my father's death, but
that I must not even think of it But
oh ! when they told me that you were
in the library waiting to see me, then
I knew what the pain was, then I
knew what the agony was. Do yoc
wonder that I chose the annivasiry
of that day? That day when wt
stood togeAer in the old bouse b^
side the empty fireplace, and you ask-
^ me to leave solitude and depen-
dence and homesickness, and be yov
wife."
" Has it been all you thought «
would be ?"
"All, and more than all," she
answered simply. And in his heart
he protested that she should never be
less happy in her love. As he left her
with the nurse, his heart was fuU ^
wonder that so pure and true a crea-
ture had been intrusted to his keep-
ing. Outside the door a note was
handed to him, one of Mrs, Hobtoo's
perfumed, rose-colored billets, vA
he stepped back into his wife's room
to read it
In Memoriam of the Rev. Francis A. Bak,er,
597
« What is the matter ?" she asked,
seeing a look of annoyance or per-
plexity on his face. He handed her
the note, and she read :
" Dear Nicholas : We are going to
Torcello to-morrow, and must have you
with us to expound the mysteries of the old
drarcht the arabesques, etc. We leave at
ten, and shall be gone all day. Don't say no
to yours very faithfully, F. R. H.
"P.S.— My sister says, 'Oh! yes. We
must have him ; he is so ganuihlich.* "
The reason for a refusal was simple
enough. His going wotild leave his
wife for a whole day to Debby's ten-
der but garrulous mercies; but this
was not for her to see or say. An
undefined distrust of Lady Sackvil,
which she believed to be quite ground-
less made her urge his acceptance of
the invitation. He went to Torcello,
and all day long, in and out of mea-
sure with the oars, these words rung
in his ears :
*'AU too good
For human oature't daily food."
It is a bad sign when one feels out of
harmony with one's best influences.
Mrs. Holston required her hus-
band's attendance, and Captain Vane
must do the honors of the island to
her sister. He was a man of artistic
perceptions and of accurate know-
ledge; and Lady Sackvil*s capacities
were of precisely the kind to draw
these out Here was the great dan-
ger. Mary, though intelligent and
sympathetic, could never be any thing
more than a good listener; Amelia
aroused every faculty within him to
full life. The day at Torcello did
more harm than many months could
imdo.
TO BS OONTINUSD.
IN MEMORIAM OF THE REV. FRANCIS A. BAKER.
WRTTTKN ON ALL SAINTS' DAY, 1 869.
All Saints' to-day! To-morrow is All Souls' :
To-morrow, blessed soul, I pray for thee.
To-day, O sainted spirit ! pray for me.
One day — what years one day of life controls.
My round eternity on that day rolls —
Retired, we prayed together ; my bent knee
Before thee ; thy hand raised to make me free.
While, as through Moses, mercy wrath withholds.
And well I mind me of succeeding joy,
How thanks more rapt for God's dear love arose.
When my full heart did thy blest words employ :
And after, though unmarked the bashful boy.
How sweet thy chance inquiry thrilled me, heaven knows I
How close the bond there formed, heaven will disclose.
598
Chunk Music.
CHURCH MUSIC.
II.
"I DO not believe in giving the
best music to the devil/* said a friend
while holding with us an amicable
discussion on the subject which forms
the heading of this paper.
"You quote John Wesley, the
founder of the Methodist sect/' we
replied. "Nevertheless, we agree
both with him and you. We do not
believe in giving any music whatever
to the devil"
" I would say," returned our friend,
"that the b^ music ought to be
given to God."
" Most assuredly," said we ; " and
the poorest too. Why not ?"
" I mean," our friend explained,
" that in the public worship of God
the best music should be used that
can be obtained."
" You reecho our own sentiments,"
we rejoined. "But will you please
to define what you call the bestV^
" Oh ! nothing simpler," replied
our fiiend. " That music is the best
which is the most agreeable."
We murmured something about
*^ de gusHbuSf^ when our friend pru-
dently added, " to the occasion."
" And the occasion is — " we sug-
gested.
" Is divine worship," continued
our fiiend. "Where the soul is in-
structed by the divine truths the
lioly offices of the Church impart,
and inspired with sentiments now of
prayer, now of praise, now of holy
joy, now of penitence, now of lamen-
tation, and so forth."
" Well said !" we exclaimed. " You
have again spoken our own mind.
But have you ever heard such mu-
sic ?"
" I have heard some very chiim>
ing music in my time," answered o«r
friend cautiously.
" Exacdy answering to your defini-
tion ?"
" Well, no. I camiot say exadfy
answering to my definition."
"We have been more fbfttnude
dian you," said we. " It has been
our lot to hear very charming music,
exactly answering to your definitioiL''
"Where?" demanded our friend
eamesdy.
"In many churches and monas-
teries of Europe," we replied.
" What was its style and character?^
inquired our friend.
" The Gregorian Chant, pure and on-
defiled."
Our friend honorably dosed the dis-
cussion by reiterating his definition
and regretting his lack of experience.
In a former article we endeavored
to bring before our readers such
proob of the statement we made, that
the use of modem music in the ritu-
al service of the Church was both
improper and illegal, as we thought
a very slight examination of the sub-
ject would suggest These )»oo6
were, however, not requisite, since it
is a patent fact that such music is
an innovation on the universal tradi-
tionary use of the Gregorian chant;
an innovation, to judge firom the
countries where it has crept in and
supfdanted the old ritual song, that
is the result of a rdigious taste vitiat-
ed by the influences of a spirit m^iich,
if not precisely Protestant, is, to say
the least, .woridly, anti-Christian, and*
therefore anti-CaUiolic If diere be
Church Music
599
any, then, who prefer music of this
character to the authorized chant, it
is necessary for them to show good
reasons for the Bberfy they take in
using ity or why an immediate return
should not be made to what is, at
any rate, lawful and ordained, if it be
nothing more. In England, where
the ancient Catholic spirit is again
reviving, and a marked return to the
old paths is observable both in and
out of the Church, the subject of
church music has received an atten-
tion and awakened an amount of in-
vestigation second only to that de-
voted to the dogmas of faith. And
we may here remark that this recent
study of the church chant is in no
sense conducted in the spirit of sim-
ple antiquarian research — as it were,
to bring to light buried fragments of
a beautiful or useful institute charac-
teristic of a former age, for the admi-
ration of the curious — ^but in the ex-
press intent of reinstating the ancient
church song to its rightful place in
the holy sanctuaries of sacrifice and
prayer.
That the Church has no notion of
giving up the Gregorian chant, but,
on the contrary, that she earnestly
desires its complete restoration in
those countries where it has fallen
into disuse, we hold to be entirdy
beyond question. Whatever con-
cessions to the poverty of resources,
or to peculiar local ciitumstances,
for the occasional use of modem
muac, the hierarchy may think it
prudent to make, is a subject for the
consideration of those who believe
themselves to be in such a position
as to need these concessions. What
is certain is, that the Church by the
mouth of her pastors has directed the
universal use of the Gregorian chant,
and as imiversally condemned the use
of our modem music.
Knowing, however, that the heal-
ing of every sore takes time as well
as medicine, we admit that in many
places this much-needed reformation
cannot be instantaneously made.
With us in the United States, the
clergy, as a body, have but a slight
acquaintance, either theoretically or
practically, with the church chant;
and knowing, as we do fi-om experi-
ence, what false and barbaric execu-
tions of it they have been condemn-
ed to sufier in the course of their ec-
clesiastical education, and fi-om which
they have been naturally led to form
their judgments concerning it, we do
not wonder at the wide-spread preju-
dice that exists against its use, and
the opposition to its introdi^ction that
is met with, even at their hands.
That our laity have never given ex-
pression to their own sentiments in its
regard is simply due to their complete
ignorance and total inexperience of
the whole subject. All fears, there-
fore, of offending the people or of
alienating them from the solemn offi-
ces of the Church, on. account of the
banishment of florid music and the
introduction of plain chant, are, as
yet, groundless.
Esteeming it as a matter of great
moment, and urged by oft-repeated
solicitations on the part of their hie-
rarchy, the clergy in England and
Ireland have, for several years past,
been devoting their energies to carry
out the wishes of their superiors, and
devise some means to ameliorate the
condition of church music, acknow-
ledged to have, with them as with us,
gradually degenerated since the Re-
formation of the sixteenth century.
As far back as 1849, an effort was
made, with this end in view, to sup-
ply proper singers in the churches, at
the head of which was the Cardinal,
then Bishop Wiseman. The vicars-
apostolic in s)mod had decreed,
" Foemine» voces ne audiantur in
choro," hoping to gradually mduce
a return to the established discipline
6oo
Church Music.
of the Church. The present Archbi-
shop of Westminster, referring to this
in a letter, says,
** Unfortunately, this decree has not been
carried out I can only suppose that the
causes which brought in this deviation have
prevailed to obtain its toleration until such
time as we shall be able to do better. A
sudden order to remove women singers,
while as yet we have no boys trained to
take their places, would be inconvenient
and inconsiderate. I have not thought it
right to issue any such order. But all that
I can effect by the strongest expression of
desire and persuasion I shall endeavor to
effect."
In a circular letter to his clergy, dat-
ed May 8th, 1869, the archbishop pro-
hibits the employment of women sing-
ers in all choirs to be newly formed.
We can well understand the end
had in view by this order for the ex-
clusion of female waicts from the choir.
To us it is, in effect, an order for the
exclusion of all figured music, and
the restoration of plain chant. The
archbishop, however, seems to allow
the possibility of the composition
of " masses which, while they admit
the full compass and perfection of mo-
dem musicsd science, exclude all that
is secular or theatrical, by retaming
the gravity and majesty of our eccle-
siastical and sacred tradition." This
is, however, only a concession ; for he
had just before written, " When once
tried by experience, the grave, sweet,
majestic, intellectual music of the
Church will win all who are now in
favor of a less ecclesiastical style."
The hope expressed by Archbishop
Manning, that masses would be com-
posed for male voices only, and of
sufficiently grave character to suit the
services of the Church, was suggested,
doubtless, by some quite respectable
essays of this kind made on the Con-
tinent, and offered to the Congress
of Malines at its late sessions, as well
by the labors in this direction of the
Rev. Canon Oakeley, to whom his
letter on this subject was addressed.
This reverend gentleman has been the
rector of a London pari^ for ei^-
teen years, and has never admitted a
female into his choir, althou^ the
perfection of the musical department
in his church has received many hig)i
encomiums. He supplies the sc^in-
no parts by boys* voices, to the cul-
tivation of which he has devoted t
great deal of energy. The character
of his church music is as follows : At
High Mass, whatever is dc rigucur for
the Sunday or festival is sung stria-
ly according to the Roman Gradual,
save those parts which may be ra^*
ed under the title of 'Ordinariam
Missae, namely, the Kyrie, Gloria,
Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei. These
portions are not as a rule chosen
fi-om the Gregorian chant, but are
morccaux of selected modem musk.
His Vesper and Compline service is
wholly Gregorian, as given in the
Vesperale Romanum. We believe
that, encouraged by his success in this
partial reformation, many priests in
Great Britain have followed his ex-
ample. We shall have occasion to
speak of this matter and give in an-
other paper some extracts of the
canon's opinion of the feasibility and
effectiveness of boy singers.
Taking the hint thrown out by his
grace the Archbishop of Westmin-
ster, several skilled musicians have
already published a number of mass-
es, revised and corrected to suit the
late " Instructions " given by the
cardinal vicar to Roman coraposeis
and singers, with a view to restrain
the attempts made even there to in-
troduce modem music. We do not
pretend to criticise these amplified
masses in this place. AH we desire
to do is to call attention to the signi-
ficance of the movement toward mu-
sical reformation. Whetiier second-
rate musical compositions are better
than the authorized chant, we think is
questionable.
Church Music.
6ai
The original masses, composed in
the same intent, which competed for
the handsome prizes offered by the
late Cathdic Congress of Malines, pos-
sess much artistic merit; perhaps a
Httle too much, if intended for popu-
lar use.
Wholly converted, as we are, in
heart and mind, to the exclusive
use of plain chant, we nevertheless
commend these well-meant efforts.
They are efforts in the right direction,
and similar ones, we doubt not, must
be made with us before the ancient
discipline of the Church concerning
her chant will prevail.
Something, at least, can be done,
and without delay. We cannot see
what possible excuse we have any
longer to offer for not singing the
Introit, the Gradual, Offertory, and
Communion at High Mass. These
parts of the Mass are quite as essen-
rial, in the mind of the Church, as
the Kyrie, the Credo, the Sanctus, or
the Agnus Dei. If we are able to
procure the execution of most diffi-
cult compositions for these latter por-
tions, we are surely quite as well able
to procure the chanting of the former.
It may be said that, if these now neg-
lected parts be sung as they should
be, and can only effectively be, in
Gregorian chant, it is possible one of
these different styles of music would
suffer much by contrast with the oth-
er. To this we agree; but which
one will be the sufferer, our objector
and ourself might think differently.
Such a mixture has, however, been
considered, on the whole, preferable
by some in England who have
adopted it Says a writer in Thf
Ihiblin RevUwy "We may remark
that if it be true that a constant re-
currence of the same unison masses,
Sunday after Sunday, would tax the
patience of our people, so, on the
other hand, that limited round of fig-
ured masses to which it has been the
fashion to confine the choirs of al-
most all our churches, is found by ex-
perience to be, if any thing, more
tiring still." The writer adds, "We
ought to enlarge our stock of mass
music" We think it were better to
render passably the stock we already
possess. He continues, "We con-
sider that where success has attended
the efibrts of clergy and choirs, to
render the services of the Church
noble, edifying, and attractive, it has
been by the combination we have
described; and to take one instance —
it is to this, and to the ecclesiastical
feature of a choir o/ boys and men
chanting Vespers, etc, in their proper
place in church, that we attribute
the fact that the church over which
Canon Oakeley presides has become
the centre of so much interest. And
when we mention that solemn Ves-
pers and Benediction are sung in this
Church, on all days of devotion, with
as much correctness and beauty as
on Sundays, and that a considerable
number of the faithful always assist on
such occasions, we shall have given
a specimen of the results which may
be expected to follow elsewhere, if
a like arrangement be adopted."
We know that there is always diffi-
culty in changing one's customs, but
it is the mark of Catholic zeal never
to sluink before any cost or sacrifice
where plain duty, the glory of God,
and the honor of the Holy Church
are in question. All must admit that
the custom of omitting any ceremony
or rite essential to the due celebration
of High Mass, or any other function,
is a bad custom — a custom to be dis-
continued the moment it is in our
power to do so. The bishops assem-
bled in the late Plenary Council of
Baltimore made a special decree con-
cerning the due performance of the
Vesper service. What difficulty is
there here in obeying this decree both
in its letter and spirit? There are
6Q2
Chunk Music
enough books already publidied to
supply the singers with the proper
music for the entire service. Har-
monized versions of the psalms, an-
tiphons, and anthems have been
made for the use of those singen and
organists who are, as yet, ignorant
of plain chant, and accustomed only
to modem musical notation. If any
thing be wanting in these, the demand
for better and more convenient books
would soon be met with the supply.
Apart from their openly profane cha-
racter, we do not see what possible
plea can be put in for singing what
is called " Musical Vespers" — for the
most part, musical performances in
which it would be wholly impossible
to recognize the Vesper office, as
strictly ordained and enjoined by the
Church. The office of Vespers, ac-
cording to the Roman rite, is what
we are supposed to sing. We do not
hesitate to say that no ''Musical
Vespers" ever simg in this country
were in conformity to that rite. Were
we to announce that fact to oiu: mu-
sic-loving Protestant friends, who fre-
quent our churches at Vesper time,
to enjoy the beautiful "Vesper ser-
vice," it might possibly prove a little
startling; and if they were at the
pains to inquire of what character
the service was which they saw and
heard, what answer could we honestly
make, but that it was a musical per-
formance of garbled portions of the
Vesper office, gotten up to answer
for the same, with a view of pleasing
the audience? Not only in High
Mass, then, but also in Vespers, there
is some amelioration possible to all,
the results of which will not only
bring our Church services more into
conformity with the spirit of the Uni-
versal Church, and the decrees con-
cerning the due celebration of divine
worship issued by our hierarchy, but
we are fully assured will prove most
acceptable to the £udifiil, and contn-
bute no litde to their edificatioQ.
We have indulged in the foceg o iog
somewhat desultory remaiks bdbie
entering upon the special purpose ctf
this paper, in hopes to diicct die at-
tention of our reEiders to the gnvtty
of the subject in question, and to
show that we are very iai frxMn bdaf
singular in its discussion. Whatew
may be the merits of our modeni me-
sic, and they certainly are of a tctt
high order, when considered from the
point of artistic combination, and tk
expression of certain sentiments of
the soul, we hold, nevertheless, dm
the Gregorian chant is the im^ sm^
of the Caihoik Chunks That it <k-
serves this title on the score of ai-
thority, which has distinctly and ns-
versally sanctioned it, we think vt
have sufficiently proved ; and as vdl
that other music has been as distinct
condemned and rejected. We desae
now to examine the character of tbe
church chant, in its noore intimate it-
lalions with the ritual, and its onn-
valled religious expression, that its ia-
trinsic merits may be more ckadj
understood and more heartily ap}V^
dated.
In the first place, the Churdi n^
ver enjoins any thing without good
reason ; and her reasons are ground-
ed not only in the conclusions of ho*
man science, but in the perceptioBS
of a divine inspiration. We do not
hesitate to give the ride of " divine"
to her sacred Liturgy and Office, b^
cause we believe they were compi^
ed with the assistance of the H0J7
Ghost. Is it unreasonable to sap-
pose that her chant, proceeding, as it
does, from the same source, the woA
of the same hands and hearts to
whom she committed the labor of
the composition and compiladon <^
the words, and together accepted 1^
her, should have had the same (fivine
Church Music.
603
aid ? The question is well put by
one who has devoted much time and
thought to the subjeot of church
music:
** Can we beliere that the divine as-
sistance can have failed her so far that her
\rork, a discordant jumble of notes, should
not be fit to be sung by us in our country
and century ? How different were the feel-
ings and the belief of the people during the
ages of faith ! The monks and other holy
men who wrote those sacred chants, set
themselves to work sometimes after months
of holy meditation and of watching, of fast-
ing and of prayer ; and then they composed
those melodies, so little appreciated now, be-
cause so little known ; but to the correct
rdigious taste of our pious ancestors in the
faith, so full of heavenly harmony that they
sometimes thought, and not always without
reason, die angels themselves had dictated
them.'"'
That the Gregorian chant is yet, as
it was in former times, the true musi-
cal expression of her Divine Office,
and of those portions of the liturgy
of the Holy Mass, and various pub-
lic functions, appointed to be sung, is
plain from the fact that, in despite of
all the development of the musica
ficta in the hands and with the in-
fluence of its composers and lovers,
the Church still obstinately adheres to
those ancient melodies. What can
we say but that, as the Church is the
best judge of her own language of ■
prayer and praise, so she must equal-
ly as well be of the form of its expres-
sion?
But, as we said before, the Church
never acts without reason. If she
accepts this form of chant in the first
place, it is because such a form of
melody is appropriate, and well be-
coming her inspired language of pray-
er. If she retains it through so many
ages, and has no thought of changing
it now, it is because the same reason
still holds good.
One of the most remarkable points
• Inlrodactkm to Rxtfei»fir0m the Jtmmam Gro'
diml mmd 0(ktr Lihtrgkml B^okt, in course of pob-
licatioa by the Rt Rev. Looie Lootene, D.D.
in the character of the Gregorian chant
is the fact that it has partaken, possi-
bly by association, of the " perennial
freshness" which is so strongly marked
in the celebration of the rites and
ceremonies of the Church. To every
people, of all ages and countries,
these rites and ceremonies possess a
dramatic power of the highest order.
Ancient yet ever new, they never
weary by repetition as fast and festi-
val recur in the ecclesiastical year.
On this an English writer says,
" The very ruggedness of the Gregorian
modes serves to impart to them a clu^acter
of durability. These simple melodies, as
we well know from the instance of the Ves-
per Psalms, to mention no other, somehow
never pall upon the ear, and have, in fact, a
perennial freshness which we can only ac-
count for by the circumstance of their hav-
ing a variety of scale which modem melo-
dies do not possess. Th[s, too, is proved
by the well-known fact that the most beau-
tiful chants of the modem school (and we
ourselves are fain to add also the most beau-
tifrd motets. Anthems, Glorias, Credos, etc)
become unendurable by constant repetition ;
and for this reason we find that even dissen-
ters have been fain to adopt the old chant
in their services."
This is, to say the least, a very
strong practical confirmation of the
wisdom of the Holy Church in pre-
serving a treasure so precious that
even time does not waste it, or use
tarnish its beauty.
A second reason assigned by the
same writer, we give for what it is
worth. It possesses, indeed, no little
vraisemblance :
" We may look upon it in its plaintive if
not mournful character in fiact, as a kind
fii pilgrim^ s sang, by which it would seem as
if the Church would have us remember,
even in the midst of our festal joys, that we
are the * Exuies filii Htva^ gemtnits it JUn-
Ui in hdc laaymarum vaiie,^ It is, we
may say, the grave, sweet, pathetic note
which the Church puts into the mouths of
her children, lamenting with the Psalmist
that 'their sojoiuming is prolonged;' the
plaintive accent in which they confess that
they are strangers upon earth, and that they
6q4
Church Music.
' seek another, even a heavenly dty.' And
so Father Faber sings in his well-known
hjonn — itself a kind of wayfarer's song —
* While we toil on, and soothe oursd vet with weepinit
TiU life's long night sbaU break in endless love.' "
This is by no means a quaint concep-
tion of modem fancy. St. P^tscha-
sius Radpert, a monk of the abbey of
Old Corby, who lived about the year
800, says,
"There is no song to be found without a
tone of sadness in it; even as here below
there are no joys without a mixture of sor-
row ; for songs of pure joy belong only to
the heavenly Sion, but lamentation is the
property of our earthly pilgrimage."
To US, however, the Gregorian
chant is the true song of the Church,
chiefly because it is essentially choral
in character ; by which we mean that
its melodies, so simple in construc-
tion, so massive in form, and its
grave and majestic rhythm, fit it emi-
nently for execution by large bodies
of singers, called in church parlance
the schola^ or choir.
In the discipline of the early church
it was supposed that all the congre-
gation of the faithful present at the
Holy Sacrifice responded to the salu-
tations and solemn invitations of the
priest at the altar to unite with him
in prayer and acts of adoration.
We have before us a very old repro-
duction of an ancient manuscript, en-
titled, *H Oelo AeiTOvpyto rev kytov
d.'nooT6Xov Utrpov, Missa Apostolica ;
seuy Divinum Sacrificium S, ApostoH
Pttri^ which purports, and on good
authority, to be the Miss of St Peter.
At the close of the Offertory, we read
as follows ; we quote the Latin ver-
sion given side by side with the Greek :
" Deinde sacerdos voce clara dicit
*' Dominus vobiscum.
** Pofmlus, Et cum spiritu tuo.
*^S(uerdos, Oremus.
" Pofmius, Domine, miserere, ter,
** Tim saeerdcs alia voce.
" Prsebe, Domine, servis tuii, dezteram
OCilf itit anxilii, at te toto oorde perqmranty
et quse dign^ postulant consequantor. Per
Dominum nostrum Jesum Christum, cam
quo vivis et regnas Dens noster in imitate
Spiritus sancti, in saecola.
*^PofnUus, Amen. Sanctos Dens, sanc-
tus fortis. Et inierea dum poptdus ddctt
hymnum ter sanctum^ precatmr sacerdmu
(Various prayers here follow, closing witli
the Lavabo.)
" Mox sacerdos clara voce.
" Dominus vobiscum.
** Popidus, £t cum spiritu tno.
** Sacerdos, Ostia, ostia. (Alluding to
the closing of the doors and departure of
the catechumens. )
" Populus, Credo in unum Deom, etc
** Sacerdos, Stemus honeste; stemos com
reverentia, etc
** Populus. Miserioordiam ; paoem.
** ScuerdoSf alia voce. Hostiam tibt !>>•
mine destinatam in oblationem sanctifica* ct
per eam nos dementer susdpe, per I>ofm-
num, etc., per omnia saecula sseculomm.
** Populus. Amen.
** Sacerdos. Sursum oorda.
** Populus, Habemus ad Dominum.
** Sacerdos, Gratiarum actiones submjtta-
mus, Domino Deo nostro.
'* Poptdus, Dignum et justom est."
The priest continues to chant the
preface. At the close of it the peo-
ple sing the Sanctus, and answer
Anun when the priest has pronounc-
ed the words of consecration. The
entire I^iUr nosUr is given to the
people, and they respond to the
usual salutations made after the com-
munion. A side rubrical note, refer-
ring to the parts assigned to the ix>
pulus or people, says, " JhpttH voxesi
et cantorumP
This manner of celebrating High
Mass will seem to many of our read-
ers as strange and obsolete ; but such
is precisely the manner in which one
can yet hear the Holy Sacrifice in
many towns and villages on the con-
tinent of Europe, in the year of otir
Lord eighteen hundred and sixty-
nine; and we need hardly say with
what sublime and soul-stirring efiect
We do not think it at all probable
that diis old form of congregational
accompaniment of the Mass ever can
be universally revived Yet it must
Church Music.
605
be acknowledged that no more com-
plete, intelligent, or edifying expres-
sion of the Great Eucharistic Rite
could possibly be desired.
'* Shall we ever see the day," asks a wri-
ter in the old Dublin Ranew^ " when, on
entering a Catholic church during service
time, we shall be struck, not with the damp-
ening spectacle of a congregation partly
composed of unbelievers in the act of en-
joying the pleasure of a Sunday concert,
while the remainder, with closed books in
their lap, or by their side, wait patiently or
impatiently till the prolonged and a hundred
times repeated Amen of the Gloria or the
Creed deigns to come to an end, but with the
refreshing sight of an unmixed body of true
worshippers, learned and ignorant, high
and low, rich and poor, unostentatiously led
by a select choir, engaged in heartily sing-
ing the praises of Him in whose house they
are assembled ? To so consoling and truly
Catholic a state of things should all our re-
forms tend ; for it will only be when it is
established that we shall be able to taste the
Sweetness, as well as delight in the beauty
and feel the grandeur of that congregational
singing which so many desire, but which is
incompatible with an encouragement in
churches of the music of Don Gicvanni^ Fide-
iio, Lodmskot li Barbiire, and Faujt,^*
Were this revival of congregational
singing in the mind of the Church,
there could be no question about the
form of melody to be applied. No
one would think of looking elsewhere
than to plain chant as the only prac-
tical and fitting resource in that event.
But, as in past times there was
always the select schola or choir to
whom the choral selections of the
divine offices were committed, so
at the present day it would seem to
be that which the Church aims main-
ly at preserving. Indeed, as Dr. Loo-
tens well observes, the very archi-
tectural dispositions of otir churches,
when constructed according to the
ritual, suppose such a body of sing-
ers, who, being the coadjutors of the
sacred ministers, are supposed to pos-
sess a quasi-ecclesiastical character,
and appear in the sanctuary properly
vested as cUrki^ or clerks, and whose
demeanor, as well as singing, is of
that grave and decorous character
which beseems the house of God and
the presence of the Holy Sacrament
The learned prelate says :
"A Protestant meeting-house is built to
preach in ; the nearer the minister is to the
people, the better he is heard. Owrchurches
are, first. of all, places of worship. No-
thing so affects the visitor who enters one
of our churches in the old country as the
mysterious depth of their sanctuaries. We
allude here not merely to the Gothic cathe-
drals, but to all kind of churches, no matter
to what particular order of architecture they
belong. Architects, in those ancient times,
would as soon have thought of planning
a church without a chancel, (choir,) as of
building one without a roof."
We also might well say that when
any Catholic fi'om the Continent visits
Protestant England and enters one
of those ancient cathedrals, once the
glory and pride of Catholic England,
now fallen into the hands of strangers
who know not their meaning nor sa-
cred uses; and when he sees those
mysteriously deep sanctuaries, whose
stalls are no longer filled, as of yore,
with the devout white-robed clerics,
or it may be with cowled monks,
chanting the divine hours of prayer,
or responding to the sacrificing priest,
but with a few fashionably dressed
ladies and gentlemen looking at each
other across the once consecrated
place, hallowed by the footsteps of
saints, and praying to be delivered
" bom all error, heresy, and schism,"
(save the mark!) what an indescri-
bable pain must wring his soul ; how
involuntarily the plaintive words of
the Psalmist must rise upon his lips,
^^ Super flumina BabyloniSy iUic sedi-
muSf et flevimus^ cum rccordarcmur
Sum/''
Yet, let him come to our land and
visit our Catholic churches — but we
anticipate; it is not of the proper
place for the choir, but of the choir
itself we wish to speak.
6o6
Church Music.
A sdect choir of clerks, or singers
vested in cassock and surplice, who,
ranged in the sanctuary, chant in
chorus the Asperges, the Introit, Kyrie,
Gloria, Gradual, Credo, Offertory,
Sanctus, Agnus Dei, Communion, and
the responses of High Mass, and the
antiphons, psalms, versicles, etc, at
Vespers, is what the ritual supposes
and expressly demands. A choir of
mixed voices gathered in a gallery at
the extreme end of the church, either
hidden behind curtains or exposed to
view, has neither been ever supposed
or sanctioned by the ritual, much
less the omission of nearly one half
of what is ordered to be sung. When
we look at the actual state of things
as they are in vogue amongst us, and
honestly look the ritual of the Holy
Church in the face, does not our
memory sometimes remind us of the
reproach of Almighty God to the ne-
gligent priests of the old law ? — ^^Non
scrvasHs pracepta sanctuarii mei /^ a
reflection which is not ours, but very
pertinendy made by the zealous Ame-
rican bishop whose words we have
already quoted.
If, as has been well said, " Our pre-
sent defective knowledge and apprecia-
tion of the liturgy is one of the indi-
cations of an enfeebled faith among
a Catholic people," so we do not hesi-
tate to affirm that a reasonable know-
ledge of, and constant participation
in the divine offices of the Church is
practically necessary to an intelligent
faith in the great mysteries of religion,
and the only means of keeping alive
and nourishing true Catholic devo-
tion. Prayer said in union with the
Church is both the light of the under-
standing and the fire of divine love for
the heart
One of the directors of the semina-
ry of St Sulpice, in Paris, in a recent
publication, entitied, Le Saint Office
considers au point dc Vue dc la PUti^
significandy remarks :
« Quand oo voit la pift^ se refroidir ea tnt
d*endroits, il est naturel de cnindre qa'oa
ne Tenvoque le bon Dieu avec tant de (cr-
venr, que le feu sacrf ne languisse dans soo
sanctuaire. C'est le moment de se demander
si les adorateurs ne seralent devenus plus
fi-oids en devenant plus rares, sile silence dts
temples n'a pas asnetU le sommeil des dma."
When one sees piety growing cdd tn so
many places, it is but reasonable to fear that
God is invoked with so little fervor because
the sacred fire is dying out in his sanctoarj.
It is time to ask ourselves if the worshippers
have not become less devout in becoming
less attentive at the services of the churdi ;
if the silence of our temples of religion has
not brought on the sleep of souls.
The slightest examination of the
offices of the Church will show how
well they are adapted to instructioQ
in doctrine, and for the illustration
of the Gospel record and the historic
acts and interior life of Christianity.
We have not the time in this place,
nor is it necessary, to adduce proo&
of this. They whose interest in this
matter we aim at arousing have a
daily reminder of its truth.
That these holy offices are the
fountain-head of solid, popular de-
votion is equally indisputable. We
have nothing to replace them, nor do
we care to have. We have plenty of
so-called " popular devotions," admi-
rably adapted for their spedal pur-
poses ; but it must be confessed that
popular devotion is far below that
standard of spirituality which the
Church aims at inspiring; and which
it is not only possible to attain, hot
which in ages gone by, whose grade
of refinement and intellectual culture
we affect to despise, was the nonaal
standard of Catholic piety. From
whence did the people draw this
strong and healthy noioishment of
the spiritual life ? The answer will be
found in the fact that the people were
educated from childhood in die lit-
urgy, and they were not, as now, for
the most part spectators, but partici-
patois at the cdebmtion of the solcmOy
Church Music.
607
instructive, and devout offices of the
Church.
The accomplished author of the
reniarkable work on Christian Schools
and Scholars thus writes :
" The fact is that, in one respect, the rude,
ignorant peasantry of the middle ages were
a great deal more learned than the pupils of
our modem schools. In a certain sort of
way, every child was rendered familiar with
the language of the Church. From infancy
they were taught to recite their prayers, the
antiphons, and many parts of the ritual of
the Church, in Latin, and to understand the
meaning of what they learnt; and hence
they became familiar with a great number of
Latin words, so that a Latin discourse would
sound far less strange in their ears than in
those of a more educated audience of the
same class in the present day. In many
cases, indeed, the children who were taught
in the priest's, or parochial sdiool, learned
grammar, that is — ^the Latin language ; but
all were required to learn the churdi chant,
and a considerable number of Latin prayers,
and hymns, and psalms. This point of
poor-school education deserves more than
a passing notice. Its result was, that the
lower classes were able thoroughly to un-
derstand and heartily to take part in the
rites and offices of Holy Church. The faith
rooted itself in their hearts with a tenacity
whkh was not easily destroyed, even by
penal laws, because they imbibed it from
its fountain source — the Church herself. She
taught her children out of her own rituid,
and by her own voice, and made them be-
lievers after a different fashion from those
much more highly educated Catholics of
the same class who, in our day, often grow
np almost as much strangers to the liturgi-
cal language of the Church as the mass of
unbelievers outside the fold. Can there be
any incongruity more grievous than to enter
a Cathohc sdiool, rich in every appliance of
education, and to find that, in spite of the
time, money, and method lavished on its
support, its pupils are unable to understand
and recite the diurch offices, and are un-
trained to take part in church psalmody?
The language of the Church has, therefore,
in a very literal sense, become a dead lan-
guage to them, and it is from other and for
inferior sources that they derive their reli-
gious instruction. Thus they are ignorant
of a large branch of school education, in
whidi the children of a ruder and darker
age were thoroughly trained ; no doubt, on
the other hand, they know a great many
things of which children in the middle ages
were altogether ignorant ; and the question
is simply to determine which method of in-
struction has most practical utility in it.
Without dogmatizing on this point, we may
be permitted to regret that through any de-
feet in the system of our parochial schools.
Catholic congregations should in our own
days be deprived of the solemn and thorough
celebrations of those sacred offices which in
themsdves comprise a body of unequalled
religious instruction; and that, in an age
which makes so mud^ of the theory of edu-
cation, we should have to confess our inabi-
lity to teach our children to pray and sing
the prayers of the Church as the children
of Catholic peasants prayed and sang them
six hundred years ago. The English schods
of that period enjoyed the benefit of no
other inspection than that of the parish
priest and the archdeacon, *the eye of the
bishop,' as he was called; and if their pu-
]m1s knew little about 'monocotyledons,'
the * Crustacea,' or grammatical analysis, they
were able to redte their Alma Redemptoris
and their Dixit Dominus with hearty, intel-
ligmi devotion.* They knew the order of
the church service, and could sing its psahm
and antiphons in the language of the diurch,
and to her andent tones."
The last words of this most inter-
esting extract will spare us the trou-
ble of insisting at any great length
upon the point chiefly in question.
The sacred offices of the Church, to
whose due celebration and to their
intelligent participation in them the
faith and piety of our ancestcn^ is in
great meastu-e to be ascribed, and the
peculiar and inimitable melodies, yet,
h24>pily, undivorced fixmi their lan-
• St Godric is said tohave letmed (io a poor Khool
at Dnriiani) many thinf(t of which he was belbre ig-
noraot, '* 1^ hearing, reading, and ckaniittg them.**
In the pait)chial schools, tren from St Dmstan's
time, diUdren of the Umer orders were taught gram-
mar and c\urc\ mm$k. Schoob of greater or less
pretensions were attached to most parish c hur che s ,
and the scholars assembled in the porch. Thus, in
1300^ we read of children being taught to sing and
read in the porch of St. Martin's, Norwich. At
Stoke-bjr-Qare there was, besides the extensive col-
lege, a school b whidi bojrs were Uugfat " grammar,
Mingmgt and good aMnneriL** To wUcfa answer the
pictures in Cancer of the schools in iHuch dtildreo
taught,
** That is to sajr, to ainge and to rede.
As soma cfafldren do in their childhede."
Agi^n:
" As he sate in the scole at his primere.
He Alma Redemptoris heard sin^** eta
6o8
Church Music.
guage of prayer, ever formed one in-
separable whole.
A revival of those offices in the
spirit of their ancient fidelity to the
ritual is, as all must allow, a revival
of Gregorian chant The project of
substituting in its -place a selection
of solos, duets, etc, either culled from
threadbare compositions of the two
last centuries, notorious for their sen-
suousness of style and over-wrought
" word-painting," or such melodies of
the modem schools as our present
masters are able to produce, would be
unhesitatingly ridiculed on all sides.
Far be it from us to be guilty of
the presumption of questioning the
wisdom of the Church in permitting
to the clergy the individual and pri-
vate recitation of the Divine Office ;
but it is beyond dispute that so much
of it as is enjoined to be performed
publicly, in choir^ on Sundays and fes-
tivals, is not absolved by the btavura
singing of some " choice musical se-
lections " in an organ-gallery, and the
private recitation of the real office
meanwhile by a lonely celebrant in
the sanctuary. Moreover, the people
are thereby greatly hindered in their
devotions and deprived utterly of
the spiritual fruit the sacred office so
abundantly affords. If we gave the
people a diance, we would very soon
sec how joyfully they would sing their
Credo, and heartily chant their Dixit
Dominus, as of old. " I do not like
the Vespers in street," a well-
instructed servant was lately over-
heard to say; "it is nothing but a
concert of four opera-singers, and Tm
all astray while it's going on. No-
body seems to make it out but the
Protestant ladies and gentlemen, who
do nothing but talk about it all the
time. Give me the singing at Fa-
ther * s church, where all the
clergy sing, and where I can sing in
the Tantum Ergo myself at benedic-
tion, if I like."
What we are arguing for is a strict,
rubrical celebration of High Mass and
Vespers, the two public offices enjoin-
ed upon the clergy in this countiy.
When the rubrics for these offices are
observed to the letter, we shall have
no fear for the fate of plain chant,
which has proved itself by the ex-
perience of so many centiuies to be
the only adequate and satisfying a-
pression of the spirit of prayer that
breathes through all the solemn ritnal
service of the Holy Church,
The words of the pious and em&e
Benedictine monk, Dom Gueranger,
Abbot of Solesmes, are agam ringing
in our ears. We cannot refrain from
closing our article with a quotatioa
from the preface to his Liiur^cd Ytv,
the beauty of which will be a soi*
cient apology for its length :
«'
The prayer of the Churdi is the moit
pleasing to the ear and heart of God, isd
therefore the most efikadous of all prayers.
Happy, then, is he who prays with the
Churd), and unites his own petitions vitb
those of this Spouse, who is so dear to bcr
Lord that he gires her all she asks. It
was for this reason that our Blessed Strioir
taught us to say our Father^ and not my fa-
ther ; give us^ forgive usy deliver us^ and bo«
fiive me, forgive me, deliver me. Hence, ve
find that, for upward of a thousand years, the
Church, who prays in her temples sera
times in the day, and once again during tbe
night, did not pray alone. The people kept
her company, and fed themsdves with d^
light on the manna which is hidden under
the words and mysteries of the divine litv-
gy. Thus initiated into the sacred cycle
of the mysteries of the Christian year, the
fiuthful, attentive to the teachings of the
Spirit, came to know the secrets of etemi
life ; and without any further preparation, i
Christian was not unfrequently chosen by
the bishops to be a priest, or even a bishop,
that he might go and pour out on the peo-
ple the treasures of wisdom and love whid>
he had drunk in at the very ibuntain-hetd.
** But for now numy past ages, ChristitiH
have grown too solicitous abont earthly
things to frequent the holy vigils aad the
mystical Jkoars of the day. Long before tht
rationalism of the sixteenth century bccsae
the auxiliary of the heresies of that peri^
by curtailing the solemnity of the dtviitf
Church Music.
609
service, tbe days for the people's uniting
exteriorly with the prayer of the church
had been reduced to Sundays and festivals.
During the rest of the year, the solemn and
imposing grandeur of the liturgy was gone
through, and the people took no share in it.
Each new generation increased in indiffer-
ence for that which their fore&thers in the
faith had loved as their best and strongest
food. Sodal prayer was made to give way
to individual devotion. Chanting, which is
the natural expression of the pra3rers and
even of the sorrows of the Church, became
limited to the solemn feasts. That was the
first sad revolution in the Christian world.
"But even then Christendom was still
ridi in churches and monasteries, and there,
day and night, was still heard the sound of
the same venerable prayers which the Church
had used through all the past ages. So
many hands lifted up to God drew down
upon the earth the dew of heaven, averted
storms, and won victory for those who were
in battle. These servants of God, who
thus kept up an untiring choir that sang the
divine praises, were considered as solemnly
deputed by the people, which was still Ca-
tholic, to pay the full tribute of homage and
thanksgiving due to God, his Blessed Mo-
ther, and the saints. These prayers formed
ft treasury which belonged to all. The faith-
ful gladly united themselves in spirit to
what was done. When any affliction, or
the desire to obtain a special fovor, led them
to the house of God, they were sure to
hear, no matter at what hour they went,
that untiring voice of prayer which was for
ever ascending to heaven for the salvation
of mankind. At times they would give up
their worldly business and cares, and take
part m the office of the church, and all still
understood, at least in a general way, the
mysteries of the liturgy.
*< Then came the Reformation^ and, at the
onset, it attacked the very life of Christiani-
ty — it would put an end to the sacrifice of
man's praise of his God. It strewed many
coontries with the ruins of churches; the
clergy, the monks, and virgins consecrated
to God were banished or put to death ; and
in the churches which were spared the di-
vine offices were not permitted. In other
countries, where the persecution was not so
▼iolent, many sanctuaries were devastated
and irremediably ruined, so that the life
and voice of prayer grew faint. Faith, too,
-was -weakened ; rationalism became fearful-
ly devdoped ; and now our own age seems
threatened with what is the result of these
evils — the subversion of all social order.
" For, when the Reformation had abated
VOI^ X. — 39
the violence of its persecution, it had other
weapons wherewith to attack the Church.
By Uiese, several countries, which continu-
ed to be Catholic, were infected with that
spirit of pride which is the enemy of pray-
er. The modem spirit would have it that
prayer h not action — as though every good
action done by man were not a gift of God ;
a gift which imj^es two prayers: one of
petition, that it may be granted; and an-
other of thanksgiving, beoiuse it is grant-
ed ! There were found men who said, La
us abolish all the festival days of God from
tie earth ; and then came upon us that ca-
lamity which brings all others with it, and
which the good Mardochai besought God to
avert from his nation, when he said, Shmi
not, O Lord, the mouths of them that sing to
thee!
** But, by the mercy of God, we have not
been consumed; there have been left rem-
nants of Israel ; and the number of believ-
ers in the Lord has increased. What is it
that has moved the heart of our God to
bring about this merciful conversion ? Pray-
er, which had been interrupted, has been re-
sumed. Numerous choirs of virgins conse-
crated to God, and, though far less in num-
ber, of men who have left the world to spend
themselves in the divine praises, make the
voice of the turtle-dove heard in our Icmd,
This voice is every day gaining more power ;
may it find acceptance from our Lord, and
move him to show the sign of his covenant
with us, the rainbow of reconciliation ! May
our venerable cathedrals again reecho those
solemn formulae of prayer which heresy has
so long suppressed ! May the faith and mu-
nificence of the faithful reproduce the pro-
digies of those past ages, which owed their
greatness to the acknowledgment, which all,
even the very dvic authorities, paid to the
all-powerfulness of prayer !
" For a long time a remedy has been
devised for an evil which was only vaguely
felt. The spirit of prayer, and even prayer
itself, has been sought for in methods, and
prayer-books, which contain, it is true, lau-
dable, yea pious thoughts, but, after all,
only human thoughts. Such nourishment
cannot satisfy the soul, for it does not initi-
ate her into the prayer of the Church. In-
stead of uniting her with the prayer of the
Church it isolates her. Of this kind are so
many of those collections of prayers and re-
flections whicji have been published, under
different titles, during the last two hundred
years, and by which it was intended to edify
the fidthful, and suggest to them, either for
hearing mass, or going to the sacraments,
or keeping the feasts of the church, certain)
6io
Hints en Housekeeping,
more or less commonplftce considerations
and acts, always drawn up according to the
manner of thought and sentiment peculiar
to the author of each book. Each manual
had consequently its own way of treating
these important subjects. To Christians al-
ready formed to piety, such books as these
would, indeed, serve a purpose, especially
as nothing better was offered to them ; but
they had not influence suflicient to inspire
with a relish and spirit of prayer such as
had not otherwise received them.
*'But this liturgical prayer would soon
become powerless were the ^thful not
to take a real share in it, or, at least, not
to associate themselves to it in heart. It
can heal and save the world, but only on
the condition that it be understood. Be
wise, then, ye children of the Calliolk
Church, and get that largeness of hnrt
which will make 3rou pray the prayer of jov
mother. Come, and buy your share in it,
fill up that harmony which is so sweet to
the ear of God. Wliere would yoa obbm
the spirit of prayer if not at its satinl
source ? Let us remind yx>u of the expor-
tation of the apostle to the first Christiiis :
Lei Uu peace of Christ refoice in yow ktartt-
let th€ word of Christ dwdl in ym tktt
dantly, in ail wisdom ; teaching and admm-
ishing one another in psalms^ hjmns, mi
spiritual cantictes, singing' in grace in /off
hearts to God.**
HINTS ON HOUSEKEEPING
BY A GRANDMOTHER.
To one who has long been accus-
tomed to a retired and solitary life,
an occasional glimpse of the busy
world and its ways, a peep " through
the loopholes of the retreat," has a
relish and an interest scarcely to be
appreciated by the actual participants
in the turmoil and bustle of those
scenes.
In the quiet routine of rural lifi?,
undisturbed by great excitements, and
to a great measiu-e removed from the
influences of stirring events, it is al-
most impossible to keep pace with
the changes that are constantly taking
place in the great outer world. I
think this must be more especially
true of our American society than of
any other nation. We are such a
restless race, so impatient of monoto-
ny, so eager for excitement and varie-
ty, that what is most in vogue to-day
is forgotten to-morrow, and the most
earnest pursuits of the present are
liable to be rapidly superseded by
others of a widely d^erent nature.
After an absence of only a fe*
months from the social circle with
which it is my delight occasionally to
mingle, I often find myself much in
the predicament of poor Rip Vaa
Winkle, after his long repose in
" Sleepy Hollow," and dare not,upoc
my reappearance, open my lips nnti
I have listened long enough to catd
the key-note, as it were, of the topb
at present engaging attention, lest oj
remarks and inquiries may appear as
ill-timed and excite as much suiprise
as did those of that redoubtable vk
tim of vagrancy and the broomstick.
Among all the changes that have
come over our American world, since
we who. are now grandmothers couM
call ourselves young, there are dooc
more utterly astounding — ^perhaps b^
cause, having long claimed our care-
ful attention, they are more fiunilflr
and interesting to us — than those em-
braced in the household and home
economy. Now, although I am not
disposed to imdervalue the impw^
Hints on Housekeeping.
6ii
xnents of modem times, or to decry
the advance of modem ideas in other
departments, I am wholly unwilling
to yield the palm to modem house-
keeping. In spite of every advantage
furnished by ^e superior appliances
of these days, and every facility offer-
ed by the inventive genius of our
people in labor-saving machinery
adapted to each department of do-
mestic life, I insist that our house-
keepers are inferior in all the qualities
that contribute to the comfort of home
tQ their mothers, and that their mo-
thers were less efficient than their
grandmothers. There has been a
gradual but steady decline in the art
of housekeeping, and a more rapid
but equally constant increase in the
expense thereof. Indeed, this last
item looms up in dimensions and
glares' upon us with an aspect nothing
less than appalling to dames Hke my-
self, who cherish antiquated notions
on these subjects.
" Henry, why in the world do you
BOt marry ?" I said the other day to
a highly-esteemed young friend, whom
I had known from his childhood, and
who is richly endowed, as I well know,
with every quality necessary to make
a home happy. " Why in the world
do you not marry ? It is a positive
wrong to society, that so much do-
mestic virtue as you possess should
remain unappropriated. You are now
well established in business, with every
prospect of success, and you really
ought to be thinking of making a
home for yourselfl"
" I wish I dare indulge such an as-
piration," he replied with something
very like a regretful sigh; "but, to
tell you the truth, such a step as tak-
ing a wife to myself under my present
circumstances would be ruinous. My
business is indeed, as you say, well
established, and — within certain, not
very extensive, limits — prosperous.
By close attention and strict fidelity
to its interests, diligent industry, and
careful economy, I realize annually a
very comfortable income ; not large,
but, under these conditions, quite
sure ; as years advance, this will pro-
bably increase slowly and surely.
Now, if I were to marry, just imagine
what a load of expense would be in-
curred at once ! You know as well
as I the manner of life I should be
required to adopt, by any young lady
of the class among whom I should
look for a wife ; and I really am not
in a position to incur such a burden
now, nor can I hope to be for a long
time to come."
This was said in a tone of despon-
dency and deep feeling, and I could
not but sympathize with my young
friend, compelled thus reluctantly to
suppress the dearest aspirations of
youth; nor could I avoid deploring
the exigencies that constrain the great-
er portion of worthy young men in
our country, to relinquish the hope
of a happy home of their own, which
would be their strongest stimulant to
exertion and their best shield against
temptation.
It is long since I have been in the
habit of witnessing the gambols of the
gay world; but I happened not long
since to peep in upon a sort of fan-
dango at the house of one of my
friends, and, bless my heart, what
costumes! My surprise would beg-
gar description. I happened to be
standing near the mistress of the
house, and remarked to her that I
was not aware this was to be 2i fancy
party.
" And it is not," she replied.
" But you do not mean to tell me,"
I exclaimed in dismay, " that these are
the ordinary costumes for full dress at
parties ?"
" Of course they are. Why not ?"
she very innocently answered.
I ventured no further remark or in-
quiry, but retired with my own quie:
6l2
Hints on Housekeeping.
cogitations into a silent comer. Pre-
sently a sprightly young lady of whom
I am very fond, and who is foolish
enough to cherish a great fancy for
me, came tripping up to my retreat,
her face all shining with gayety and
goodness. " Tell me, my dear," said
I, " why you young ladies wear your
pockets outside your dress, and in
such an inconvenient place, and why
you wear your skirts pinned up at a
party, just as we used to wear them
when about our house- work?"
"Oh! those are not our pockets;
they 2Jtpaniers ; and it is the present
style to loop up the skirts this way."
" But, my child, can you tell me
how many superfluous yards of silk
are required to make skirts in this
way, and to furnish these festoons ?"
" We do not count by yards," said
she, laughing ; " but this is not an
expensive dress. It cost only eighty
dollarsy the making and all !" And
she glided away to join her young com-
panions. So much for the philosophy
of a young girl in a simple country
village !
" No wonder," thought I, " that
Harry does not dare to marry !"
Now here was this dear girl — ^love-
ly, accomplished, beautiful, intelligent,
and fascinating — a perfect charm in
society, after her fashion ; but a wife ?
Why a man might as well marry a
butterfly !
There is certainly something sadly
" out of joint " in the times. The jar-
ring and jolting of domestic machin-
ery betrays loose screws, if not more
fatal defects, somewhere in its con-
struction. The subject is attracting
general attention, eliciting general
complaint, and calling forth the best
energies of many minds in its discus-
sion. Much talent has been engaged
in the consideration of evils and de-
fects, which it is asserted pervade
every branch of domestic economy
and every part of society. Remedial
measures which have recently been
proposed are also attracting much
notice.
Not long ago a learned judge, la-
menting the modem defects in fSunale
education, concluded with the consol-
ing remark, ** Yes, our girls are badly
educated; but our bojrs will never
find it out !"
Ah my learned friend 1 you sec
our young Henrys, though they may
not detect the cause, are fully alive to
the consequences.
What are these defects, what their
remedy, and what the proper
WORK FOR WOMEN.
Now, it seems to me that every
mother who is blessed with a daugh-
ter should begin with the first dawn
of reason to instil into that daughter's
mind the consciousness that she has
something to do — that there is vf&rk
awaiting every step of her advancing
progress from childhood to youth,
fi'om youth to womanhood, and £h>m
womanhood to old age.
The patronage of boarding-hooses,
which are entirely antagonistic to the
first idea of a home, should be dis-
carded. The daughter should be re-
quired to participate daily with her
mother in household cares and duties,
even while pursuing her studies.
Herein lies the difference between
" modem ideas " and the antique re-
gime. Here is the fault of the " cen-
tury," so deplorable in its results, so
widely lamented; and here — by the
most culpable neglect to rear our
daughters in a manner to fit them for
the high responsibilities and duties of
home — has the equilibrium between
the "producer and consumer," so
much talked of, been lost
Education, like charity, should be-
gin, be carried on, and be perfected at
home, or it can be nothing elsewhere.
The duties of women as " producen,"
in modem times, are identical with
Hints on Housekeeping,
613
those of their grandmothers ; and it is
only in the family, within the dear
and sheltered nook of home, that
they can find profitable and legitimate
exercise.
Under the ancient system — and it
certainly could show as noble results
as the modem mode has been able to
achieve — the wife was the queen of a
little kingdom, and her highest ambi-
tion was to rule within its sacred pre-
* cincts wisely and well. If the re-
sources and revenues were scanty, her
study was so to manage the expendi-
tures as to leave a margin on the credit
side for fixture emergencies, or for in-
crease of capital. If God gave her
children, she accepted the inestima-
ble boon with heartfelt thanksgivings,
took up the holy office with all its ten-
der cares and duties, as the crown of
her glory, and presided with matronly
dignity over the best and highest in-
terests of the young immortals com-
mitted to her keeping, training her
little ones diligently " in the way in
which they should walk.*' She wel-
comed gracefully whatever adjuncts
were furnished by schools and books,
but never dreamed of abating her ma-
ternal vigilance, or trusting to these
as substitutes for home culture. Her
children were daily questioned, their
proficiencies prafsed, their deficiencies
or indolence in their studies reproved.
Consequently she did not fall into that
other dream, too common in these
days, of going out firom home to find
something to do, because schools and
systems had taken her children off her
hands, and removed them beyond the
scope of her jurisdiction.
Schools did not release her firom
the duty of watching over the devel-
opment of their intellects. Sewing-
machines did not stitch their gar-
ments ; trained servants in every de-
partment were not at hand to per-
form the housework indifferently well.
Verily, between one interest and an-
other, our grandmothers had work
enough to do !
WAS IT PROFITABLE?
We think any young wife and mo-
ther who will ask this question with
sincerity and thoughtfulness, arousing
the energies of her mind to the impor-
tance of considering it well and arriv-
ing at a true conclusion, will give an
affirmative reply. There is no sphere
in which a woman can be so profita-
ble a "producer" as at home, and
that simply by practising the old-
fashioned virtues of " looking well to
the ways of her household, and eating
not the bread of idleness." By regu-
lating carefully the consumption, she
becomes the most efficient and lucra-
tive " producer."
When every woman will accept
this truth in its widest sense, and act
accordingly, then, and not before,
will the balance-sheet between " pro-
ducers and consumers " be adjusted.
Then will the toiling husband be
matched by the industrious and fru-
gal wife. Then will he return after
the toils of the day, not to a palace
glittering m cold splendor, and rival-
ling in the chilly magnificence of gew-
gaws and trinkets a jeweller's show-
window, but to a cozy and cheerful
home, where " books that are books "
abound, where the smile of an intelli-
gent companion greets his return, and
a sympathizing friend is ever ready to
enter into all his cares and perplexi-
ties, to assist with wise counsels, and
encourage with brave words.
It is certain that there is great need
of a thorough change in the domestic
discipline of the homes in our coun-
try, if a tithe of what is predicated as
to existing evils be true. If our young
women have really, as a general rule,
become so frivolous in their charac-
ters, so fond of their ease, and so ex-
pensive in their habits, that our pru-
dent young men dare not assume the
6i4
A Converts Prayer,
burden of a famfly, or, in doing so,
can have no assurance that they are
providing for themselves the comforts
and the blessings which should be
embraced in the sacred inclosure of
home, the consequences to society
must be utterly ruinous. The family
is the foundation of society, and only
in well-ordered and happy homes can
its well being and stability be estab-
lished and sustained.
NIL DESPERANDUM.
Deplorable as are the pictures which
are drawn, discouraging as are the
statements we daily hear of doniestic
confusion and misery, it is not to be
admitted or believed that our Ame-
rican women are so swallowed up in
a vortex of fashion and foUy, or so
enfeebled by habits of indolence, that
they cannot be awakened from their
fatal dream.
There is really in our national cha-
racter too much intelligence, though
it may be slumbering; too much ener-
gy, though it may be dormant through
apathy, to permit us to sink hopeless-
ly and helplessly into social chaos.
It is only necessary to awaken the
public mind to the importance of the
subject, and to arouse American wo-
men to united and persevering efforts
to retrieve the past, and bring about
a better state of affairs in the future,
and the work of reform is on the sure
road to accomplishment. This is the
only " cooperative " agency firom which
we may hope for beneficial results.
No new plans or patent machinery \
will enable the wife, the mother, the
housekeeper, to shirk her duty or
transfer the irksome task to other
shoulders. She must simply ^seek
out the old paths, and walk therein,"
humbly, diligently, at whatever sacri-
fice of her own ease or endurance of
painful trials, which must always be
the heritage of the true woman, but
which, met and endured in the true
womanly ^spirit, are richer than earth-
ly treasures, and will secure rewards
more unfailing than earthly glories.
In no other way can this painful
domestic problem ever find a fitting
solution.
A CONVERTS PRAYER.
** Too late hare I known thee, O andent truth I Too long have I wandered from thee, O aadeat bcMT 1
Saint AuGvsnm-
INSCRIBED TO THE REV. FATHER WELCH, S.J.
Is it too late, O Lord ! too late,
To thee who count'st not time
As we thy finite creatures do.
By cycles as they chime ?
By years, and months, and fleeting days —
Not ao thou countest, Lord ;
A thousand years are in thy sight
As yesterday's brief word.
A Converts Prayer. 615
•
Or IS it only late for me^
Late for earth's fleeting day,
Because the best of life is gone —
My youth has passed away ?
Its fresh love, though, was given to thee ;
Yet now, how cold it seems,
And I as one who shadows chased
In labyrinths of dreams.
In faith I walk now with thee, Lord,
As when Incarnate here
The wondering Jews looked on thy face,
And to thy words gave ear.
I am with thee at the marriage feast
In Cana's peaceful dale,
I hear thy Ble^ed Mother's voice
O'er thee in love prevail.
I hear thee answer her, and bring
From water even wine.
And mark that wondrous miracle
Which stamps thee God Divine 1
And then, amid thy chosen twelve
The mystic supper spread.
With only juice pressed from the vine,
And only wheaten bread ;
And yet, as at fair Cana's feast,
Faith's miracle there stood.
This bread thy word transforms to flesh,
This wine into thy blood 1
I hear thee say those solemn words,
" Except my flesh ye eat^
And drink my bloody no life have ye ^^
No love for me complete !
I hear the Jew, " How can this man
Give us his flesh to eat ?"
I mark thy silence ; then, again.
Thy solemn words repeat.
This is faith's lesson. Lord, I bow
Submissive to thy word,
Nor ask I " how .•" it is enough
That thou hast said it, Lord !
6 id A Convarfs Prayer.
O wondrous mystery of faith I
Great God, thou dost retain
The vision of iby presence till
We cease to say, " £iq)lain.''
And last, I see thee on the cross.
Thine arms extended wide.
As if to draw the world to thee
To kiss thy wounded side.
And then, down-lifled from the cross,
And in the linen laid,
With spices pressed by Mary's hand
In wounds the spear had made.
All this I see, and in the night
Thy voice comes low and sweet.
And bids me, sinner as I am.
To kiss thy wounded feet.
And each dear hand, once raised to bless,
To heal, now torn and riven-
Lord, in those bleeding hands take miney
Nor let them go till heaven
Shall take me, wanderer, safely in.
Where all these tears and sighs
Shall on thy breast be hushed to rest.
In golden paradise !
Then is it late, « too late," O Lord ?
I am waiting in the porch
To hear those " gates of pearl " unbar.
And enter in thy church ;
To find sure anchor, peace and rest.
From error, sorrow, sin ;
I am very weary of earth's strife —
Lord, let thy wanderer in.
Sophia May Eckleit.
St. Gertrude's Day, Nov. 15, 1869.
6i7
TRANSLATED FXOM THS CBRMAN-'ttr
ANGELA.
^^OiU^i^^
CHAPTER VIII.
AVOWALS.
In the same deep valley where the
brook rippled over the pebbles in its
bed, where the mountain sides rose
up abruptly, where the moss hung
from the old oaks, where Klingen-
berg plucked the tender beard of the
young professor of history, took
place the meditated attack of the
doctor on the poison of materialism
which was destroying the body and
soul of Richard.
Slowly and carefully the doctor ad-
vanced, as against an enemy who will
defend his position to the last But
how was he astonished when, upon be-
ing attacked, Frank showed no disposi-
tion to defend that most highly-vaunt-
ed doctrine of modem science — ma-
terialism. This was almost as puz-
zling to the doctor as the eternity of
matter. Tired of skirmishing, the
doctor set to work to close with the
enemy and strike him down.
" I have looked only cursorily at
the writings of the materialists; you
have studied them carefully; and you
will oblige me much if you would
give me the foundation on which the
whole structure of materialism rests."
"The materialistic system is very
simple," answered Frank. " Materi-
alists reject all existence that is not
sensibly perceptible. They deny the
existence of invisible and supersensi-
ble things. There is no spirit in man
or anywhere else. Matter alone ex-
ists, because matter alone manifests its
existence."
"I understand. The materialist
will only be convinced by seeing and
feeling. As a spirit is neither spiritual
nor tangible, then there is none. Is
it not so, friend Richard ?"
" You have included in one sen-
tence the whole of materialism," said
Frank coolly.
" I cannot understand," said Kling-
enberg hesitatingly, " how the mate-
rialists can make assertions which are
imtenable to the commonest under-
standings. Why, thought can neither
be seen nor felt ; yet it is an existence."
"Thought is a function of the
brain."
" Then it is incomprehensible how
the sensible can beget the supersensi-
ble. How matter — the brain— can
produce the immaterial, the spiritual"
Richard was silent.
"At every step in materialism I
meet insurmountable difficulties," con-
tinued the doctor. " I know perfect-
ly the organization of the human
body, as well as the function and pur-
pose of each part The physician
knows the purpose of the lungs, heart,
kidneys, and stomach, and all the no-
ble and ignoble parts of the body.
But no physician knows the origin of
the activity of tiie organism. The
blood stops, the pulse no longer beats,
the lungs, kidneys, nerves, and all the
rest cease their functions. The man
is dead. Why ? Because the activi-
ty, the movement, the force is gone.
What then is this vivifying force?
In what does it consist ? What color,
what taste, what form has it? No
physician knows. The vivifying prinr
ciple is invisible, intangible, perfecdy
immaterial. Yet it exists. Therefore
the fundamental dogma of material-
6i8
Angehi.
ism is false. There are existences
which can neither be felt, tasted, nor
seen."
" The vivifying principle . is also in
animals," said Ridiard.
" Certainly ; and in them also intangi-
ble and mysterious. Materialism can-
not even stand before animal life; for
even there the vivifying principle is an
immaterial existence."
**The materialist stumbles at the
existence of human spirit, because he
cannot get a conception of it."
"How could this be possible?"
cried the doctor. " The conception is
a picture in the mind, an apprehen-
sion of the senses. Spiritual being is
as unapproachable by the senses as the
vivifying principle, of which also man
can form no conception. To deny
existence because you cannot have a
conception of it, is foolish. The blind
would have the same right to deny
the existence of colors, or the deaf
that of music And who can have
a conception of good, of eternity, of
justice, of virtue ? No one. These
are existences that do not fall under
the senses. To be logical, the mate-
rialist must conclude that there is
nothing good, nothing noble, no jus-
tice ; for we have not yet seen nor felt
nor smelt these things. Virtuous ac-
tions we can, of course, see; but these
actions are not the cause but the con-
sequence, not the thing working but
the thing ^Tought As these actions
will convince every thinking man of
the existence of virtue and justice,
so must the workings of the spirit
prove its existence."
" Precisely," replied Frank. " Ma-
terialism only surprises and captivates
'one like a dream of the night. It
vanishes the moment it is seen. I
read the works of Vogt and Biichner
only for diversion; my object was
perfectly gained."
"You read for diversion! What did
you wish to forget ?"
"Dark clouds that lowered over
my mind."
" Hav^ you secrets that I, your old
friend and well-meaning adviser, should
not know ?"
Frank was confused ; but his great
respect for the doctor forced him to
be candid.
" You know my views of womea.
When I tell you that Angela, the wd-
known Angel of Salingen, has ton
these opinions up by the roots, yoa
will not need further explanation."
"You found Angela what I told
you ? I am glad," said Klingenberg.
And his disputative countenance
changed to a pleasant expression. **!
suspected that the Angel of Salingen
made a deep impression on you. I
did not guess ; I read it in large cha-
racters on your cheeks. Have yoo
made an avowal ?"
" No ; it will never come to that"
" Why not ? Are you ashamed to
confess that you love a beautiful
young lady ? That is childish and sim-
ple. There is no place here for shame.
You want a noble, virtuous wife.
You have Angela in view. Woo her;
do not be a bashful boy."
" Bashfulness might be overcome,
but not the conviction that I am un-
worthy of her."
"Unworthy! Why, then? Shalll
praise you ? Shall I exhibit your no-
ble qualities, and convince you why
you are worth more than any young
man that I know? You have not
Angela's religious tone ; but the strong
influence of the wife on the hu^wnd
is well known. In two or three years
I shall not recognize in the ultramon-
tane Richard Frank the former ma-
terialist." And the doctor laughed
heartUy.
" It is questionable," said the young
man, "whether Angela's inclination
corresi>onds to mine."
"The talk of every true lover,"
said the doctor pleasantly. "Pluck
Angela.
619
the stars of Bethlehem, like Faust's
Grethe, with the refrain, * She loves,
she loves not — she loves.' But you
are no bashful maiden; you are a
man. Propose to her. Angela's an-
swer will show you clearly how she
feels."
The doctor was scarcely in his
room when Richard's father entered.
" All as you foretold," said Kling-
enberg. " Your son is cured of his
hatred of women by Angela. The
materialistic studies were not in ear-
nest ; they were only a shield held up
against the coming passion. The love
question is so absorbing, and the sen-
timent so strong, that Richard left
me near Frankenhohe to hasten over
there. I expect from your sound
sense that you will place no obsta-
cles in the way of your son's happi-
ness.'
" I regret," said Frank coldly, " that
I cannot be of the same opinion with
you and Richard in this affair."
" Make your son unhappy ?" said
Klingenberg. " Do you consider the
possible consequences of your oppo-
sition ?"
" What do you understand by pos-
sible consequences ?"
" Melancholy, madness, suicide, fre-
quently come from this. I leave to-
morrow, and I hope to take with
me the assurance that you will sacri-
fice your prejudice to the happiness
of Richard."
Among the numerous inhabitants
of Siegwart's yard was a hen with a
hopeful progeny. The little chicks
were very lively. They ran about
after insects till the call of the happy
mother brought them to her. Es-
caped from the shell some few days
before, they had instead of feathers
delicate white down, so that the pret-
ty little creatures looked as though
they had been rolled in cotton. They
had black, quick eyes, and yellow
feet and bills. If a hawk flew in the
air and the mother gave a cry, the
litde ones knew exactly what it meant,
and ran under the protecting wings
of the mother from the hawk, although
they had never seen one — had never
studied in natural history the danger
of the enemy. If danger were near,
she called, and immediately they were
under her wings. The whole brood
now stopped under the lindens. The
little ones rested comfortably near
the warm body of the mother. Now
here, now there, their littie heads
would pop out between the feathers.
One smart little chirper, whose ambi-
tion indicated that he would be the
future cock of the walk, imdertook to
stand on the back of the hen and pick
the heads of the others as they ap-
peared through the feathers.
Angela came imder the lindens,
carrying a vessel of water and some
crumbs in her apron for the little
ones. She strewed the* crumbs on
the ground, and the old hen ahnounc-
ed dinner. The little ones set to work
very awkwardly. The old hen had
to break the crumbs smaller between
her bill. Angela took one of the
chickens in her hand and fondled it,
and carried it into the house. The
hen went to the vessel to drink and
the whole brood followed. It hap-
pened that the one that stood on her
back fell into the water, and cried
loudly; for it found that it had got
into a strange element of which it had
no more idea than Vogt and Buchner
of the form of a spirit. At this criti-
cal moment Frank came through the
yard. He saw it fluttering about in
the water, and stopped. The old hen
went clucking anxiously about the
vessel. And although she could
without difiiculty have taken the
chicken out with her bill, yet she did
not do it. Richard observed this
with great interest; but showed no
desire to save the little creatiu'e, which
620
Angela.
at the last gasp floated like a bunch
of cotton on die water.
Angela may have heard the noise
of the hen, for she appeared at the
door. She saw Frank standing near
the lindens looking into the vessel. At
the same time she noticed the danger
of one of her little darlings, and has-
tened out She took the body fix)m
the water and held it sadly in her
hands.
"It is dead, the little dear," said
she sadly. " You could have saved
it, Herr Frank, and you did not do it."
She looked at Frank, and forgot im-
mediately, on seeing him, the object
of her regrets. The young man stood
before her so dejected, so depressed
and sad, that it touched her heart.
She knew what darkened his soul.
She knew his painful struggle, his
great danger, and she could have
given her life to save him. She was
moved, tears came into her eyes, and
she hastened into the house.
Siegwart was reading the paper
when his daughter hastened in such
an unusual way through the room and
disappeared.
This astonished him.
" What is the matter, Angela ?" he
exclaimed.
There was no answer. He was
about to go afler her when Frank en-
tered.
" I can give you some curious news
of the assessor," said the proprie-
tor after some careless conversation.
" The man is terribly enraged against
me and full of bad designs. The rea-
son of this anger is known to you."
And he added, "Angela is in the
next room, and she must know no-
thing of his proposal."
Frank nodded assent.
"About ten paces from the last
house in Salingen," continued Sieg-
wart, " I have had a pile of dirt thrown
up. It was now and then sprinkled
with slops^ to make manure of it
Herr Hamm has made the discovery
that the slops smell bad; that it
annoys the inhabitants of the next
house ; and he has ordered it to be
removed."
Richard shook his head disapprov-
ingly.
" Perhaps Herr Hamm will come
to the conclusion that, in the interest
of the noses, all like piles must be re^
moved from Salingen."
" But that is not all," said Siegwart
" It has been discovered that the com-
mon good forbids my keeping fowls,
because my residence is surrounded
by fields and vineyards, where the
fowls do great damage. The Herr
Assessor has had the goodness, ac-
companied by the guards, to examine
personally the amount of destruction.
So I have got instructions either to
keep my fowls confined or to make
away with them."
" Mean and contemptible !" said
Frank.
Angela came into the room. Her
countenance was smiling and clear as
ever; but her swollen eyes did not
escape Richard's observation. She
greeted the guest, and sat down in
her accustomed place near the win-
dow. Scarcely had she done this,
when Frank stood up, went toward
her, and knelt down before the as-
tonished girl.
" Miss, I have greatly offended you,
and beg your pardon."
Siegwart looked on in surprise — now
at his daughter, who was perplexed;
now at the kneeling young man.
"For God's sake! Herr Frank,
arise," said the confused Angela. ^
was about to leave the seat, but he
caught her hand and gendy rq^aced
her.
" If I may approach so near to
you, my present position is the pro-
per one. Hear me ! I have deeply of-
fended you. I could with ease have
saved a creature that was dear to you,
Angela,
621
and I did not do it My conduct
has brought tears to your eyes — ^hurt
your feelings. When you went away
to regain your composure, and to show
your offender a serene, reconciled
countenance, it made my fault more
distressing. Forgive me ; do not con-
sider me hard and heartless, but see
in me an unfortunate who forgets him-
self in musing.''
She looked into Frank's handsome
face as he knelt before her, in such
sadness, lowering his eyes like a guilty
boy, and smiled sweetly.
" I will forgive you, Herr Frank, on
one condition."
" Only speak. I am prepared for
any penance."
" The condition is, that you bum
those godless books that make you
doubt about the noblest things in
man, and that you buy no more."
" I vow fulfilment, and assure you
that the design of those books, which
you rightly call godless, is recognized
by me as a crime against the dignity
of man — and condemned."
"This rejoices no one more than
me," said she with a tremulous voice.
He stood up, bowed, and returned
to his former place.
** But, my dear neighbor, how did
this singular affair happen ?" said the
proprietor.
Frank told him about the death of
the chicken.
" The love of the hen for her chick-
ens is remarkable. She protects them
with her wings and warns them of
danger, which she knows by instinct.
How easy would it have been for the
hen to have taken the young one
from the water with her bill — the
same bill with which she broke their
food and gave it to them. But she
did not do it, because it is strange
to her nature. This case is another
striking proof that animals act nei-
ther with understanding nor reflection.
Acts beyond their instinct are impos-
sible to them. This would not be
the case, if they had souls."
The old servant stood with an
empty basket before the library of the
son, as he had stood before that of the
father. Biichner, Vogt, and Czolbe
fell into the fire. Jacob shook his
head and regretted the beautiful bind-
ing; but the evil spirits between the
covers he willingly consigned to the
flames.
Again the cais stopped at the sta-
tion ; again the two gentlemen stood
at the open window of the car to re-
ceive their returning fiiends. The
travellers took a carriage and drove
through the street.
" Baron Linden has indeed gone
headlong into misery," said Lutz hu-
morously. " Eight days ago the young
pair swore eternal fidelity. It was
signed and sealed. Until to-day no
could one know that they were on the
brink of misery."
Richard remembered his remark
on the former occasion, and wondered
at his sudden change of opinion. ,
" I wish them all happiness," said he,
" Amen !" answered Lutz. " Rich-
ard, however, considers happiness in
matrimony possible. So we may
hope that he will not always remain
a bachelor. How is the Angel of
Salingen ? Have you seen her since
that encounter with the steer?"
" The angel is well," said Richard,
avoiding the glance of his friend.
" What do you mean by the * An-
gel of Salingen ' ?" said the father.
"Thereby I understand the un-
married daughter of Herr Siegwart, of
Salingen, named Angela, who richly
deserves to be called the * Angel of
Salingen.' "
Frank knit his brows darkly and
drummed on his knees.
"And the encounter with the
steer ?" continued he.
Angela.
-"^ im
-. 1H t:*.
'»-
thing
to
cou-
-tT-.'
•> 'C^.IL
mu :^ court
servant
the
looked
:ru. allow your
3c? dise univer-
post in ten
v^ .m ksot in that
■^■•0**^. r
»
^ , VI.
o^ier friend,
opera to-
'ttust tixiay enter
Tlie evening
for the
VTS«t"«C
•'^
-- '-v* . -vunne of business
>.>- *-4\L H« sat in the
^..1 -iw m^jcked with his
, V voxU'^, Nevotheless
^ ,^ onM bttm toward Sa-
rtc -^pMKs danced be-
*v \\A "ud no meaning,
.. . c>t in day-dreams,
. Nc» ^udobs^ved this,
..i-k .H ^smdies also un-
, vV» H^Wft the house
. • .^a^ ;*>n? and returned
^v ' V^ tuiher, desiring
•^•> wcant, set the
.. .V . x^.vrt^d the spy,
^ V C-HMKhins.**
4 ttUkich on his
M^
•^«
^ ^..;K«k<d "The ul-
..^<*>**«Ki vfosdytiring.
" ^x, aK IhNMi of my
yet see him turn Capudun,
cloister, and go about beg^^."
When Herr Frank entered tk
counting-room, he found his son bos^
at work. He stood up and greeted
his father.
" I have observed, ^chard,'' be
began after a time, ** that you go out
early every morning. WViat does \
mean ?"
" I have imposed upon m^^ 'k
obligation of hearing mass every
morning."
" How did you come to take that
singular obligation upon youiseU^
" From the conviction that rdigion
is no empty idea, but a power thJi
can give peace and consolation in all
conditions of life."
" It is evident that you have breath-
ed ultramontane air. This chuidi-
going is not forbidden — but no in-
fling or fanatical nonsense."
" It is my constant care, fokihci, U
give you no cause of uneasiness."
" I am rejoiced at this, my sotk-,\»X
I must observe that a certain gloomy,
reserved manner of yours disturbs tofc.
Your conduct is exemplary, your in-
dustry praiseworthy, your habits re^-
lar ; but you keep yourself too much
shut up; you do not give evening
parties any more. You do not visit
the concert-hall or theatre. This is
wrong ; we should enjoy life, and not
move about like dreamers."
" I have no taste for amusementeT
answered Richard. " However, if
you think a change would be gcKxi,V
beg you to permit me to take sl niB
out to Frankenhohe for a couple o^
days."
" And why to Frankenhohe ? I
do not know any amusement tlien
for you."
" I have planted a small vineyatrc
as you know, and I would like
how the Burgundies thrive."
Herr Frank was not in a h
Angela.
623
give the permission. He thought and
drummed.
" You can go," he said resignedly.
" I hope die mountain air will cheer
you up."
Herr Siegwart had remarked the
same symptoms in his daughter that
Herr Frank had in his son ; but An-
gela did not give way to discontent.
She was always the same obedient
daughter. The poor and sick of Sa-
lingen could not complain of neglect.
But she was frequently absent-minded,
gave wrong answers to questions, and
sought solitude. If Frank was men-
tioned, she revived; the least circum-
stance connected with him was in-
teresting to her. Her sharp-sighted
father soon discovered the inmost
thoughts and feelings of his daughter.
He thought of Herr Frank's ill-humor
toward him, and was disposed to re-
gret the hour that Richard entered
his house.
The Burgundies at Frankenhohe
were scarcely looked at. The young
man hastened to Salingen. He
found the landscape changed in a few
weeks. The fields had clothed them-
selves in yellow. The wheat-stalks
bent gracefully under their load.
Everywhere industrious crowds nere
in the fields. The stalks fell beneath
the reapers. Men bound the sheaves.
Wagons stood here and there. The
sheaves were raised into picturesque
stacks. The sun beamed down hot,
and the sweltering weather wrote on
the foreheads of the men, " Adam; in
the sweat of thy brow thou shalt eat thy
bread."
In the proprietor's house all was
stilL The old cook sat beneath the
lindens, and with spectacles on her
nose tried to mend a stocking which
she held in her hand. She arose and
smiled on Richard's approach.
"They are all in the fields. We
have much work, Herr Frank. The
grain is ripe, and we have already ga-
thered fifty wagon-loads. I am glad
to see you looking so much better.
The family will also be glad. They
think a great deal of you — ^particular-
ly Herr Siegwart."
" Give them many kind greetings
fi-om me. I will come back in the
evening."
" Oflf so soon ? Will you not say
good-day to Miss Angela ? She is in
the garden. Shall I call her ?"
"No," said he after a moment's
reflection; "I will go into the gar-
den myself."
After unlatching the gate, he would
have tinned back, for he became ner-
vous and embarrassed.
Angela sat in the arbor; her em-
broidery-firame leaned against the ta-
ble, and she was busily working. As
she heard the creaking of footsteps on
the walk, she looked up and blushed.
Frank raised his hat, and when the
young woman stood up before him in
beauty and loveliness, his nervousness
increased, and he would gladly have
escaped ; but his spirit was in the fet-
ters of a strange power, and necessity
supplied him with a few appropriate
remarks.
" I heard that the family were ab-
sent ; but I did not wish to go away
without saluting you, Miss Angela."
She observed the bashful manner
of the young man, and said kindly,
" I am glad to see you again, Herr
Frank," and invited him to sit down.
He looked about for a seat ; but as
there was none, he had to sit on the
same bench with her.
" Do you remain long at Franken-
hohe ?"
"Only to-day and to-morrow.
Work requires dispatch, and old cus-
tom has so bound me to my occupa-
tion that the knowledge of work to be
done makes me feel uneasy."
624
Angela.
" Do you work every day regularly
in the counting-room ?"
'< I am punctual to the hours, for
the work demands regularity and or-
der. There are every day some hours
for recreation."
''And what is the most pleasant
recreation for you ?"
" Music and painting. I like them
the best. But of late," he added hesi-
tatingly, " unavoidable thoughts press
on me, and many hours of recreation
pass in useless dreaming."
Angela thought of his former men-
tal troubled and looked anxiously in
his eyes.
"Now, you have promised me,"
she said sofdy, "to forget all those
things in those bad books that dis-
turbed your mind."
"The fulfilment of no duty was
lighter or more pleasant to me than
to keep my promise to you, Ange-
la."
His voice trembled. She leaned
over her work and her cheeks glow-
ed. The delicate fingers went astray ;
but Frank did not notice that the
colors in the embroidery were getting
into confusion. There was a long
pause. Then Frank remembered the
doctor's final admonition, "Be not
like a bashful lK)y ; out aside all false
shame and speak your mind ;" and he
took courage.
" I have no right to ask what dis-
tiu-bs and depresses you," said she, in
a scarcely audible voice and without
moving her head.
" It is you who have the best right,
Angela! You have not only saved
my life, but also my better convic-
tions. You have purified my views,
and influenced my course of life. I
was deeply in error, and you have
shown me the only way that leads to
peace. This I see more cleariy every
day. The church is no longer a
strange, but an attractive place to me.
All this you have done without de-
sign. I tell you this becaue I dmik
you Sjonpathize with me."
He paused; but the dedaration of
hb love hovered on his lips.
" You have not deceived yomsdf
as to my sympathy," she answered
" The discovery that one so insignifi-
cant as myself has any influence with
you makes me glad."
" O Angela I you are not insignffi-
cant in my eyes. You are more than
all else on earth to me I" he cried
" You are the object of my love, of my
waking dreams. If you could give
me your hand before the altar in fiddi-
ty and love, my dearest wishes wooM
be realized."
She slowly raised her head, her mo-
dest countenance glowed in a virginal
blush, and her eyes, which met Rich-
ard's anxious look, were filled with
tears. She lowered her head, and
laid her hand in that of the yoong
man. He folded her in his arms,
pressed her to his heart, and kissed
her forehead. The swallows flew
about the arbor, twittered noisily, and
threatened the robber who was tiying
to take away their firiend. TTie spar-
rows, through the leaves of the vines,
looked with wonda* at the table where
Angela's head rested on the httaA d
her aflianced.
They arose.
HWe caimot keep this from oor
parents, Richard. My parents es-
teem you. Their blessing will not be
wanting to our union."
Suddenly she paused, and stood si-
lent and pale, as though filled widi a
sudden fearl Richard anxiously in-
quired the cause.
"You know your Other's qrinioo
of us," she said, disturbed.
" Do not be troubled about that
Father will not object to my a^^ang^
ments. But even if he does, I am of
age, and no power shall separate rat
from you."
" No, Richard; no! I loveyott«»
Angela.
62s
my life ; but without your father's con-
sent, our union wants a great blessing.
Speak to him in love; beg him, be-
seech him, but do not annoy him on
account of your selfishness."
"So it shall be. Your advice is
good and noble. As long as this dif-
ficulty exists, I am uneasy. I will
therefore go back. Speak to your
parents ; give them my kind greeting,
and tell them how proud I shall feel
to be acknowledged as their son." He
again folded her in his arms and has-
tened away.
The old cook still sat under the lin-
dens, and the stocking lost many a
stitch as Frank, with a joyous counte-
nance, passed her without speaking,
without having noticed her. She
shook wonderingly her old gray head.
Angela sat in the arbor. Her work
lay idly on the table. With a coun-
tenance full of sweetness she went to
her room, and knelt and^rayed.
Herr Frank looked up astonished,
as Richard, late in the evening, enter-
ed his chamber.
" Excuse me, father," said he joy-
fully and eamesdy; "something has
happened of great importance to
me, and of great interest to you. I
could not delay an explanation, even
at the risk of depriving you of an
hour's sleep."
" Well, well I I am really interest-
ed," said Herr Frank, as he threw
himself back on the sofa. " Your ex-
planation must be something extraor-
dinary, for I have never seen you thus
before. What is it, then ?"
" For a right understanding of my
position, it is necessary to go back to
that May-day on which we went to
Frankenhohe. Your displeasure at
my weQ-groimded aversion to women
you will remember."
With childish simplicity he related
the whole course of his inner life and
trials at Frankenhohe. He described
VOL. X. — ^40
the deep impression Angela had made
upon him. He took out his diary
and read his observations, his stubr
bom adherence to his prejudices, and
the victory of a virtuous maiden over
them. The father listened with the
greatest attention. He admired the
depth of his son's mind and the
noble struggle of conviction agaii;st
the powerful influence of error. But
when Richard made known what had
passed between himself and Angela,
Herr Frank's countenance changed.
" I have told you all, ' said Rich-
ard, " with that openness which a son
owes to his father. From the dispo-
sition and character of Angela, as you
have heard them, you must have learn*
ed to respect her, and have been con-
vinced that she and I will be happy.
Therefore, father, I beg yom consent
and blessing on our union."
He arose and was about to kneel,
when Herr Frank stopped him.
" Slowly, my son. With the excep-
tion of what happened to-day, I am
pleased with your conduct. You
have convinced yourself of the injus-
tice of your opinion of women. You
have found a noble woman.* I am
willing to believe that Angela is a
magnificent and faultless creature, al-
though she have an ultramontane fa-
ther. But my consent to your union
with Siegwart's daughter you will ne-
ver receive. Now, Richard, you can
without trouble And a woman that
will suit you, and who is as beautiful
and as noble-minded as the Angel of
Salingen."
" May I ask the reason of your re-
fusal, father ?"
" There are many reasons. First,
I do not like the ultramontane spirit
of the Siegwart family. Angela is
educated in this spirit. You would
be bound to a wife whose narrow
views would be an intolerable bur*
den."
"Pardon, father! The extracts
626
Angela,
from my diary informed you that I
have examined this ultramontane spi-
rit very carefully, and that I was
forced at last to correct my opinions
of the ultramontanes — ^to reject an un-
just prejudice."
*^ The stained glass of passion has
beguiled you into ultramontane sen-
timents; and further, remember that
Siegwart is personally objectionable
to me." And he spoke of the failure
of the factory through Angela's father.
"Herr Siegwart has told me of
that enterprise, and, at the same time,
gave me the reasons that induced
him to prevent its realization. He
showed the demoralizing effects of
factories. He showed that the inha-
bitants of that neighborhood support
themselves by farming; that the reli-
gious sentiment of the country people
is endangered by Sunday labor and
other evil influences that accompany
manufacturing.'*
** And you approved of this nar-
row-mindedness of the ultramontane ?"
cried Frank.
"Siegwart's conduct is finee from
•narrow-mindedness. You yourself
have often said that faith and religion
liad much to fear from modem manu-
factories. If Siegwart has made great
sacrifices, if he has interfered against
his own interest in favor of faith and
morality, he deserves great respect
for it."
" Has It gone so far ? Do you
openly talce part with the ultramon-
tane against your father ?"
" I take no part; I express frankly
my views," answered Richard tran-
quilly.
" The views of father and son are
very different, and we may thank
your intercourse with the ultramon-
tanes for it."
"Your acquaintance, father, with
that excellent family is very desirable.
You would soon be convinced that
you t>ught to respect them."
^ I do not desire their acqoaintaiioe.
It is near midnight; go to rest, ud
forget the hasty step of to-day."
** I will never regret what has ta-
ken place with fcMi^thought and idlec-
tion," answered Richard femly. " I
again ask your consent to the ha{)pe
ness of your son."
"No, no! Once for all— ocrer!"
cried Frank hastily.
The son became excited. He was
about to fly into a passion, and to
show his fetfier that he was not going
to follow blind authority like an ino*
perienced child, when he thought of
what Angela said, ''Speak to your
father in love;" and his rising anger
subsided.
" You know, fisither," he said hei-
tatingly, *< that my age permits roe to
choose a wife without reference to
your will As the consent is witli-
held without valid reasons, I migbt
do without it. But Angda has ur-
gently requested me not to act against
your will, and I have promised \o
comply with her wishes."
"Angela appears to have nwt
sense than you. So she requested this
promise fh)m you? I esteem tbe
young lady for this sentiment, al-
though she be a child of Siegwart,
who shall never have my son for a
son-in-law."
The yoimg man arose.
" It only remains for me to d^
dare," said he calmly, " that to Ang^
la, and to her alone, shall I ever b^
long in love and fidelity. If yoti per-
severe in your refusal, I here tdl yw
on my honor, I shall never cbooK
another wife."
He made a bow and left the room.
It was long past midnight, and Hot
Frank was still sitting on the ao(it
drumming on his knees and shddng
his head.
" An accursed piece of business T
said he. " I know he will not bieak
his word of honor under any dici^
AngdOn
627
stances. I know his stubborn head.
But diis Siegwart, this clerical ultra-
montane fellow-— it is incompatible;
mental progress and middle-age dark-
ness, spiritual enlightenment and stark
confessionalism — ^it won't do. Ange-
la certainly is not her father. She is
an innocent country creature; does
not wear crinoline, dresses in blue
like a bluebell, has not a dainty sto-
mach, and has no toilette nonsense.
The nuns, together with perverted
views of the world, may, perhaps,
have taught her many principles that
adoin an honorable woman; but —
but — " And Herr Frank threw him-
self back grumbling on the sofa.
On the following day Richard wrote
Angela a warm, impassioned letter.
The vow of eternal love and fidelity
was repeated. In conclusion, he spoke
of his father's refusal, but assured her
that his consent would yet be given.
Many weeks passed. The letters
of the lovers came and went regu-
larly and without interruption. She
wrote that her parents had not hesi-
tated a moment to give their consent
In her letters Richard admired her
tender feeling, her dove-like innocence
and pure love. He was firm in his
conviction that she would make him
happy, would be his loadstar through
life. He read her letters hundreds
of times, and these readings were his
only recreation. He spoke not an-
other word about the matter to his fa-
ther. He kept away firom all society.
He devoted himself to his calling, and
endeavored to purify his heart in the
spirit of religion, that he might ap-
proach nearer to an equality with An-
gela, The father observed him care-
fully, and was daily more and more
convinced that a spiritual change was
coming over his son. Murmuringly
he endured the church-going, and
vexedly he shook his head at Rich-
ard's composure and perseverance,
which he knew time would not
change. The more quietly the son
endured, the more disquieted Herr
Frank became. " Sacrifice your pre-
judices to your son's happiness," he
heard the doctor sa3dng ; and he felt
ashamed when he thought (^ this ad-
vice.
"What cannot be cured must be
endured," he was accustomed to say
for some days, as oilen as he went
into his room. "The queer fdlow
makes it uncomfortable for me ; this
cannot continue; days and years pass
away. I am growing old, and the
house of Frank must not die out"
One morning he gave Richard
charge of the establishment " I have
important business," said he. " I will
be back to-morrow."
The father smiled significantly as
he said this. Richard heard firom
the coachman that Herr Frank took
a ticket for the station near Franken*
hohe. He knew the great importance
to him of this visit, and prayed God
earnestly to move his fiither's heart
favorably. His tmeasiness increased
hourly, and rendered all work impos*
, siUe. He walked up and down the
counting-room like a man who fear-
ed bankruptcy, and expected every
moment the decision on which de-
pended his happiness for life. He
went into the haU where the desks, of
the derks stood in long row^. ^
went to the desks, looked at thCs writ-
ing of the derks, and knew not. what
he did, where he went, or wbece he
stood
The neirt day Herr Frank returned.
Richard was called to the, library,
where his father received him* with a
face never more happy or contented.
" I have visited your bride," he be-
gan, "because I had a curiosity to
know personally the one who has
converted my son to sound views of
womankind. I am perfectly satisfied
with your taste, and also with my-
self; for I hare become reconciled
62S
Amgdsk
with Siegwart, and find that he is as
billing to live with his neighbors in
harmony as in discord. You now
have my blessing on your union. The
marriage can take i^ce when you
please ; only it would please me if it
came off as soon as possible.''
Richard stood speechless with emo-
tion, which so overcame him that teais
burst from his eyes. He embraced
his father, kissed him tendeiiy, and
murmured his thanks.
" That will do, Richard," said Hcrr
Frank, much affected. "Your hap-
piness moves me. May it last long.
And I do not doubt it will; for Ange-
la is truly a woman the like oi whom
I have never met. Her character is
as clear and transparent as crystal;
and her eyes possess such power, and
her smile such loveliness, that I fear
for my freedom when she is once in
the house."
Crisp, cold weather. The Decem-
ber winds sweep gustily through the
streets of the dty, driving the well-
clad wanderer before them and sport-
ing with the weather-vanes. A car-
riage stops before the door of the
Director Schlagbein. Professor Lutz
steps out and directs the dinrer to
await him.
Emil Schlagbein, Richard's unhap-
py married friend, had moved hb
easy-chair near the stove and leaned
his head against its back. He look-
ed as though despair had seized him
and thrown him into it. Hasty steps
were heard in the ante-room, and Lutz
stood before him.
" Still in your working-dothes, Emil ?
Up! the tea-table of the Angel of
Salingen awaits us."
" Pardon me; my head is confused,
my heart is sad ; grief wastes my life
away."
" War — always war; never peace I"
said Lutz. " I fear, Eraii, diat all the
fault is not widi your wife. You are
too sensitive, too partimbr about
principles. Man most tolerale, and
not be niggardly in compliance. Take
old Frank as a modd. With Angda
entered ultramontanism into his boose.
Frank lives in peace with this spim*
even on friendly terms. Angekrads
him pious stories from the legends of
U^saints. He goes with her tochuich,
where he listens with attentioii to &
word of God. He hears Dua aa
devoutly as a Capuchin ; not to saj
any thing of Richard, who ruat i
race with Angela for the prize of pie-
ty. Could you not also make sook
sacrifice to the whims of your wifeT
*' Angela and Ida— -day andnightr
said the director bitteriy. " The two
Franks make no sacrifice to feiaak
whims. They appreciate her exalted
views, they admire her purity, her ui-
speakable modesty, her shming Tf-
tues. The two Franks acted reaaocu*
bly when they adopted the prindpb
that produced such a woman. Angdi
never speaks to her husband io (ki*
ance and bad temper. If clouds gi*
ther in the matrimonial heaven, she
dissipates them with the breath of
love. Is the sacrifice of a wish warn-
ed ? Angela makes it Is her poR
feeling offended by Richard's £udts'
She kisses them away and raises bis
to her level. My wife — is she not
just the opposite in every thing ? I^
she not quick-tempered, bitter, loT^
less, extravagant, and stiff-itecked?
Has she a look^I will not say of
love — but even of respect foe me?
Do not all her thoughts aiui acts look
to the pleasures of the toilette, tbe
opera, balls, and concerts? dj
po<» children I wl^o grow up without
a mother, in the hands of domestics
How is any concession possible here?
Must not my position, my seIf•I^
spect, the last remnant of xxianly dig-
nity go to the wall ?"
"Your case is lamentable, fitend!
Yoiur principles and those of J^
jAngih,
629
wife do BOt «gi«e. Coacesskm to
the utmost point of duty, joined with
prudeot lefiEmn in many things, may,
pexhaps, bring back hamuMiy and a
good understanding between you.
You praise Angela: follow her ex-
ample. She abominates the air of
the theatre* The opera-glasses of the
young men levelled at her offend
her deeply, and bring to her ange-
lic countenance the blush of shame.
Her fine religious feeling is offended
at many words, gestures, and dances
which a pious Christian woman should
not hear and see. Yet she goes to
the opera because Richard wishes
It Her husband will at last observe
this heroism of love, and sacrifice the
opera to it What Angela cannot
obtain by prayers and representa-
tions, she gains by the all-conquer-
ing weapons of love. In like manner
and for a like object yield to your
wife. She is, at least, not a firebrand.
Love must overcome her stubbom-
»>
ness.
Schlagbein shook his head sadly.
"A father cannot do what is in-
consistent with paternal' duty,'' said
he. '' Shall I join in the course of
my wife ? Whither does this course
lead ? To the destruction of all fami-
ly ties, to financial bankruptcy — to
dishonor. For home my wife has no
mind, no understanding. My means
she throws carelessly into the bottom-
less pit of pleasure-seeking and love of
dress. She does not thmk of the future
of her children. Every day brings to
her new desires for prodigaUty. If her
wishes are fulfilled, ruin is unavoida-
ble. If they are not fulfilled, she sits
ill-humored and obstinate in her room,
and leaves the care of the house to
her domestics, and the children to the
nurses. How often have I consent-
ed to her vain desire for show, only
to see her extravagant wishes thereby
increased. She is without reason."
The unfortunate man's head sunk
upon his breast, Lutz stood stilt
without uttering a word.
'^ Yes, Angela is a noble woman/'
continued Emil, "she is the spirit
of order, the angel of peace and love.
Just hear Richard's fiither. He revels
in enthusiasm about her. * My Rich-
ard is the happiest man in the world,'
said he to me lately. ' I myself must
be thankful to him for his prudent
choice. Abounding in every thing,
my house was empty and desolate
before Angela came; but now every
thing shines in tlie sun of her orderly
housekeepmg, of her tender care. Al-
though served with fidelity, I have
been until the pres^^t ahnost neglect-
ed. But now that the angel hovers
over me, observes my every want, and
with her smile lights my old age, I
am perfectly happy.' Has my wife
a single characteristic of this noble
woman ?"
'' Angela is unapproachable in the
little arts that win the heart and drive
away melancholy," said Lut^. " A i^s^
weeks ago, Herr Frank came home one
day from the counting-room all out
of sorts. He sat silendy in his easy-
chair drumming on his knee. Ange-
la noticed his ill-humor. She sought
to dissipate it — to che^ him; but she
did not succeed. She then arose, and,
going to him, said with unspeakable
afiection, < Father, may X play and
sing for you the "Ijed der Ka-
pelle ?" * Herr Frank looked in her
fiEice, and smiled as he replied, * Yes,
my angel.' When her sweet voice
resounded in the next room in beau-
tiful accord with the accompaniment,
which she played most feelingly, the
old man revived and joined in her
song with his trembling bass."
" How often we have twitted Rich-
ard with his views of modem women,"
said EmiL "It was his cool judg-
ment, perhaps, that saved him firom a
misfortune like mine."
Just thai a carriage stopped before
630
Angela.
the house. Etnil went tineaaly to
the window, and Lutz f<^owed bim.
Bandboxes and trunks were taken
from die house. The proficssor look-
ed inquiringly at his friend, whose
hand appeared to tremble as it rested
on the window-glass.
" What does this mean, Emil ?"
"My wife is going to her aunt's
for an indefinite time. She leaves
me to enjoy the pleasures of Christ-
mas alone. The children also remain
here ; they might be in her way."
The professor pitied his unhappy
friend.
''Emil," said he, almost angrily,
*' it is for you to determine how a
man should act in regard to the freaks
and caprices of his wife. But you
should not steep yourself in gall, even
though your wife turn into a river of
bitterness. Drive away sadness and
be happy. Do not let your present
humor rob you of every thing. For-
get what you cannot change."
A beautiful woman approach^ the
carriage. Schlagbein turned away
from the sight Lutz observed the
departing wife and mother. She did
not look up at the window where her
husband was. She got into the car-
riage without even saying farewell
She sat in the midst of bandboxes,
surrounded by finery and tinsel ; and
as the wheels rolled over the pave-
ment, the director groaned in his
chair.
" A happy journey to you, Xan-
tippe!" cried the angry professor.
'^ Emil, be a man. Dress yourself ; for-
get at the Angel of Salingen's your
domestic devil."
Schlagbein moved his head discon-
solately.
" What have the wretched to do
in the home of the happy ? There I
shall only see noore clearly that I suffer
and am miserable."
Lutz, out of humor, threw himself
into the carriage. With knitted brows
he buried faimseif m one of its oor-
ners. That professiofud head w«s
perplexed with a qoeatioo whidi or-
dinary men would have quickly seen
through, and settled Fzank's h>p|ri
ness and Schlagbeu^ nuMry stood
as two irrefritable fru:ts before tke
mind <tf Uie professor. Now cme
the question. Why this happinesiy vliy
this misery? The dashing 16m, Ik
had known for years; also her en-
lightened views of life, and her flexi-
ble principles, perfectly conlbnnabk
tothespiritofprogress. Whence,tbeB,
the dissoluteness of her desires^ the
bitterness of her humor, die beait-
lessness of the wife, the caUousDess of
the mother?
The professor continued his moaiof.
He gave a scrutinizing glance at the
marriages of all his acquauntaacci.
Ever3rwhere he found a ck>uded sky,
and, in the semi-darkness, lightaiog
and thunder. Only one maniage
stood before him Inight and dear ia
the stmlight of happiness, in the rai-
ment of peace, and that was ohn-
montane. That ultramontane prind*
pies had produced this happiness and
peace, the professor's industrious mind
saw with clearness. He raised his
head and said solenmly, ** Marriage
is an image of religion. It proceeds
from the lips of God, and is perfected
at the altar. The marriage
are children of the religious
ment, fetters of the divine law. Ids
was £uthful and true so long as k
agreed with the longings of her hearL
But with the cooling of affection died
love and fidelity. She recogniaca no
religious duty, because she has pro-
gressed to hberty and ii
From this follows with striking
ness the incompatibility of Christian
marriage with the spirit of the age.
Marriage will be a thing of the past
as socm as intdlectual maturity con-
quers in the contest with roligice.
Soimd sense, liberty of emotion and
[it..# wi'ii.i-
Tlu Letter of Mt. E. S. Ffottikes
6ai
indination wifl supplant the tenriUe
marriage yoke."
The professor paused and examin-
ed his conclusion. It smiled upon
him like a true cUld of nature. It
dothed itself in motley flesh, and pass-
ed through green meadows and shady
forests. It pointed encouragingly to
liie beasts of the field and the birds
of the air, long in possession of in-
tellectual maturity. Sensual marriages,
intended to last only for weeks or
months, danced around the professor.
Cannibal hordes, who extended to
him thnr brotherly paws and cl^ws,
I»«ssed about him. In astonishment,
he contemplated his conclusion; it
made beastly grimaces, knavish aikl
jeermg, and he dashed into fra^ents
the provoking mockery.
In strong contrast to the animal
kingdom, stood before him again the
Christian marriage. He cunningly
tried to give his new conclusion hu-
man shape; but here the carnage
stopped, and the speculation vanidted
before the clear light in the house of
the " Angel of Salingen."
THE LETTER OF MR. E. S. FFOULKES.
The religious controversies of the
last three centiffies have given birth
to many new and strange things, but
scarcely to any thing more wonderful
than the letter of Mr. E. S. Ffoulkes
to Archbishop Manning, entided 7^
Church's Creed or the Crown^s Creed.
It is hard to discern the precise men-
tal condition of the author, or the
temper with which he writes; while
the whole letter is a bundle of mis-
statements and misunderstandings, cal-
culated to produce an impression only
upon the ignorant or prejudiced read-
er. It has been used in this country
as an argument against the Catho-
lic Church by the advance-guard of
Episcopalians, whose sparse ranks are
daily depleted by conversions to
Rome. It has more than once hap-
pened that individuals even in high
position have proved unfaithful, and
we know of one or two converts to the
church for whom the yoke of Christ
proved too heavy. Nothing is more
natural than to hold up these exam-
ples to the doubtful and the waver-
ing as warnings. " Here is one who
has tried the Roman communioa
and found it oppressive to his heart,
or irreconcilable with his views of
Christianity. Hesitate long before
you take the step whidi he found
occasion to regret." Such a warning
is not without efiect upcm minds so
tempted and anxious as are those
of Protestants, when, called by con-
science, they forsake the associations
of childhood and accept for the first
time, in the spirit of obedience, a
religion which God has revealed to
faith alone. We have known some
to be deterred fix>m the great step by
such wamings, which are purely per-
sonal, and hardly merit the name
of arguments. For surely individual
experiences are not to be taken as the
basis of any reasoning. They are
good only as far as the person con-
cerned may be deemed an in£illible
criterion of right or wrong. Every
one is liable to mistake or positive
error, and while there have been a
few dissatisfied Catholics, and a very
632
The Letter of Mr. E. S. F/ouUes.
few concerts who have regretted the
step they took, there have been many
more who have dafly found new cause
to thank God for the peace they have
experienced in the old faith. If the
testimony of individuals is to be taken,
we have the preponderance of argu-
ment in our favor. Defections from
our ranks will never even approxi-
mate to an equality in moral weight
with the accessions, nor ever furnish
any plausible objection against the
invincible demonstration of the autho-
rity of the church. We do not deny
that difficulties may be raised which
it may require time and patience to
remove, nor that there are oftentimes
trials which prove the sincerity of
every individual believer. But there
are no logical objections to the daims
of an authority which professes to be
divine, and gives to the honest mind
just grounds for its high pretensions.
The defection of Mr. E. S. Ffoulkes,
or of many others like him, is in itself
no argument whatever, and cannot be
taken as any thing conclusive against
us, any more than can the treason of
Judas 'Iscariot If he, or any other
adversary, will try in a manly way to
confute the arguments by which we
substantiate our position, let us lis-
ten with patience and candor, and
give to his reasonings the attention
which they merit. Has Mr. Ffoulkes
done this in the letter before us, and
what answer shall Catholics make to
Ms attack ? The full and complete
replies which have been made to his
pamphlet in England may not have
reached many here whom his asser-
tions have surprised, and therefore it
may be well to give room in these
pages to a brief discussion of the
charges which he makes against the
Catholic Church.
They resolve themselves into the
following:
I. The pope allowed the civil pow-
er to make an alteration in the creed
thing distincdy forbidden hj die
Fourth General Council
3. The pope afterward altered tSie
creed on his own authority.
3. He made use of the forged In-
dorian decretals to build up a power
which he did not possess in tx&a
ages.
4. He even ins|Mred the Cmsades
for the purpose of putting down die
patriarchal sees of the east and cnlt-
ing his own dignity, thus showing bin-
self to be a man of blood.
5. The fruits of faith, on die testimo-
ny of Mr. Ffoulkes's experience, iit
greater in the Anglican Chiuch thia
they are in the Catholic communion;
therefore the former is more truly t
church than the latter.
The inferences to be drawn from
these charges, if they could be sub-
stantiated, would be, that the pope
has been very wicked, and has made
himself liable to excommunication,
and that the see of Rome is to blame
for all the divisions of the church.
This produces a sad ecclesiastical di-
lemma ; for if the supreme pontiff be
excommunicated, who wiU take hii
place, and where shall we find the
true body of Christ ?
** Rome," says Mr. Ffoulkes, "hasiban-
dantly proved, daring the last -thoosaDd
years, that she can be a negligent, besttte>
ing, fickle, self-seeking hypocritical glide
to others, «wi tohire tkt faith is comanud."
Let US examine these fearful charges,
one by one, and then perhaps we
may have time to notice some sio-
gular assertions which are scattered
through the letter, though they have
nothing to do with the main argument
I. "The Fourth General Councfl
set forth a creed in which the perfect
doctrine was taught concerning ^
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost Then
it decreed that it was lawful for no-
body to propose or teach otheis an-
other faith. Those who should daic
to do it, if bishops or dergy, were to
Tke Letter of Mr. E, 5. FfotOkts.
633
be deposed; if laymen, to be anathe-
matized." Now, in violation of this
canon, one King Reccared, in Spain,
in the year 5S9, did ignorandy or
wilfuHy put Uie procession of the
Holy Ghost from the Son into the
Nicene Creed, and sing the addition
in his private chapel. After him it
appears that Charlemagne committed
the same oflfence, and the pope, though
he objected to the proceeding, did not
stop it The conclusion, therefore, is
that, even though thb doctrine be
true, the civil power, or " the crown in
council,^ defined it ; and secondly, that
the Roman pontiff is worthy of depo-
sition because he winked at this diso-
bedience to a decree of the oecumeni-
cal council. We consider this whole
diarge as rather trivial, and as already
answered by the words of Mr. Ffoulkes
himself. He admits that the popes,
while always defending the doctrine as
true, did not approve the addition to
the creed in the way in which it took
place. It was, however, an expres-
sion of an orthodox dogma which
came spontaneously from the people
and bishops, in which they were se-
conded by their rulers. The papal
objection to the movement was mani-
festly on the ground that additions to
the creed should come from the proper
authority, and that the precedent of
Reccared was dangerous in practice.
To say that the civil power was the
tribunal whkh settled this doctrine,
is to say something supremely ridicu-
lous, when the very words of the ob-
jector show that the whole movement
came from the ecclesiastical body.
Catholics believe that the procession
of the Holy Ghost fit)m the Son was
alwa3rs a part of the deposit of feith,
and that its expression in the symbols
of the church was only the confes-
sion of a dogma ever at least impli-
citly professed. When the head of
die church by his supreme authority
placed this doctrine in the creed-*
which he had, according to our be-
lief, an undoubted right to do — he did
not sanction the action of Reccared
or Charlemagne, although he cer-
tainly gave his in&Uible approval to
the dogma. We think this proceed-
ing of the " crown in council *' a very
harmless one. Would that Elizabeth
had been as innocent in regard to
the church which she established!
It seems, then, that the pope did
not allow the thing of which our ob-
jector complains, and so charge the
first falls to the groimd.
2. " The Roman pontiff, however,
did himself alter the creed, and thus
break the canon of the Council of
Ephesus." We admit the gravamen
of this accusation. The pope did, in
answer to the wish of the great ma-
jority of the Christian world, place
the ^^FiUoque " in the Nicene Sjonbol,
or sanction its insertion. But three
questions arise, the reply to which
will settle very clearly Uie whole dif-
ficulty. What is the true meaning
of the Ephesine canon to which Mr,
Ffoulkes so often refers ? Is the doc-
trine of the procession of the Holy
Ghost fit)m the Son a true doctrine ?
Did the pontiff go beyond his autho-
rity in allowing its introduction into
the creed?
In the first place, we find that our
objector has put a singular and most
impossible construction upon the sev-
enth canon of the Council of Ephesus,
which forms the one string upon
which he harps with such a dissonant
monotony. He interprets that canon
to forbid any afler definitions of faith,
and to altogether abdicate the infalli-
bility of the chiuch. In his view the
Council of Chalcedon takes up the
same theme, and virtually renounces
for all time the power which Christ
lefr on earth to teach and decide in
questions of doctrine. It is evident
to any sane person that the church
could not have thus renounced its
The Letter of Mr. E. S. FfouOUs.
$^ aod practically voted it-
■i<tf existence. And fKts be-
(urove that soch an
into the heads of
of Ephesus or Chakedon.
pootiff^ as the head of
Cbnrch, and die coun-
hnre been assembled un-
have ever dealt with
did the first five coundk,
even made, as time render-
X aoBBSHry, fi:esh definitions of
3y Me: Ffonlkes's construction
die popes and all the
have been deposed
ted since the Fifth
_ troth is, that the £phe-
,„ __ only foibade any one to
iMiL Ja ^ &i^ cmitrary to the one
^gm^ \%%mA, and never dreamed
ti:Hay*T^th^ office of the church to
^.IK amtR ages what the Eaksia
^ttm vaft ^en doing for its own
^MS. Howards of the council are,
^j. ^.3 ^ lawful for no one to put
^ aftodicr fiuth than that defined
^AcFiAcfsof Nice," ''AlUmm
^ wtmni Seen pn^erre^praUr ikfi-
^0i g Sanctis fiUriims qui in NicaA
M &WK*' ^t^^ mgregaUifiimmt''
Tl neaoa not bewildered by rcU-
!ls«iikiticscan easUy see that
^^ m Ac first place, only re-
**^^ • ' of the creed of
that it has in
QQvatc individuals,
of tikc church col-
_ lukr. Mr.
upon the crea-
^/, and die legiti-
^^^ . ani whok ecde-
•*-■
1
^jitholu
They .
I. Thr
to makt
oi tiie
saoDof the Holy Ghost finooi theSoa
true or fiUse, according to audioBtiei
wLich even our objector conadn
adequate ? Those who are best ic»
quainted with patristic theology lell «
that this doctrine was always tinglbt
by both CBStem and western fitthen,
though the mode of ezpressioB mig^
differ. The Greeks afierwaid misiii-
deistood the Latm <' .Aa%»e," as if in
the act of spiration the Father and
the Son were as two distinct princi-
ples. The Latins, however^ objected
to the preposition *' per," as if in the
eternal act the Son were ordy an ii-
strument or canaL The dogma Att
the Holy Ghost proceeds etco^
fixun the Father and the Son as fion
one principle, and in one action, was
unquestionably the belief of die eady
church. Pope Hormisdas, ajk 5S1,
seventy years before the c<»iveakm
of Reccared, thus writes to the empe-
ror, " It b known to all that the Ho-
ly Ghost proceeds firom the Father
and the Son under oee substance
of the Deity." The same doctnne is
deariy stat^ in the sjrnodical episde
of St. Cyril of Alexandria. There is
no necessity in this {dace to refer to
other authorities, which are very m-
merous. The Roman pontifi^ actiag.
as Catholics bdieve, in his capacity
as the head of the church, allowed
this dogma to be confessed in die
CcMistantinopolitan creed; and after-
ward the Synod of Fkneiux, at wfakh
Greek bishops were present, sdemi^
defined it. The action in this matter
of the holy see is very simply
It is hard to say at what precise
the ^^FiUoqu^^ was first inserted in the
symbol of faith. It seems to have
been used in Spain in the time of
Reccared, and thence to have psasr
ed into Germany, Gaul, and Italjr.
The objection of the pope to
introduction in the first instance
that it was done by private indiirkfe-
als and without authority. Thus, St.
The LetUr of Mr. E. S. Pfoulkcs.
635
ZJeo IIL, wli& commanding the doo
trmeto be taught, orders its ejection
-from the creed only on this ground.
•So amdi is taught us by Mr. Ffoi^es
-himselll At last, when its use be-
came general and was demanded by
the consent of all, Benedict VIII.
gave to it his supreme sanction.
The question now arises, if the Ro-
tiiaa pontiff exceeded his authority in
this action? By the testimony of
Others and councils, we are certein
-that he only sanctioned the confession
of a doctrine received by the early
church, and solemnly defined by later
days as a part of the original deport
c^ faith, and as contained in the reve-
lation of die mystery of the Holy
Trinity. Had he the right thus to act
in controversies of £uth ? If he had
sot, then not in this instance alone,
but in many others has he gone be-
yond the bounds of his authority, and
objectors might as well find fault with
every pope fiom St Peter down as to
weary themselves over a angle fiict
of history. The popes have always
daimed the right thus to act, and the
Chiistian world has 3rielded it to them,
and Catholics believe that they have
it fix>m Christ According to Uie Ca-
th<^ doctrine, the papacy is essential
to the constitution of the chiuxdi.
There could no more be a church
without the pope than a man without
a head. Writers like Mr. Ffoulkes do
not seem to comprehend this, and so,
taking for granted that which should
be proved, indulge in much self-com-
placency. We pass on, then, to ex-
amine whether the Roman pontifife
owe any of the power which they
exercised to the forged decretals of
Isidore.
3. It is now pretty well settled that
the Isidorian cc^lection of canons had
their origin in France, and not at
Rome, and that they were framed not
in the interest of the holy see, whose
powers were unquestioned, but in the
interest of the bishops. The decretab
of the popes and of the oecumenical
councils formed the canon law of the
•church; and the first code of canons
which received any kind of official
sancticm at Rome was that of Diony-
sius in the sixth century. Whenever
the need of a new rule was felt, the
pontiff legislated by their decretals,
the originals of whidi were preserved
in the papal archives. That these
decretals had full authority, s^pears
by the epistles of Cdestine I. and
Leo the Great, and from the preface
of Dionysius to his collection. The
fidse decretals of Isidore b^an to be
circulated about the year 853, and at
first attracted little attention. Pope
Nicholas I., in a letter to Hincmar of
Rheims, aj>. 863, commanded that
'' no one should dare to pronounce a
judgment except in accordance with
the canons of Nicaea, and of the
other councils, and in agreement with
the decrees of the Roman pontiff
Siricitis, Innocent, Zosimus, Celestine,
Boniface, Leo, Hilary, Gregory, and
others, saving in all things the rights
of the apostc^c see."
He makes no reference to the de-
cretals of Isidore, which were then
gaining acceptance, and certainly ne-
ver thought of basing his authority
upon th^n. These decretals may be
reduced to three classes: first, the
genuine canons or decrees of popes ;
second, those which were substantial-
ly genuine; third, those which were
wholly spurious. ''This lost class,"
says the American Cyclopctdia^ " only
contained what already existed.
The evil done by this forgery was
to history and erudition, and not
to the discipline of the church."
They were in accordance with the
recognized ecclesiastical system, and
good counterfeits of the true decre-
tals. It was not wonderful, therefore,
that they should have gradually come
into use, as a genuine collection of
636
The Litter of Mr. E. S. Ffou&es.
the early code of the church. For
two centuries after their first appear-
• ance, they remained neglected by the
popes, and apparently unknown to
them. With the exception of one or
two quotations by Hadrian 11.- and
Stephen IV., no one of the pontiflb
referred to them before the middle of
the eleventh century. After this pe-
riod, when they were generally receiv-
ed, and no doubt was entertained of
their authenticity, the popes began to
quote them with the same fireedom
as was used in the case of the Hadri-
anic collection.
We remark, therefore, that the for-
gery was neither favored nor patron*
ized by the Roman pontiffs ; and se-
condly, that the false decretals gave
to the pope no power which he did
not already possess, and that by imi-
versal consent For the proof of the
latter assertion we need only cite one
or two authorities.
In the first place, one must be en-
dowed with a marvellous credulity to
believe that a private collection of
canons could have had the power to
convert the bishop of Rome firom a
pastor of a particular city or country
into the ruler of the whole church,
the possessor of prerogatives before
imknown to the Christian world. And
the marvel is increased when we
consider that this great change must
have taken place without any protest
by the patriarchs or councils who
were thus called upon to pay obedi-
ence to a new ecclesiastical superior.
He that can believe this can believe
any thing, no matter how absurd it
may be. The truth is, that the false
decretals could not have obtained so
easy acceptance and universal recog-
nition if they had not been in accor-
dance with the received doctrine and
constitution of the church.
In the second place, the carefiil
study of the earlier oecumenical coun-
cils will persuade any honest mind
that the pq)al supremaqr wasfimlf
established in the heart of Cbristd^
dom. The Synod of Sazdica sokma-
ly acknowledged the supieme anthod'
if of the Rcnnan ponti£f; and ia so
doing it did not constitute any new
order of things, but simply recogmud
a fact of divine institution. No cotmr
cil ever pretended to give any power
to the apostolic see, but simply ti
enunciate, as belonging to the ver^
constitution of the church, the ri^ts
and dignity given to St Peter and ha
successors firom Christ Four hun-
dred years before the forgery of the
decretals, Innocent I. writes, in accoi'
dance with the canon law of his age,
** If weighty matters come to be <^
cussed, (causa tnc^oresj they are to
be referred to the apostc^c see after
the judgment of the bishops, acaxd*
ing as the synod has established and
the holy custom requires." In thns
claiming the prerogatives of the Ro-
man see the pontifi& are all of one ac-
cord firom the earliest day. The code
of Justinian declares, "We do not al-
low that any thing which concerns the
afi&urs of the church should pass ud-
referred to his blessedness the Roman
pontiff, for he is the head of all the
holy priests of God." Thus, Gdasiuf
in his decree at the Council of Rome^
494, sa3rs, " The holy Roman Catho-
lic and Apostolic Church was placed
over all the churches by no synod, but
obtained the primacy by the voice of
our Lord and Saviour himselC" " No
one ever," says Boni&ce I., " attempt-
ed to lift up his hand against the
apostolic greatness, firom whose judg-
ment there is no appeal whatever."
The Eighth General Council (869)
defined the supremacy of the Roman
see in the strongest terms, and the
formula of Pope Hormisdas was sigii-
ed by the Greek bishops and patri-
archs. In this formula it is distinct^'
stated that " in the apostolic see the
true faith is ever preserved immaco-
Tlu Letter qf Mr. E. S. Ffoulkes.
637
l«te»" and that ''they who consent
not to this see are separate from the
communion of the Catholic Church."
The formula also quotes the words of
our Lord, " Thou art Beter^ and upon
this rock I will build my church**
The Greek schism, however, required
the reassertion of this doctrine, and it
was accordingly defined as of faith
in the Fourth Lateran Council, a.d.
1215 ; again in the second of Lyons,
A.D. 1274, and again in the Coun-
cil of Florence, a.d. 1439. The lan-
guage of this latter synod is,
** We define that the apostolic see and the
Roman pontiffhold the primacy in the whole
world, and that the Roman pontiff himself
is the successor of blessed Peter, the prince
of the apostles, the true vicar of Christ, the
head of the whole church, and the father
find te^er of all Christians ; and that to him,
in the person of Peter, our Lord Jesus
Christ gave full power to feed, rule, and
govern the whole church, as is contained jn
the acts of the oecumenical councils and the
sacred canons."
In this definition the Greeks, who
were represented at this synod, fully
concurred.* The year following, the
Patriarch Metrophanes, by an evan-
gelical letter, announced to the whole
oriental world the reunion of the
Greek and Latin churches, mention-
mg at the same time the doctrines
defined in the decree of reconcilia-
tion. The singular charges made by
Mr. Ffoulkes against the Council of
Florence and Pope Eugenius merit
perhaps a brief notice. He denies
the regularity of the council, and ac-
cuses the pope of every kind of du-
plicity to control and beguile the
Greek bishops. In reply to these ac-
cusations it may be well to state what
we admit and what we deny. We
admit that the act of the twenty-fifth
session of Basle, which named Flo-
rence as the place of assembly, was
*The definitioa was drawn up by the prelates of
the Greek Synod, whkh sat separately tmtil the act
of unioa had been consummated. — £a Catuouc
WOBUX
not passed by the majority of the
votes, but by the minority. We ad-
mit that the pope chose an Italian
city, and that he guaranteed to the
eastern bishops a safe-conduct home.
We deny that he exceeded the bounds
of his authority or acted with any cun-
ning or duplicity toward the Greeks,
who were anxious to promote a re-
union, and especially desirous to meet
the Latin bishops at the very place
which the papal legates designated.
The minority of the Council of Basle
comprised the best and most influen-
tial prelates, while the majority was
composed chiefly of simple country
priests, and of servants of the bishops,
who had been admitted into the con-
gregations with the right of voting.
It is also Catholic doctrine that the
pope, who alone has the power to
call an oecumenical council, has the
right to transfer it, when called, from
one place to another. The reason
why Florence was chosen is evident
enough to any honest reader of histo-
ry. There was no " barter of tempo-
ral and spiritual gains" between the
pope and the emperor. The eastern
bishops signed the decrees with per-
fect willingness, and no constraint
was used with them. Even before
the interview between them at the
council many of them had pressed the
emperor to act in this matter of re-
union, and went so far as to declare
that, should he refuse to take part,
they would assume the responsibility
themselves. There is nothing which
Eugenius did which any pontifi"
would not have done, who, under
the circumstances which surrounded
him, felt called to seek the peace and
salvation of the eastern churches.
All attempts to injure the credit or
authority of the Council of Florence
prove unavailing to any one who re-
ceives facts as they are, without color
of prejudice.
4. It is, however, time to notice
638
The Letter of Mr. E. S. Ffimlkes.
what Mr. Ffoulkes asserts in regard
to the Crusades. The pontiff who,
according to him, had built up an au-
thority upon forged decretals, sought
by means of the Crusades to " com-
plete by force the ecclesiastical ag-
grandizement of the papacy," " He
attempted to subjugate the churches
of the east to that of Rome in the
way opposed to the canons, and this
was exacdy what he completed on
the capture of Constantinople." The
answer to this charge, as far as the
animus of the pope was concerned,
has already been made. We have
shown how Innocent III. had no need
to build up a power which he already
possessed, and which his predecessors
for centuries had claimed and exercis-
ed. Then it is simply untrue that
the popes had any idea of subjugating
the eastern churches in the encou-
ragement which they gave to the
Crusades. Let Mr. Ffoulkes refute
himself. In his Christendom's Di-
visions he acknowledges that ''for
two hundred years the east had been
calling upon the west for assistance,
and that the principal actors in these
wars advocated a great cause, and
one of the holiest struggles ever un-
dertaken in self-defence." There was
only one reason why the Christian
arms were turned against Constanti-
nople, and that was the necessity
of protecting the Crusaders against
treachery and destruction by Greek
perfidy. " There was a growing feel-
ing in Europe," says Mr. Ffoulkes,
" that the Greeks were at the bottom
of all the misfortunes of the Latins
in the east." Of Conrad's army six-
ty thousand fell beneath the swords
of the Mussulmans through the trea-
son of the Greek guides. The empe-
ror made every effort to ensnare the
formidable army of Louis VII., and
forced the third Crusade, at great loss,
to get to the Holy Land by sea. Bar-
barossa could hardly save his soldiers
from the insidious artifices Wfaidi were
plotted against him. But let tiie his-
torian Gibbon, whose judgment is cer-
tainly not partial to the Latins, d^
dde the matter:
" It was secretly and perhaps tadtly re-
solved," he says, •• by the prince and people
(Greek) to destroy, or at least to disooi-
rage the pilgrims by every species of ii^wy
and oppression, and their want of prvdcDoe
and discipline continually afforded the pre-
tence or the opportunity. The westen
monarchs had stipulated a safe passage vA
a fair market in the country of their Chris*
tian brethren ; the treaty had been ratified
by oath and hostages, and the poorest sol-
dier of Frederic's army was furnished with
three marks of silver to defiray his expenses
on the road. But every engagement wts
violated by treachery and injustice, and the
complaints of the Latins are attested bj
the honest confession of a Greek historisB
who has dared to prefer truth to his conntry.
Instead of a hospitable reception, the gnes
of the cities, both in Europe and Asia, were
closely barred against the Crusaders, and
the scanty pittance of food was let down froa
the walls. ... In every step of their
march they were stopped or misled; the
governors had private orders to fortify the
passes and break down the bridges apiost
them ; the stragglers were pillaged and mur*
dered ; the soldiers and horses were pierced
in the woods by arrows from an invisifak
hand; the sick were burnt in their beds;
and Uie dead bodies were hung on gibbets
along the highways. These injuries exas-
perated the champions of the cross, who
were not endowed with evangelical patienee»
and the Byzantine princes, who had piovoL-
ed the unequal ooafyct, promoted the ett-
barkation and march of these formidable
guests."
As far as Innocent IIL is conccm-
ed^ it is evident from his letters that
he was wholly averse to the capture
of Constantinople, and that he ac-
cepted the establishment of the new
em]nre only as a means of sectffing
the soil which had been hallowed by
the footsteps of our Lord. And when
he ap(>ointed Thomas Morosini in the
place of John Lamater, who had de-
serted his see, he only used his sih
preme authority as the head of the
church.
J
Tfu Letter of Mr. E. S. Ifcutkes.
639
" InnooMt,** sajs Mr. Ffbii]kes» <' wis no
lawless Invader of the rights of others, but
rather one of the most eminent and ex:u:t
canonists that ever adorned the chair of
Peter; and if he took the loftiest views of
the prerogatives of his see, it was because
he believed them to be thorong^y oonso-
nsnt with law and equity."
We think our objector must have
been driven for argument, and some-
what demented, when he sought the
Crusades for witnesses against the
authority and conceded rights of the
Roman pontiff.
5. Now comes the conclusion,
which is not contained in the premis-
es, but which, as the ex cathedra as-
sertion of Mr. £. S. Ffoulkes, has all
the value of his personal experience.
He joined the Catholic Church some
years ago, and has not yet formally
renounced it, as far as we know, al-
though he has incurred an ipso facto ex-
communication by obstinately sustain-
ing heretical propositions and refus-
ing submission to the judgment of the
holy see. He went often to confes-
sion and communion imtil he was re-
fused permission to receive the sacra-
ments. He does not tell the worid
that he purposes to leave us, though he
does say that he ought never to have
abandoned the English Church, whose
memories still expand his heart. He
charges the pope with being an usur-
per by many means of fraud, and he
even seems to deny any patriarchal
jurisdiction in England. Being a
judge of the operations of the Holy
Spirit, he finds that converts do not
become any more pious by their sub-
mission to Rome, and to his mind the
Protestant parsonage is " the perfect
ideal of practical Christianity." To
illustrate what a peculiar mind he
has, we will only add, as a piece of
curious information, that he draws
conclusions from what the Council
of Trent did not do. " Luther was
excommunicated, but the Confession
of Augsburg has not been yet anathe-
matized." '' Queen Elizabeth was de-
posed, but the council deliberately
abstained from affirming that the bi-
shops consecrated in her reign were
no bishops." ** Even the Thirty-nine
Articles escaped censure,^* " Anglican
orders, if they have not been recog-
nized in practice, have never been de-
clared invalid; still less have the
grounds of their invalidity been set
forth." Our readers who know any
thing of ecclesiastical history may
judge whether Mr. Ffoulkes is sane
or not What else did the Coimcil
of Trent do but condenm the pecu-
liar tenets of Augsburg, and the doc-
trines contained in the Thirty-nine
Articles ? Can any thing be plainer
than this? How have Anglican orders
been passed over in silence, or even
delicately handled ? Every child who
reads the Catholic catechism knows
that holy order is a sacrament that
cannot be reiterated without sacrilege.
Yet in every instance where an Angli-
can minister has been advanced to
any order of the clergy, ordination has
been given, as to a mere la3rman,
and that without any condition what-
ever. Such has been the invariable
practice of the church, and this upon
the highest authority, so that it has
passed into a universal rule. "An-
glican orders," he says, " have never
been declared invalid ; still less have
the grounds of their invalidity been
set forth." We will quote him a de-
cision of the Holy Office and a decree
of the pope, bearing date April 17th,
1704. As he has found so many
things which are substantially untrue,
why did he not find this decree before
he ventured to publish his letter?
We give as nearly a literal translation
as possible :
** In the general Conuegatioa of the Holy
Roman and Universal Inquisition, held in the
apostolical palace at St. Peter's, in the pre-
sence of our most holy lord, Clement XL,
by dirine provideiice pope, and the moil
640
The Letter of Mr. E. S. Ffoulktt.
eminent and reverend lords, the cardinab
of the holy Roman Church, the aforesaid
memorial having been read, our most holy
lord, the aforesaid pope, having heard the
sentiments of the same eminent personages,
decreed that the petitioner, John Clement
Gordon, be promoted from the commence^
ment to all, even the holy orders, and the
priesthood ; and that, as he has not been for-
tified by the sacrament of confirmation, he
be confirmed."
Dr. Gordon was the Anglican bi-
shop of Galloway. He went to Rome,
and was there received into the com-
munion of the church. The whole
question of his orders was carefully
examined, and the above is the con-
clusion of the supreme authority of
the Roman pontiff. "The grounds
of the invalidity of English orders
have never been set forth," says Mr.
Ffoulkes. Let us still further quote
the petition in the case of Dr. Gor-
don:
" It cannot be granted that they (the An-
glican bishops) have received the ministry
from Catholics, since no evidence is produc-
ed of successive ordination. Without this,
there remains no vestige of consecration
with these heretics, besides a ministry de-
rived firom the people or a lay-prince.
Moreover, supposing even that some one of
them had received, by means of legitimate
succession, the episcopal ordination and con-
secration, (whidi, however, is by no means
proved,) sdll, their orders must now be pro-
nounced invalid through the defect of matter^
form, and due intention* ' '
We presume the argument in this
case will have little weight with our
objector or his friends ; but we trust
no one will say again that Rome has
never pronounced a judgment on the
question of Anglican orders. Still,
after the letter we are reviewing, as
well as many things we have seen
and heard in the ritualistic quarter,
we can never be taken by surprise
again. Should they tell us that the
pope is excommimicated by his own
^ decree, it will not ruffle our peace;
fbr in the Protestant religion each
man is an inCallible ponti£^ whose de«
cisions go beyond the domain of &idi,
and rule in the field of histoiy tad
science. "If facts are not to oar
liking in the past, let us rewrite them,
and make a history to suit ouisdvesi'*
is the language of their acts.
We are not disposed to battle with
the personalities of Mr. Ffoulkes.
Perhaps he has an improper staiidard
by which to determine the degreo
of sanctity ; and this is likely to be
the case if the " English paisona^
with its surroundings" is the nom
of perfection. Where men are as
mere men, we put one against anoth-
er, and set forth the hundreds of con-
verts in our own day with their a-
perience against Mr. £. S. Ffoulkes
and one or two others. Hundreds
can testify that they have seen more
of real piety and true devotion in the
Catholic Church than they had ever
dreamed possible before they knev
the only mother of saints. Words
are of little value, and assertions can
be bandied about from one month to
another. Deeds are the test— deeds
of self-denial, patience, and unselfish
charity.
As for the sincerity of those who
are seeking the truth, and are in fer-
vor at the first sight of the Catholic
faith, we have only to say that so long
as they arc obedient to the heavenly
voice which calls every honest heart
to the one home of holiness, it is wdl
with their souls. When the crisis
comes, and the hour when action must
decide the forward or backward march
of the intellect, moved and enlighten-
ed by grace, then is God chosen for
ever, or renounced. Then grace may
linger aroimd the heart which it k)v- j
ed, and only slowly withdraw, leav-
ing still the attractions of nature, and
the good gifb which are only fof
rime, and bear no fruit in eternity.
We would not dare to judge where
grace ends and nature begins, fo^
both orders are singularly blended i»
The History of tlu Irish Land Tenure.
641
this scene of probation. But one
thing we do know — God is true, though
every man be a liar. He cannot fail
us; his revelation cannot pass away
into a fable. " The pillar and ground
of the truth" standeth firm. And
notwithstanding Mr. Ffoulkes's con-
victionSy we are not afi'aid to trust our
good works to the judgment of man-
kind. Tares are mixed with the
wheat; the net of Peter incloses good
and bad fishes, and scandals must be
found even in the house of God; but
nevertheless, in quiet and unostenta^
tious beauty the true spouse of Christ is
ever bringing forth fi-uits which, though
tmappredated on earth, shall bloom
beyond the skies in the sunlight of
God's presence. Sacrifice is a law of
Catholic piety which takes its type
fi-om Calvary and its inspiration firom
the Sacred Heart We live in a dif-
ferent atmosphere fi-om our Protes-
tant brethren, and self-denial is second
nature to us; self-denial practised so
^Kmtaneously that the efibrt and the
trial are hidden in the graciousness
of the Christian life. No sect, and
no individuals, with some rare excep-
tions, have caught the spirit of our
religion, which makes heroic virtue
easy, and hides real sanctity in many
hearts that beat only for God. If
Mr. Ffoulkes did not find that perfect
rest for his intellect and his heart
which he expected in the Catholic
Church, tiie reason of this is, that he
never submitted himself unreservedly
to her supreme and infallible authori-
ty and guidance. Humility and obe-
dience are the touchstone of true Ca-
tholic virtue, and in both these quali-
ties his writings and conduct show
him to be singularly wanting. We
wish for him a better mind, and the
grace of a genuine conversion, and
we trust that he may yet repair the
grievous wrong he has done to reli-
gion by his imfilial and rebellious con-
duct toward our holy mother the Ca-
tholic Church.
THE HISTORY OF THE IRISH LAND TENURE.
Those who are not well acquainted
with the condition of things in Ireland
might easily suppose that the existence
of the odious Established Church was
the main cause of the dissatisfaction of
the Irish people, and that they would,
consequently, be satisfied with its dis-
establishment. This, however, is an
error. The main grievance of the
Irish people remains unredressed.
There is still in the relation of land-
lord and tenant in that country a
very prolific soiuce of fiiture diffi-
colty. So iax only as die payment
oi tithes subtracted from the scant
earnings of the peasantiy, the diurch
VOL. X. — ^41
establishment could be called an ii>
fiingement on the rights of property ;
but its existence was looked upon
rather as an encroachment upon at>
stract justice than as a sowce of
material oppression. The evils of
the land tenure, however, which hacf
their origin many centuries ago, andi
which time has somewhat modified',,
but not obliterated, are of a far more
serious and practical nature. The
landlord, by every test which can
be applied, has a legal right to his es-
tates; yet the situation weighs hea-
vily upon the tenant, ^otA prostrates
the country. Laws idndi should
642
The History of the Irish Land Tenure,
compel a proprietor to dispose of his
property would be regarded as tend-
ing to agrarianism, and as an infringe*
ment upon private rights; but no
country can be prosperous, or its peo-
ple happy, while the great body of
the population is dependent upon the
power and caprice of a few landed
monopolists. As the record of the
past in this connection is an interest-
ing one — a long story, dating still fur-
ther back than the reign of Henry
II., and the latter part of the twelfth
century — ^we will review it briefly for
the benefit of those who have never
studied carefuUy or have forgotten
the great wrong which for centuries
has oppressed the Irish race.
In ancient times, in addition to the
foiu* grand divisions of Leinster, Mun-
ster, Ulster, and Connaught, there
was another, the property of the pa-
ramount sovereign. As there does
not appear to have been any rule of
precedence, however, among the four
kings, except that of their ability to
repress their rivals by force of arms,
the territory must have been very fi^
<juenlly in debate. These several
kingdoms were subdivided into a
large number of principalities, each
inhabited by a distinct sept, and go-
nremed by its own chieftain, called a
•carfinny, or toparch. These petty
•chiefe were in their own dominions
independent; they created laws, ad-
miinistered justice, made war or peace,
;and so long as they did not encroach
lupon the privileges of (heir superior
^sovereign, were unmolested and un-
tquestioned. They were elective too;
and in this respect the primitive in-
stitutions of Iidand were founded
upon that execrable system which
has distracted mA destroyed every
kingdom in which k has been attempt-
ed. The choioe 4sf toparcbs was
limited, however, hj the laws of ta-
iiistry to noble families; and the ta-
nist was always.«teted tfpon the ac-
cession and during the liCetime of the
ruling toparch. Under such a sys-
tem intrigue and conflict between the
septs, and between individuals of the
same sept, must have been peq)etual ;
and it is easy to see that the addi-
tions were prepared which would
make eventual subjugation by for-
eign arms an easy task.
But we now come to a still moie
obnoxious feature of the institutions
of Ireland under the Milesian rule;
and it will be no relief to the mis^
ries entailed upon this unfortunate is-
land, that the same peculiarity, mo(fi-
fled in other countries, existed very
generally during the feudal ages. The
property in each district was regard-
ed as the common possession of the
entire sept, but the distribution of the
shares was intrusted to the toparch.
The people themselves had absoIut^
ly no property in the soil ; that right
belonged exclusively to the chief, and
tenants were removed whenever it
suited his convenience or caprice.
There were many causes that could
lead to change. The death of the
old toparch and the accession of a
new one, the addition of new mem-
bers to the sept, or the death of those
already in the occupancy of a piece
of soil, were some of tlie many caus-
es that made the land tenure very
precarious; and the custom of inheri-
tance by gavelkind, which dtfiertd
from the system of England and
Wales, is thought to have perpetuat-
ed the evil. Females were excluded,
and no distinction was made between
legitimate and illegitimate children.
The common people were divkJed
into fireemen and betages. The former
had the privilege of changing titeir
sept; but the latter were common pro-
perty with the soQ, and transferred
with it in every deed or sale. Under
a liberal government, and by the aid
of a good administration, the people
of Irdand might have been, in the
The History of the Irish Land Tenure,
643
course of seven hundred years, com-
pletely extricated from this situation ;
but, as we shall see in the sequel, it
has been the policy of the Norman
nobility in that country, if not of
the English government itself, to
maintain as far as possible the ori-
ginal condition of things. Such were
the institutions of Ireland at the be-
ginning of the ninth century, when
the Danish monarch Turgesius over-
ran the entire island, and subjugated
the inhabitants to his authority. His
dominion was of short duration, how-
ever; for at the battle of Clontarf,
fought on Good-Friday, a.d. 1014,
the celebrated Brien Boiroimhe gave
him a permsment leave of absence
from the five provinces, and a limited
monarchy in the seaports. But the
factions inherent in the Irish system
of government at that time placed
the national independence at the
mercy of a foreign aggressor, and the
ambition of the Norman element in
England soon marked the island as
a prize worthy an adventure at arms.
The immediate cause of the inva-
sion was the act of young Dermpd
McMurchaid, King of Leinster, who
ran oflf with the beautiful Devorghal,
wife of O'Rourke, and princess of
Breffiiy. Having, by reason of this
outrage, been driven firom his king-
dom, he invited Richard Strongbow,
Earl of Pembroke, and Robert Fiu-
stephen^ to his assistance. Thus the
dissensions among the Irish princes
opened the way for the adventure
of the Norman noblemen. A few
hundred Norman cavaliers, followed
by comparatively a handful of infan-
txy, were sufficient to secure a per-
manent footing, an event most sin-
gular when we take into considera-
tion the military record which those
people have made since that period.
But the Irish have always shown a
capacity to fight better in any other
cause than their own. True, the Nor-
man adventiurers firom England did
not succeed immediately in the sub-
jugation of the entire island. Their
dominion was limited to a small area ;
but they found and used those ele-
ments of discord among the native
rulers which made their situation im-
pregnable against those who still che-
rished the idea of fireedom and inde-
pendence. The Irish were worsted
in every considerable conflict; not so
much, perhaps, through the superiori-
ty of their adversaries as by reason of
their own disunion.
The new rulers endeavored only to
consolidate their power, and made no
effort for the reformation of existing
institutions. If they found a large pro-
portion of the inhabitants in a condi-
tion akin to serfdom, there was cer-
tainly no motive why they should
desire to change the situation. It
only gave them more, personal consi-
deration and power. Hence, we find
that Strongbow and his associates had
hardly established themselves in their
new dominions before they strove to
perpetuate the old customs of tenure
and descent. The distinction between
the new setders and the natives was
carefully preserved; and the benefit
of English laws permitted only to Nor-
mans, to the citizens of seaport towns,
— who were still, it is to be presumed,
in great part Danes — and to a few
who had received charters of deniza-
tion as a matter of personal favor.
Five septs only, say the historians,
were received within the English
pale, and the rest were all accounted
aliens or enemies, who, even down to
the reign of Elizabeth, had no rights
which an Englishman was bound to
respect
The Great Charter, wrested firom
King John, and confirmed by Henry
III., did not benefit Ireland. Eng-
lish laws and jurisprudence were ex-
tended over those portions of the is-
land known as the English pale, and
644
The History of the Irish Land Tenure.
during the reign of King John the
lands subject to the crown were divid-
ed into counties, sheriffs appointed,
and supreme courts of law established
in Dublin. But these improvements
were made rather as a convenience
for the English than for the protec-
tion of the native inhabitants. Dur-
ing the reign of Edward I., we read
that Lord De Clare, connected by
marriage with the Geraldines, then
the. most powerful Norman house in
Ireland, was granted extensive do-
mains in Thomond. No regard was
paid to the rights of native possessors
in this transfer, and though a war, in
which the new proprietor was defeat-
ed by O'Brien, an Irish chieftain, was
the result, no considerable advantages
seem to have been derived from the
conflict. At the dose of the century,
we are told that all hopes of inde-
pendence were resigned, and eight
thousand marks offered to the king
for the rights of British subjects. No
doubt the cupidity of the monarch
would have been gratified by so pro-
fitable a disposal of privileges, but
the favor was not granted by reason
of the opposition of the local aristo-
cracy. At the first constitutional par-
liament, summoned in 1295 by Sir
John Wogan, several judicious acts
are said to have been passed ; but we
are unable to see in what manner they
operated in favor of the native inha-
bitants. After the war caused by the
invasion of Ireland by Edward Bruce,
in the year 1315, the exaction of
*' coyne and livery ** by the impover-
ished barons first appears, and the
method of supporting an army by
quartering it on the people was insti-
tuted. During a period of active
hostilities, and upon the territor}' of
an enemy, such an expedient may be
pardonable; but in a country regulat-
ed by what was nominally a domestic
government it would be hard to per-
petrate an act of grosser tyranny.
To afford an idea of the situation
of the native inhabitants at this pe-
riod, we will instance the statute of
Kilkenny, passed in the year 1367,
by a parliament summoned by the
Duke of Clarence. This precious bit
of legal wisdom provides that mar-
riage, fosterage, or gossipred with the
Irish, or submission to the Irish law,
should be regarded as high treason,
and punished accordmgly. This fos-
terage or gossipred, of which the Eng-
lish legislators were so fearful, was the
practice, traditional among the Irish,
of allowing the children of the nobili-
ty to be nursed by the wives of the
peasantry; and the custom was
thought to encourage a sentiment of
reciprocal kindness between the low-
er and the higher orders of the popu-
lation. The statute also declared
that if any man of English descent
should adopt an Irish name, be guil-
ty of speaking the Irish language, or
follow any of the customs of the coun-
try, he should forfeit his estate, or
give security for better conduct It
made penal the act of presenting an
Irishman to any benefice, or his re-
ception into any monastery. It also
forbade the entertaiimaent of any na-
tive bard, minstrel, or story-teller; cr
the granting of permission for an Irish
horse to graze in the pasture qf a hyd
En^h subject. To such a degree
had risen the follies of the dominant
race in Ireland in the last half of the
fourteenth century.
During the reign of Henry VII.
we begin to witness that struggle be-
tween the Anglo-Irish nobility and
the crown which, in the end, with-
out improving the condition of the
masses, was the means of breaking
down many noble houses, and stili
further addhg to the distresses of the
country. In the parliament of 1494*
the act known as Poyning's law was
passed. Its enactment was secured
by Sir Edward Poyning, Iwd-dcputy
The History of the Irish Land Tenure.
64s
of the island, and its purpose was to
prevent the assembling of an Irish
parliament without the consent of the
king. It is easy to see in such an
act, however wise it might have been
considered, the dawn of fresh conflicts
of authority.
During the life of Queen Mary, we
have an instance of what fearful in-
famy could be perpetrated imder the
system of the Irish land tenure. The
septs of O'More and O'CanoU, two
chiefe who, under a previous reign,
had been arrested, thrown into prison,
and left there to perish, claimed .that
their lands could not be justly forfeited
through the offence of their toparchs;
but that the ground was the property
of the clans, and inalienable save
through their own acts. An army
was the only response to this reason-
able claim, and the inhabitants were
forcibly ejected. But not this only.
The butcheries that signalized the act
were such as to make the event in-
famous in history; and, in the lan-
guage of a native historian, '< the fires
of the burning huts were slaked in the
blood of the inhabitants." OTally
and Leixy the territory occupied by
the unfortunate septs, were converted
into King's and Queen's counties, and
the principal towns were called Phi-
lipstown and Maryborough, in com-
memoration of the queen and her
husband. This transaction was one
of the first fruits of the coming supre-
macy of the crown over the local
aristocracy.
We now come to the reign of Eliza-
beth, a woman celebrated alike for
her capacity and her vices ; and such
was her force of character, and the
consummate ability of her rule, that she
has impressed her policy upon the
history of Ireland more deeply than
any other sovereign. We have not
the space to attempt to follow the in-
cidents of this turbulent period ; but
must be satisfied with a short state-
ment of the policy of Elizabeth as it
seems to have been developed in her
measures. When the queen was cau-
tioned against the turbulent and de-
signing character of O'Neill, an Irish
chief, and Earl of Tyrone, she is
said to have replied that she did not
care for his rebellion, as it would give
her possession of more lands with
which to reward her faithful servants.
Historians have endeavored to explain
away the meaning of this expression,
by attributing it to a desire to silence
the enemies of the Irish nobleman ;
but since, from the beginning to the
end of her reign, the history of Ireland
proves that she acted as though de-
termined to better the instruction,
we have to conclude that in a spirit
of levity she had inadvertendy un-
masked her deliberate policy. From
first to last it is only a story of rebel-
lions provoked for the purpose of de-
stroying some Irish nobleman, that
an English sycophant might be put
in possession of his estates.
The reign of James I., which be-
gan in 1603, is regarded by English
historians as favorable to Ireland;
but how, it is difficult to understand.
In some respects the regulations of
this king were perhaps advantageous.
The introduction of English law over
the entire island, the abolition of ta-
nistry and gavelkind, and the more
general institution of courts of justice,
had public sentiment been healthy,
might have eventuated in great advan-
tages ; but the spirit of religious per-
secution, which was now becoming
implacable, served to keep alive the
animosity of the races, and all im-
provement was more theoretic than
real. Previous to this time, patents
for English tenure had been granted
only to great lords and chieftains;
while their vassals, still retaining their
own laws and customs, owed no di-
rect allegiance to the crown. Under
the new regulation, estates were to
646
The History cf the Irish Land Tttture*
descend by the course of common
law, and the people were placed with-
in its operation; but they had really
no more interest in the soil than for-
merly. The king was merely substi-
tuted for the toparchs, and while the
chiefs were humiliated, their subjects
were not made more independent.
The land held in demesne by the
chiefbdn was all that was left under
his absolute control, but his tenants
were subject to an annual rent.
Another project, which originated
in the fertile brain of Queen Eliza-
beth, we believe, but which was not
successfully executed until the reign
of James I., deserves especial notice.
This was a plan for driving out the
native settlers, that their places might
be filled by adventurers from England.
Six counties out of the thirty-two into
which Ireland was then divided were
appropriated for carrying out the ex-
periment, and cut up into portions of
one thotisand, fifteen hundred, and
two thousand acres each. The lar-
gest of these estates were for under-
takers and servitors of the crown,
consisting of great officers of state,
and rich adventurers fi^m England ;
those of the second-class were for ser-
vants of the crown in Ireland, and
might be peopled by either English
or Irish tenants; and those of the
third were for natives of the province,
when it suited the undertakers to
permit them to cultivate the soil. This
scheme of cruelty was followed by
another, of a still more atrocious cha-
racter — the search after defective ti-
tles. In the long period of civil
commotions which preceded the reign
of James I., it is to be presumed that
many were occup)ring lands for which
they could not show a very clear claim.
If the crown could get possession of
property through the simple loss of
the proof on the part of the occupant
that he was entided to his inheri-
tance, a source of great public profit
would be opened out Ei^ty-two
thousand five hundred acres were by
this means apportioned to English
setders, and the national exchequer
was correspondingly enriched. Yet in
spite of such transactions as these,
the reign of King James has been
pronounced a happy one for Ireland !
At the time of the accession of
Charles I., Ireland was treated sim-
ply as a conquered province, not as
an integral portion of the British em-
pire, and its inhabitants still looked
upon as aliens and enemies. They
had no rights which the officers sent
by royal authority, and controlled by
cupidity, were obliged to respect, and
the very desire for the possession of
a piece of land inherited by a pro-
prietor of native descent was sufficient
reason for an act of attainder for trea-
son or a search after defective tides.
To such an extent was this latter species
of iniquity carried that, during the first
years of the reign of Chaiies I., and
under the administration of Stafiford as
lord-deputy, more than a quarter of
a million of acres were wrested from
the real proprietors, and transfeued
to the hands of English adventureis.
Even jurors who sat upon the causes
in dispute were imprisoned, and ex-
cessive fines imposed, if they refused
compliance wiUi the wishes of the
king's lieutenant
Under these circumstances, it was
only natural that the Irish should
look about for some means of redress.
Property was becoming daily less se-
cure ; for the successful practice of
this species of plunder was a con-
tinual encouragement to fresh out-
rage ; and there was no estimate of
the degree to which the injury might
be carried. But the remedies pro-
posed in the beginning were peaceful
The lords and gentry met together
and drew up a bill of rights, and oir
fered to pay a ]arge sum of money
for the royal assent This measure
Tki History of the Irish Land Tenure.
647
known as the Charter of Graces, by
one of its provisions proposed to
limit the title of the king in lands to
sixty years. Changes also were ask-
ed in the penal code, and aclause was
inserted forbidding the lord-deputy,
during his term of office, from com-
ing in possession of land either by
purchase or confiscation. The de-
mands were in every respect tempe-
rate, and nothing more was asked
than a reasonable security for private
]^operty, and such privileges as the
dignity and self-respect of the subject
would require. The king, when the
charter was first presented for his
signature, was inclined to look upon
its provisions with fiivor ; but through
the influence, it is said, of Lord Straf-
ford, he was induced to withhold his
ai^rovaL . But while this subject was
agitating with alternate hopes and
lears the minds of the Irish people,
a new measure, or rather an extension
of the old system, was planned by
the lord-deputy. The success of the
Bnglish colonization scheme, under-
taken in Ulster during the reign of
James I., had opened the way for
still another attempt at dispossessing
the native population of their lands ;
and Connaught was selected as the
next field for operations. This se-
cond experiment would probably have
proved as successful as the first, if the
inevitable fiiiit of so much tyranny
had not come to its maturity.
The uprising of the Irish popula-
tion in 1 64 1 occurred under more
Csivorable auspices than any previous
one, and had they made a united
effort for absolute independence, Eng-
land could not have resisted the
forces which were brought into the
field against her. But the confede-
rates, as the Irish party was called,
were composed of dements too much
at variance among themselves to meet
with permanent success. The Anglo-
Irish inhabitants, or those of English
descent, who were looking simply to
the security of their property, and
exemption fix>m the tyranny of local
officers, had no bond of union with the
native Irish, who sought the complete
recovery of their lost liberties and
the rehabilitation of their ancient in-
stiturions. Here was a cause for fac-
tion which their enemies readily un-
derstood, and by which they as rea-
dily profited. The Anglo-Irish were
afi:aid of the resumption of power by
the descendants of the native chief-
tains, and it was natural that they
should seek to avoid such a result
Nevertheless, led by officers whose
exile firom their coimtry in former
years had been the means of raising
them to eminence in the armies of
France, Spam, and Germany, the
confederates were very successfiil,
and obtained possession of almost
the entire island. The peasantry
came down firom the mountains,
whither they had been driven years
before to give place to the Eng-
lish colonists, and, without blood-
shed, again took peaceable posses-
sion of their lost domains. Owen
O'Niel, an officer who had done emi-
nent service on the continent, was the
ruling spirit of the movement, and it
was through his management and ad-
dress that the confederacy was ena-
bled to maintain such formidable pro-
portions. But the various incidents
of that struggle, prolonged through
several years, and ending finally dur-
ing the dictatorship of Cromwell, be-
long rather to history than to such
an article as this, and we must re-
strict our attention to the results that
followed upon the triumph of the
English arms.
The troops that Cromwell had
brought into Ireland were the most
puritanical of his entire army. He
had probably at this period begun
to indulge in regal aspirations; and
hence he desired the removal firom
648
Th€ History of the Irish Land Tenure.
l^g^Umd of the more ultra repub-
lican and radical of his followers.
It is likewise probable that he select^
ed this class of men because their
religious fanaticism would make them
m(»e zealous in the cause. In the
final settlement of the cotmtry, as
Ulster and Connaught were already
the property of the colonists, and not
subject to confiscation, the two re-
maining provinces of Munster and
Leinster had to satisfy the claims of
the army, and were accordingly por-
tioned out to the followers of Crom-
well The property of the lords and
gentry who had joined the confedera-
tion was ruthlessly confiscated. The
peasantry who had survived the long
war were reduced to a state akin to
slavery, and many indeed, by order
of Cromwell, were sold in the Barba-
does, and in other dependencies of
GreaU Britain^ About 200,000 peo-
ple in all, it is estimated, left the is-
land, of whom 40,000 entered the
various armies of tontinental Europe.
These comprised all classes; as to
the peasantry who remained, some es-
timate may be formed of their privi-
leges when we state that they were
forbidden to leave their parishes, or
to assemble together for public wor-
ship, or for any other purpose what-
ever. The Cromwellian soldiers of
every grade, fix>m privates to com-
manding officers, had taken posses-
sion of the estates; and these were
the new lords to whom allegiance
was due, and by whom it was most
fldgidly exacted.
But the commonwealth was al-
ready crumbling to pieces. The death
of Cromwell, and the dissatisfaction
caused by a government which was
aristocratic and despotic without be-
ing regal, soon paved the way for the
accession of Charies II., and revived
the hopes of those who had been un-
justly deprived of their estates at the
dose of the war. From first to last
the Anglo-Irish porticMi of die
federates claimed that they had been
omtending for Charles I., and cmly
against his enemies and the par-
liament Of the fact diat they tod
desired simply protection, and had
been more loyal than disloyal to tiie
throne, there was abundant evidence;
and it was to be presumed that the
new king would look with more fa-
vor upon their claims than upon those
of their opponents. To the end of
recovering their property, therefoce,
they began to petition the king in
great numbers. That there might
be a semblance of justice, a conit of
claims was estaUished for the o$ten>
sible purpose of adjudicarion. But
it was soon evident that there was
no intention of dispossessing the new
proprietors; and when it was found
that, without the most gross and pal-
pable violations of right, it would be im-
possible frequendy not to dedde in £i-
vor of the former occupants of the con-
fiscated estates, the court was adjourn*
ed, and was never allowed to hold an-
other session. Many thousands, by
this act, were irretrievably ruined. The
Duke of Ormond, prominent through-
out the rebdlion, played an important
part, to the disadvantage of his coun-
trymen, in these transactions, and
added enormously to his own estates.
At the beginning of the rebellion his
property had been about nine tenths
encumbered; but by securing an act
transferring all encumbrances to the
king, and then obtaining a release from
his obligations in that quarter, he
fireed himself from all his difficulties.
When James II. ascended the Eng-
lish throne, about two thirds of the
private property of Ireland a[^)eais
to have been in dispute. The dis-
possessed proprietors were still cla-
moring for their rights, and the
Cromwellian settlers and the colo-
nists were as sturdily adhering to thdr
claims, and ready at any time to de-
The History of the Irish Land Tenure.
649
fead their new possessions by either
legitimate or illegitimate means. The
reign of James from the beginning
was weak. The trifling rebellions
in Scotland and Eng^d which dis-
turbed the first years of his autho-
rity were easily quelled, it is true ; but
beseems to have been intoxicated by
his success, and led to the support of
measures which were not advised by
either prudence or good judgment.
The spirit of religious intolerance
was at this time most active and im-
placable. It had been many years
since the separation of the English
Church from the Catholic authority,
and the time might have been thought
proptious for something like a recog-
nition of equality between religious
bodies; but James endeavored to
piomote the interest of Catholicity
with a zeal that was not to be tole-
rated by the Protestant bigotry of
the day, and many of his acts gave
great offence. Of this character
was the appointment of the Earl
of Tyrconnel, a Roman Catholic,
first to the command of the Irish
army, and afterward to the gov-
ernment of Ireland itself. The Pro-
testant inhabitants of that country,
who knew by what a doubtful claim
they held their estates, could not fail
of taking the alarm and looking for-
ward to the day when there would be
an attempt made to dispossess them
of the disputed property. The event
proved, indeed, that their fears were
not groundless. The act of setde-
ment, the measure upon which the
Protestant proprietors depended for
the possession of their lands, became
immediately the subject in debate;
and it was soon evident that its re-
peal was Intended. To comprehend
fully the magnitude of such an under-
taking, it will be necessary to glance
at the situation of the island at this
period, and see to what an extent
the inhabitants of the country had
been plundered of their property.
The whde number of acres of land in
Ireland was estimated at above 10,-
400,000, and of this amount 3,000,000
acres were unproductive. This would
leave about 7,000,000 acres of arable
and pasture land, and 5,000,000 of
these, during the reign of Charles L,
were still in the hands of Catholic
proprietors. Then followed the re-
volution with the irruption of Crom-
well's followers. The situation be-
came greatly changed. At the time of
the passage of the act of settlement,
only about 800,000 acres remained
in tiie hands of Catholic proprietors.
Qf the remainder, 800,000 acres were
under the control of the government,
but leased to Protestants, and 3,300,-
000 had gone to reward the prowess
of the Protector's soldiers. This pro-
perty had now been in the hands of its
present occupants, or absentee land-
lords, for nearly forty years. To re-
peal the act which setded all this
broad inheritance upon the adven-
turers was undoubtedly the intention
of James ; and although this was not
the only charge which the British aris-
tocracy and people made against their
unpopular sovereign, it was a pow-
erful influence in the train of events
that seated the Prince of Orange on
the English throne.
Exiled from London, the unfortu-
nate James fled to Dublin. The Irish
parliament of 1689, which was sum-
moned by his authority, besides re-
pudiating the jurisdiction of the Eng-
lish courts of law and of the Eng-
lish parliament, and proclaiming the
independence of the Irish legisla-
ture, repealed the act of settlement ;
but, as the event proved, these acts
were the mere mockery of regal and
legislative enactments, and were not
productive of even a temporary ad-
vantage to his adherents. The Prince
of Orange, now recognized as King
William df England, came in per-
6so
The History of the Irish Land Tenure.
son to Irdand, and the two kings
confronted each othei^ at the battle
of the Boyne. History has told the
story of the discomfiture and inglori-
ous flight of James, and of the pro-
longed and desperate struggle which
the Irish afterward maintained against
their adversaries ; until finally the trea-
ty of Limerick confirmed and strength-
ened the English in their possessions.
Some concessions were made to the
Irish, it is true, but they were of a
character that affected religion more
than the tenure of property ; and at
the final settlement, we are told, only
233»io6 acres of land remained in
the hands of Catholic proprietors.
This was the last great event that
influenced to a considerable degree
the tenure of property in Ireland.
After a struggle of about five hundred
years, we find the island completely
at the feet of the conquerors, and the
descendants of the native inhabitants
with no inheritance, or next to none,
upon their own territory. We might
have heightened the picture by re-
counting the assassinations and butch-
eries of the various wars, the outrages
of military government, and the re-
fined cruelties of religious persecu-
tion ; but these things did not enter
into the purpose of this article, and
we have confined ourselves to simple
statements of facts in their relation
to the tenure of property. We have
endeavored to trace the means by
whi<^ the great bulk of the real es-
tate on the island has been transferred
fix)m those whose descent entitled
them to a proprietary interest in the
soil to a class of foreign and fipequent-
ly absentee landlords, who man^^^
no interest in the country or the peo-
ple save by the annual collection of
their tenant dues. It cannot have
failed to impress the reader that the
purpose of the English govenuneot,
firom the beginning, has been to cmsh
out and destroy as far as practicable
the native inhabitants, and to supply
their place with a foreign populadoiv
To this end only could have been
designed the various colonization
schemes that distinguished the reigns
of James I. and Charles II.; the dif-
ferent edicts of expulsion, and the
readiness with which the Eng^iish gov-
ernment has always advanced the
wishes of those who contemf^ated a
voluntary expatriation from their na-
tive country. But in despite of all
this, the proportional native popula-
tion of the i^and has steadily increas-
ed, while in both Great Britain and
America the Irish people have be-
come a formidable power. Their
complaints and demands for redress
of grievances can no longer be passed
by in silent contempt The land
question must be settied upon some
basis that will not merely place the
Irish peasantry upon the footing of
an independent tenantry, but will en-
able eve^ laborer to look forward to
the eventual possession of a portion
of the soil, that thus a fitting stimu-
lus and reward may be offered to thrift
and industry.
At tlie Church Door.
651
AT THE CHURCH DOOR.
A LOVELY afternoon in September
was drawing to its close; the sha-
dows were long upon the pavement,
and a gende breeze brought the fra-
grance of heliotrope and late roses
over the wall from a garden adjoin-
ing a handsome house in the old and
well-known town of N . The
hall-door opened and shut behind a
3roung woman who walked rather
wearily down the steps and along the
street. It was evident that she was
not thinking of the sun, nor the breeze,
nor the sweet breath of the flowers ;
she looked neither to the right nor to
the left, and yet her steps seemed
listless and without an aim.
Her dress was plain, plain almost
to poverty, and withoiit the slightest
attempt at ornament, yet it would
have been impossible to pass her
without notice. She was tall and
graceful, and her features were very
handsome; but that was not what
would have attracted your attention ;
there was a something which told she
was a lady — ^not perhaps in the truest
meaning of the word, as it may be
applied to a servant-girl or an apple-
woman whose instincts are refined
and Christian ; but you felt that she
was well-bom and wdl-bred, and
that her tastes were sudi as would
not well accord with her coarse dress
and shabby bonnet True, if you
had been a close observer, you might
have seen that her boots were very
pretty, her gloves of the best kid, very
fresh and unworn at the finger-tips,
and it might have surprised you to
see that on her ungloved hand spar-
kled a splendid ruby. But enough
for exterior description; the face,
though so fair, was clouded and pre-
occupied, and as she walked she
drew a letter fix>m her pocket and
glanced at its contents.
"He appoints seven o'clock to
meet me," she said to herself^ "on
the stone seat outside the Catholic
church. A strange place to choose !
I wish it had been somewhere else !
Yet why should I care? What is
that church to me more than another ?
And soon I shall give my promise that
it shall be less than every other. It
is a kind offer, a generous offer; but
I will not exchange you" — ^here she
gave a contemptuous twitch to her
dress — ^" for a better till my wedding
day. He and every one ^all see
that I consider myself his equal, even
in these shabby clothes. O dear
me! how tired I am! How that
wretched child insisted on playing
discords with the pedal I I will not
go home, it is so far; but rest some-
where, and think how I can accept
him most graciously. I might as
well sit on the stone seat here outside
the church; the shade of that tree
looks inviting."
Agnes — for that was the name of
the girl whose reverie we have put
into words for the benefit of our read-
ers — ^had come to the pretty church
where Mr. Redfern had appointed to
meet her. She sat down on the
bench outside, and we will take this
opportunity to tell who she was and
why she waited there.
Agnes Deblois was the only child
of Catholic parents ; they were weal-
thy, and as she was their idol, she was
surrounded with fiiends, comforts, and
pleasures ; with every thing, in short,
that makes life bright and beautiful
She had been carefully instructed and
trained in her religion by her excellent
and fond mother; and it was a great
652
At the Church Door.
misfortune to her when this pious lady
died, leaving her daughter, at the age
of seventeen, to the care of a father
who was a negligent and unpractical
Catholic. Agnes was devoted to her
father, and, influenced by his example
and by the ridicule of her worldly
friends, she allowed herself gradually
to abandon her habits of piety and the
duties of her religion. After three
years, during which Agnes had been
engrossed by the engagements and
excitements of life " in society," her
&ther also died ; when it was discov-
ered not only that he had lived be-
yond his means, but that he was even
largely in debt. By selling house,
silver, and estate, Agnes was enabled
to satisfy all the creditors, and, find-
ing herself almost without a dollar,
she looked around for her friends,
whose protestations of devotion she
recalled, and to whose sympathy she
naturally turned. But she was shock-
ed at the change she found even in
those of whose fidelity she had felt sure.
She was offered assistance, it was
true, and even a home, yet with a
coldness and constraint which show-
ed she was considered in the light of
a burden. From being almost crush-
ed by the grief of her bereavement,
her spirit rose as the bitterness of her
situation became apparent, and she
very soon resolved to be indebted to
no one either for home or for bread.
Her education had been thorough
and superior; for music she had a
rare talent, and she found it easy to
obtain as many pupils as her strength
would allow her to attend to. She
threw herself into "her new duties with
an ardor which arose from wounded
pride, but which was destined to grow
cool as the irksomeness of the daily
routine and unloveliness of the con-
tinual presence of poverty wore upon
her. It was hateful to her to be
poor; to wear clothes which, how-
ever neat and even pretty she might
make them, must still be plain tnd
cheap. So she gave up aU attempt
at ornament, and took a bitter plea-
sure in wearing what was coarsest and
most unattractive for her dress, though
allowing herself^ as she was able, what
was best in such small articles as
gloves, and still wearing the handsome
jewels she had preserved from her for-
mer life. For this she was greatlf
blamed, and even reproved by those
who called themselves her friends, and
who were scandalized at the bad taste
of weanng dresses which a beggar
might despise with ornaments whidi,
it must be confessed, were handsomer
than their own ; but Agnes paid 90
attention, and went on her own diffi-
cult and joyless path.
Formerly she had neglected her
religion from carelessness and hmnan
respect; now she kept away from
church because she was always lired
and always sad, and because she do
longer cared for the faith of her mo-
ther and of her own happy childhood
But now a wonderful thing had hap-
pened to her. She had come to this
beautiful and fashionable place in the
summer because her pupils were there,
and because, as she took pleasure in
saying, she wanted their money, and
at the house of the richest and proud-
est of them all she had seen Mr. Red-
fern, a man of immense wealth, who
had noticed her, found opportunities of
paying her attentions, and now had
asked her to marry him. She had hb
letter in her pocket, and she took it
out once more as she sat outside the
church, and read a passage from it:
"The only thing I ask of you is this: Uut
jrou will gire up^ now and for ever, aU ifltc*
est in the Romish Church."
" A needless request," she said, and
laughed as she said it, while her heart
gave a leap as she thought of herself
at the head of Mr. Rcdfem's hand-
some house, sitting in state behind his
At the Church Door.
653
high-stepping grays, or receiving the
keys from the hands of the obsequious
housekeeper.
A very old woman passed her and
entered the church, bowing herself
low as she crossed the sacred thresh-
old. Agnes watched her.
" I wonder if it is a pretty church
inside ? I think I have heard that it
is pretty."
Feeling impatient at the slowly
passing time, she rose and walked
through the door, and up the middle
aisle. There were no doors to the
pews, and seeing one that was cush-
ioned, she entered it, sat down, and
leaning back, looked carelessly round
her.
It was indeed a pretty church ; the
softened sunbeams streamed through
die stained glass of the Gothic win-
dows, and fell in purple and gold
lights on the stone floor, flickering as
the old elms outside moved gently to
and fro in the west wind, ^e saw
the old woman she had before notic-
ed, kneeling before a picture, then
leaving it with many bows and cour-
te^es, and going to another. What
was she about ? Oh I she was say-
ing the stations. Agnes remembered
th&«tations — ^those fourteen grievous
steps in the Passion of our Lord from
his trial in Pilate's house to his burial
in the sepulchre, at the close of his
three hours' agony on the cross.
"Poor old thing! how her back
must ache. Why does she do it?
Why, she is crying, wiping her eyes
with her apron, and Ufting her hands
to heaven ! Is that for her own sor-
rows, or those of her Saviour ?"
Agnes was interested; she sat up
and looked about her.
" There are two little children com-
ing up the aisle. Do see them bob
up and down and cross themselves !
Oh I now they are saying their pray-
ers.
Why should Agnes see them in-
distinctly? Why impatiently brush
something from her eyes ? Ah I the
picture of her childish days rose be-
fore her, and she was for a moment
once more a little child
What nonsense! She had other
things to think of now. She would
have a purple satin dress just the co-
lor of that pretty light on the floor.
It was fading away ; it must be near
sunset. At that moment came from
a choir of sweet young voices :
" Kyrie eleison ! Christe eleison !"
She turned and saw the children
practising for their Sunday-school
Mass, led by an excellent tenor ; and
leaning her head on her hand, she lis-
tened; for so she thought the angelic
choirs must sound.
" Kyrie eleison I Christe eleison I"
She knew what those words meant
Had she not ofren sung them herself
in days long past ? Those dear old
days!
Disturbed by a slight noise, Agnes
glanced aroimd ; she saw an old and
venerable-looking man with gray hair,
whose long black dress fell to his feet,
come up the side aisle and enter a
confessional, round which silendy ga-
thered a few women, kneeling till
their turns should come. A vague
fear took possession of her heart, and
she quickly rose to leave the church ;
but something stopped her, and ^e
stood as if riveted to the earth.
What was it ? Only a light, a fee-
ble flame, which shone in a vase
hanging before the high altar. She
had not noticed it before, the sun had
been so bright; but it was there all
the time, and would be there when
she had turned her back upon it.
Whose presence did the light reveal ?
Who was it that waited day and night
upon that ,holy altar ? Alone, un-
known, forgotten — ^yes, and betrayed.
She uttered no sound; but her
heart gave a great cry as she fell upon
her knees.
654
At thg Church Door.
"Kyrie eleison! Christe deison!"
Those innocent voices still prolonged
the hymn, though what was their
need of mercy compared with hers ?
But the thought came to her that per-
haps those invocations of God's mer-
cy by the litde lambs of his fold
would ascend in his sight not for
them, but for her, for the strayed
sheep ; and thinkmg thus, she felt her-
self comforted. Kneeling motionless
with her head bowed on her hands,
she did not pray, nor weep, but only
saw.
She saw herself a little child robed
in white, one of a band of many litde
ones, with her shining veil, a true
marriage garment, receiving at the
altar for the first time her God and
Saviour.
She saw herself again, still a child,
but older, kneeling again to receive
the bishop's hand on her forehead,
and hearing the sacred words, Signo
te s^no cruets, Confirmo U chrismaU
sahitis,*
She saw her mother lying pale and
faint, but with eyes full of light and
peace, and heard those dying words,
"My only child, remember that he
who is ashamed of the Son of Man
here, of him will He be ashamed be-
fore His Father in heaven. Remem-
ber that, and remember your best
Friend." Who was that Friend ?
She saw herself not once, but many,
many times, blushing at the name of
her faith, hearing it demised and turn-
ed into ridicule ; at last denying it and
becoming a scofifer herselfl Whom
had she denied and desfused ?
She thou^t of the friends who had
deserted her, and the answer came,
"Because I have deserted my best
Friend."
She remembered her weary labors
and thankless efforts, and a voice re-
plied, " But my yoke is sweet, and
my burden light"
She said to herself, " But there is
one who has offered me enough to
pay for all I have lost;" and once
more the Holy Ghost qpoke to her
heart, " Come unto me, you that It-
bor and are burdened, and I wiH re-
fresh you."
That was meant for her ; that was
what she wanted for her weary, troa-
bfed soul. " For the life is more tian
the meat, and the body more than the
raiment."
The voices of the childrai were si-
lent as she once more rose and look-
ed about her. There was no one
kneeling at the altar now; shadows
had fallen deeply upon the pavement;
she was alone in the church. No!
for yonder at the window stood the
priest, holding his breviary up high to
catch the fadkig light What was he
waiting for ? Who was it that wak-
ed long, long hours in that holy trihj-
nal of penance for the straying, loit
sheep to come back to die fold ? Her
every question was answered, and,
urged by an impulse she could not re-
sist, she rose and hurried to the con-
fessional, thinking as she cast an
imploring glance toward the pnest,
"Will he see me? Will he come
and save me ?"
She knelt trembling, scarcely daring
to breathe, till she heard his step ap-
proaching, and in a moment the loeg
unheard, yet strangely familiar words,
" Dominus sii in corde hto et in iMs
fuiSy ut rite cof^itearis omnia pec^^
tua:'*
" Well, my child ?"
Well may we let the curtain drop,
not to penetrate that sacred confi-
dence. O poor soul I thou art sale.
There are h3rmns of joy and thanks-
giving ascendmg to the eternal Father;
*'* I ngn thee with the sign of the crow. I confirm *" May the Lord be in thy heart and on thy Gp^
eavriditke^riaaaflfa^vaKian.'* that thou msvat tmlr and httinblT ooaicM thy aafc
The ChapeL
655
for we know " there is joy before the
angels of Crod upon one sinner do-
ing penance."
Half an hour later, as the clock
struck seven, Mr. Redfem stood at
the church door, and asked an old
woman whom, with beads in hand,
he met hobbling out, if she had seen
a young lady waiting there.
" No," she answered readily; "but
there was a beautiful lady inside, on
her knees before the holy Mother of
God. Bless her sweet face 1"
With a terrible fear in his heart, he
entered the church, and stood beside
a form bowed before the altar dedicat-
ed to the Immaculate Mother. He
touched her arm, and Agnes raised
her face, sufiused with happy tears,
yet smiling. She looked at him be-
wildered — ^for she had forgotten all
about him — as he said, in a whisper,
"Have you lost your senses?
Come with me. I want to speak to
you."
She rose obediently and followed
him to the door. The tall tree-tops
waved in the breeze, and the young
moon stood in the sky. She was still
silent, motionless, and he said in a
hoarse voice, that trembled in spite of
his efforts to control it.
" Are you coming with me ?"
" No," she answered, " I must go
back ; I cannot leave It yet."
" What do you mean ? I came
for an answer to my letter. Have
you read it ?"
She made a strong effort, and re-
plied, " Yes, I read it ; but I have
found peace and my faith again, and
I forgot that you were coming. O
Mr. Redfem ! for years I have been
ashamed of the Son of God; but I
did not remember, till to-day, that he
would be ashamed of me before his
Father. How could I bear that?
But now he has forgiven me, and
made me happy, oh! so happy. I
must go back to him." And she look-
ed at the door.
Mr. Redfem stood speechless for a
moment " I could not have a pi^ist
wife," he said slowly. **So this is
my answer, is it ?"
But Agnes had already tumed
away, and in a moment more was
kneeling jagain beneath that ^thful
light, forgetting all but her love and
gratitude; and as the lamps were
lighted in the choir, the children's
glad and rapturous voices chanted,
" Gloria in eoccelsis DeOy et in terra
pax hotninihus bona voluntatis.**
THE CHAPEL.
On the outskirts of the city, where the poor and outcast dwell,
Is a humble little chapel, in its tower a sweet-voiced bell;
And beside its simple altar, with a smile serene and mild,
Stands a rudely-sculptured image of the Virgin and her Child.
In the eariy, dewy mornings, when the grass-grown walks are bright.
When beyond the chimneys glimmer the far mountain-tops with light,
Here a crowd of poor and lowly to the dust their heads incline.
As the chalice of salvation is uplifted o'er the shrine.
656
The Immutability af the Species.
Yonder, in the great cathedral, oriel tints the bannecs stain,
On the purple and the mitre slanting down the pictured pane ;
And the statues high in niches, and the chanting of the choir,
All art's mighty inspirations to the tired heart say, "Aspire 1"
Here heaven's pure white light streams mward ; here through open win*
dows sweet
Blow the fresh airs on the wild flowers at the Virgin Mothers feet,
And sweet, silvery, girlish voices sweetly chant a simple strain.
Such as shepherds might have chanted on the old Chaldean pl^.
Often when my heart grows restless, burdened with earth's cares, and sore,
Come I to this humble chapel, kneel down on the wooden floor;
Those poor ragged outcasts round me, praying side by side with them,
Wondrously I seem drawn nearer to the crib of Bethlehem.
These pale faces, seamed and weary, seeking solace here, and peace.
Speak more eloquent a language than the olden seers of Greece ;
More than Plato taught when round him stood the Athenians ra^ aad
dumb;
More of wisdom than e'er echoed through the groves of Tuscolum.
The poor lives and poor endeavors of these toilers of the sod
Teach life's grand and noble lessons— patience, faith, and trust in God;
And the weight of earth falls from me, for I hear a soft voicie thrill.
And my heart lies down in quiet as it whispers, " Peace, be still I"
CONSTANTINA £. BrOOU.
THE IMMUTABILITY OF THE SPECIES*
III.
No aUeged factor of evolution is
so capable of arresting the attention
of a physiologist as correlation of
growth. To this law we have before
often incidentally alluded. But as
we conceive that it furnishes strong
confirmation of our views, it behooves
us to extend to it a somewhat more
lengthy treatment
* In the dtfiirition of a ipecies, propoanded in the
last article, there occurred two nistakea. ** Charac-
ter** should have been diaracters: and the semi-
odoB iminediatelyfiiUowuig shoold have been abaenL
The current impression is, that
every authenticated instance of varia-
tion is so much added to the proba-
bilities of the evolution of the spe-
cies; and that the refiitatioo of I>tf-
winism is rendered difficult just in
proportion to the number of proo£i
of variability. It is natural, dien,
that Darwin should accord promi-
nence to those fiuitors which play a
part in inducing modification. Con-
spicuous am<»ig these factors is cor-
Tke TmmutaHliiy cf 0ut ^ecks.
6ST
rdatfon, the nearest approximation to
a law of all the colligations of focts
involved in Darwinism.
Correlation is a bond, nexus, or
connection subsisting between difler-
ent growths. Owing to it, a modifi-
cation seldom arises in any portion
of the organfem without involving
a corresponding change in another
part It is often not a littie difficult
to determine which part first varies
and induces the modification of the
other. Frequently, characters simul-
taneously vary, and are apparently
affected by some distinct cause. Cor-
rection is an important subject for
Darwin ; for, owing to its operation,
varieties seldom differ from each other
by a single character alone. He de-
clares that "all the parts of the or-
ganism are, to a certain extent, con-
nected or correlated together," and
that " of all the laws governing varia-
bility, that of correlation is the most
important.'* Parts, however, differ
greatly with respect to the strength of
their connection. In some parts, the
tie is ever manifesting itself ; in others,
it is seldom traceable. Each character,
when devdoped, tends to stimulate the
development of others. But, owing
to adversity of conditions, or to being
systematically suppressed by man,
these correlated growths lose all abi-
lity to respond to this stimulus, and,
in consequence, fail to develop.
We intended to adduce quite a
number of facts firom Darwin, in or-
der to enable our readers cleariy to
understand the precise nature of cor-
rdation. But want of space forces
us to change our mind. We do this
with less reluctance, when we conader
that those for whom this artide is
more espedally written have already
feuniliaiized themselves with tiiose
&cts.
All the phenomena of conelation
show increase of growth correspond-
ing to increase, and decrease corre*
VOL. X. — 42
sponding to decrease. Now, the an-
tithesis to correlation is compensation
or balancement of growth. This al-
leged law, as applied to species imder
nature, was propounded by Goethe
and Geoffioy. St Hilaire. It implies
that the development of any one part
is attended with the reduction or star-
vation of some other part. Not a
litde diversity of opinion exists re^
specting tiie validity of this law. Dar^
win inclines to believe tiiat compen-
sation occasionaUy occuis, but con-
ceives that its importance has been
overestimated.
We, however, are of opinion that
there is really no such law. That
correlation obtains, there is not ^e
slightest doubt The instances of
correlation are innumerable; and
every one of them isadii^roof of the
doctrine of compensation of growtii.
For the law of correlation is totally
incompatiUe with the law of economy
of growth. The latter, according to
the hypothesis, makes decrease corre-
spond to increase, and increase to
decrease. The former entails the re-
verse. Both laws, then, cannot stand.
One must, of necessity, fall. One
must negative the other. Unques-
tionably, the stronger law is correla-
tion. This law none can invalidate.
It follows tiience that there is no
such law as tiiat of compensation of
growth.
The reader is now naturally desb-
ous to know how we explain away
the alleged cases of economy of growth*.
The explanation is, that they are*
merdy manifestations of correlation..
The reduction of the given parts is.
consequent, not, as alleged, upon the-
building up of some other parts, but
upon the suppression or reduction of
correlated parts. Strong confirmatioiit
of this view is given by the fact that
seeming compensation of growth is.
more observable under natiure thaib
under domestication. Asdevelopmeat^
6s8
The
under nature is slow and occasional, we
would expect to find, upon the theory
of Goethe and St. Hilaire, very few
instances of apparent balancement of
growth. On the contrary, the in-
stances are most numerous; which
&ct is strictly in accordance with
our hypothesis. For where we find
the conditions entailing the reduction
of many parts, there must we also
find the reduction of other parts, in-
duced by correlatioiL These parts,
then, being in close proximity with
characters which neither the condi-
tions nor correlation have a£kcted,
their suppression is naturally referred
to compensation of growth. Under
domestication, however, development
is carried on rapidly and to a great
extent A very large number of cha-
racters is selected and developed.
Here, then, we should look for the
most striking manifestations of com-
pensation of growth. But it is a fact,
of which the significance is at once
apparent, that, instead of meeting
with the fiilfilment of our expecta-
tions, the converse thrusts itself most
obtrusively upon our attention. Na-
ture here is most prodigal; giving
rgrowth for growth, and meeting the
•development of one feature with the
corresponding development of an-
<other. The cases illustrating apparent
balancement of growth are here ex-
ceptional. They bear a very insigni-
ficant proportion to those under na-
ture. Hence we conclude that the
law of compensation of growth never
obtains, that its apparent manifesta-
tions are really due to the operation
M the law of correlation.
But there are two classes of cases
^f which correlation is not an inter-
pretation. The first is the instances
in which the tie of correlation is in a
Measure broken by man's selection of
ene part, and by his systematic sup-
pression of another. Darwin refios
$o these when he dedaies it '^scarcdy
of Uu Specks.
possible in most cases to distiagMh
between the supposed eflfects of such
compensation of growth, and the
effects of long-continued selection,
which may at the same time lead to
the augmentation of one part and the
diminution of another."
The following is an examj^ of the
second class of cases: The Polidi
fowl is distinguished by the posses-
sion of a crest of feathers on the head
In consequence of its devdopmcat,
there arises a protuberance on the
skull This is due to corrdatioiL
But in the cock, the skull is so per-
forated with small holes that at any
point a pin may be sunk to the brain.
This is adduced as an instance ol
compensation of growth. But a ra-
tional explanation may readily be as-
signed. Darwin has shown that the
crest of feathers is abnormal in the
male, that it normally belongs to the
female. The feature has been gained
by the male by the somewhat myste-
rious law of the transmission of second-
ary sexual charaaers. The economy
of growth may then be considered as
abnormal, and may reasonably be at-
tributed to the character not com-
pletely harmonizing with its feUows.
The facts of correlation meet with
an exhaustive treatment at the hands
of Darwin. Herbert Spencer, how-
ever, almost totally ignores them.
Although they are seemingly most
striking exemplifications of evolution,
he passes with only an occasional in-
cidental notice. What we conceive
to be Mr. Spencer's reason for thus
ignoring them, we will venture to
give further on. But, while Darwin
extends to the facts of correlation a
fiill recognition, he is by no means
over-desirous to ascertain their cause.
Correlation is another of those laws
which it pleases Darwin to consider
as ultimate.
Now, the suppo6iti€m that the cor-
vekted part has arisen by evc^utioo.
Thi ImmutMlity cf Uu SfeeUs.
659
involves the absurd conclusion that a
centre of growth normally preexists
without a rdative arrangement of
puts. And on the evolution hypo-
thesis, we are forced to believe that
an evolved part is correlated to an-
other part not yet in existence ; that
ali the parts of the organism anticipate,
as k were, the birth of the new fea-
ture, and so adjust themselves as to
become immediately susceptible to its
iafioence ; and that, while the previ-
ous coordination of parts is destroyed,
owing to the influence of the new-
bom feature ramifying throughout
the whole organization, the organism
is capable of immediately effecting a
re-coordination. To assume for any
organism such powers as these, is vir-
tual hylozoism. The only escape for
him who admits the evolution of va^-
riations, is to adopt the explanation
furnished by the Duke of Argyll — that
correlations are the direct manifesta-
tions of design.
This interpretation of the tdeologist
precludes all further argument We,
of course, concur in design. But we
do not deem ourselves therefore bound
to take for granted the validity of
every argument adduced in proof
thereoC We conceive that design
can be proved by incontrovertible
evidence, and that it can be shown to
manifest itself in conformity to laws
not merely empirical.
As for the ultra-evolutionist, if he
were to cease regarding correlation
as an ultimate fact, and if he were tc
employ himself in placing an inter-
pretation upon it, he would perceive
that the tie of correlation is strongly
suggestive of reversion, and that its
phenomena completely negative the
hjrpothesis of evolution.
On the hypothesis of reversion,
coirdation is perfectly exj^cable.
The supposition of reversion neces-
sarily involves the conclusion that all
the features of the species coexisted
in each individual, saving, of course,
the characters peculiar to the oppo-
site sex. The perfect organism, then,
is a balance of all the parts. The
parts are correlated to each other
with respect to centres, and these
centres are correlated to each other
with respect to the axis or the aggre-
gate. All the parts are mutually de-
pendent When a part is reduced, it
tends to involve the reduction of its
corresponding part The centre of
the parts is then weakened, and this
weakening entails the weakening of
the other centres, to which this cen-
ter is correlated. The loss or sup«
pression of even one part, then, mani-
festly disturbs the physiological ba-
lance — destroys the coordination of
the parts. Under nature, many parts
have been lost or reduced, and these
have entailed the loss or reduction of
others. When, under domestication,
characters develop, owing to selection
and favorable conditions, they concur
with the different centres of growth
to effect a return to the balance, and,
in consequence, the correlated parts
arise and assume their primordial re-
lations to their correlatives and to the
aggregate. When all the parts are
developed, by correlation and other-
wise, there result an equilibrium and
a consequent perfect coordination.
Correlation is the inseparable con-
comitant of coordination. Each im-
plies the other. And this is the rea-
son, we apprehend, why correlation
is barely noticed by Mr. Spencer. He
feared, we surmise, that a lengthy
philosophical treatment of the subject
would suggest the conception that
o(»related growth necessarily implied
previously imperfect coordination.
In order to facilitate the reader's
conception of our meaning, it may
be wdl to adduce an analogy. Ana-
logies between organic and inorganic
nature, the advocates of evolution
ever delight in. And as that of the
6po
The ImmuUttdlii^ iff the Sfmts.
crystal has found especial iavor in
their sight, we will venture to use it
As we conceive that there are laws
governing the organisnii which are sui
generis y we would request our readers
to regard the analogy only as an il*
lustration of our views, and not in the
Ught of an argxunent
In crystallization, the initial force
involved in the deposition of the first
molecule determines the form and
shape of the crystaL This molecule
is correlated, as it were, to the aggre-
gate to be formed. It controls the
whole formative process, with a view
to the shape eventually to be attain-
ed. Otherwise, how are we to ac-
count for the due tempering and
modification of the forces implied in
the deposition of each of the atoms
of the accretion? From the first,
there must of necessity be but one
normal process. But this correlation
between the first molecule and the
aggregate is not the correlation which
we wish particularly to illustrate. The
crystal having been fiiUy formed, a
couple of edges are truncated The
crystal is then placed in a solution
similar to that in which it was form-
ed Now, the absence of these edges
implies an abnormal distribution of
the forces. This is manifest ; for cor-
relation, directly with the correspond-
ing edges and indirectly with the ag-
gregate, leads to the reproduction of
the lost parts — a fact manifestly im-
plying previously imperfect coordi-
nation, and a present equilibrium of
all the parts, or due coordination.
The parts reproduced assume their
previous relations, and efiect a return
to the balance impaired by their trun-
cation. It is hence clear that corre-
lation implies coordination, and that
coordination imfdies corrdadoD. Cor-
relation, then^is a necessary corollary
firom the hypothesis of due coordina-
tion, or proportionate developffloit
It will be seen that, while it receivei
a dear, conaistrat, and nuioMl intfli»
pretation upon the theoiy of rever-
sion, it cames with it inq^licatioiis at
variance with the hypotheas of ev«>-
lutian.
As oiu; knowledge of crystaBogn^
phy is that of an amateur, these viem
respecting crystallization may be open
to modification; though we aw asoo^
ed that they are not so in cssmtiflH
The analogy of the crystal moat
happily illustrates our views of ooir^^
lation. With equal fdicity it iMiB^
trates the opposing views of the ev»»
lutionist and the reversionist, req)ectp
ing the main points in the controvci^
Suppose three crystals, similar in
shape, to have been formed in a so-
lution. The truncation of six of the
edges of each has, in some mansei
or other, been efiected With these
edges thus reduced, the crystals are
found by a person anxious to profe
the theory of evolution. He places
them in solutions similar to those k
which they were formed The <le-
velopment of the lost edges then en-
sues. But, instead of allowing them
all to develop, only a single edge ia
each crystal is sufiered to repiodice
itself; and this edge is in each oystal
a different one. This is done in or-
der to render the crystals as unlike ss
possible. Practically, however, tUi
would be not a little difficult to efiect
Our fiiend, imbued with the wsfda^
ing ^irit of the age, now seeks to
ascertain the cause of the growth of
the edges. In his observatioii of tke
phenomena of crystallizatioo, he has
noticed that the growth of an edge
is often due to rei»odiiction. Bat
this fact he now finds it convenient to
forget He at last afiects to believe
himself forced to conclude that the
growdi of the edges ii an ultimate
fact; and, at the same time, refe»
the phenomenon to evc^ntioii, an esr
plam^ioii which has the strong i^
rommesidation <^ being % mac i^
The ImmukibiKiy of M^ Species,
66i
statement of tlie phenomenon to be
explained. He next observes that,
in each crystal, a new angle develops
in correspondence with the angle first
developed. This gives him two cha-
racters peculiar to each crystal. Re-
cognizing a new factor in the induced
development of the last angle, he
propounds the law of correlation, and
affirms that it concurs with and sub-
serves evolution. The three crystals,
originally alike, are now widely dis-
tinct These varieties of crystds, ex-
claims our friend with the proud and
patronizing smile of conscious supe-
riority, present differences almost
equally great with those displayed by
species. Given, then, an indefinite
number of hours and the requisite
conditions, and all the species of cry-
stals can be shown to evolve one
fix>m another. You cannot assume
a limit to the development of parts,
otherwise than gratuitously. There
cannot possibly be any such thing as
the immutability of the species ; for
individuals vary, and the species is
composed of those individuals. This
argument of our friend cannot be
invalidated, if we concede that the
growth of the edges forming the pe-
culiarities of the varieties is new
growth, is evolution, ^nd that it is
not reproduction. But it is obvious
that it is reproduction, or reversion
back to the state which existed pre-
vious to the truncation of the edges.
It is equally obvious that correlation,
or the growth of the last edge in cor-
re^)ondence with that of the former,
is merely a return to more perfect
codrdination. It is also manifest to
every physicist, that the absence from
each crystal of the four edges which
constitute the peculiar characters of
the other varieties implies an imper-
fect codrdination of the remaining
parts. In other words, their absence
involves a departure from a state of
chemical' integrity. For there can
be a normal (fistribution of the forces
of a crystal only when all the angles
and parts are present, and propor-
tionately developed. The views of
the evolutionist are therefore wholly
erroneous. For die principles of phy-
^cs preclude the possibility of the
normal existence of more than one
variety. The existence of a plurality
of varieties of a species implies de»-
prc^rtionate developn^nt of some
of the parts. With crystals, however,
varieties may normsdly exist when
their differences are merely those of
size. But die only way in which the
relations of the parts can normally
be changed is by a totally new distri-
bution of the forces; which would
involve complete dissolution, a modi-
frcation of the force originally implied
in die depositi<Hi of the first mole-
cule, and reintegration. Now, just
as, in a crystal, the loss of any part
involves a departure from a state of
chemical integrity, so, in an organ-
ism, the reduction, suppression, or
disproportionate development of any
part involves a departture from a state
of physiological integrity. In the per-
fect type alone are the relations of
tiie d^erent parts perfect The only
way in whidi diese relations could be
normally changed, is by complete dis-
solution and new creation.
Not a little prejudice exists against
a perfect type. This prejudice is, hi
a measure, justifiable, owing to the
vague and gratuitous manner in
which the perfect type has been as-
sumed. But it caimot reasonably be
extended to the perfect type which
we here assume. This, of ours, is
an individual in which all the charac-
ters of the species are fully and pro-
portionately developed. It is no Pla-
tonic idea ; we assume it to iMx>ve iti;
and it is no more metaphysical than
the assumption for a crystal of a
specific shape, which, owing to per-
turbations of the forces of the 8olu»
662
The Immutability of ike Species.
tion, it has been incapable of attain-
ing.
In " A Theory of Population," pro-
pounded in The fVesfmnsfer /Review
for April, 1852, Mr. Herbert Spencer
defines Ufe as " the coordination of
actions." This definition is, equally
with his others, exceedingly felicitous
in every respect but one. It is not a
definition of life, as it purports to be,
but merely a definition of tfie condi-
tions of life. In a note on page 74
of his Principles of Biology, wherein
* he repels the imputation of being a
disciple of Comte, he declares that
the conditions constitute existence,
jtecognizing the fact that the onus
prohandi rests upon him, he presents
phenomena in an aspect which at
first gives not a little plausibility to
his view. But these phenomena de-
rive all their significance from the cir-
cumstance that Mr. Spencer's readers
concur in the conception of the evo-
lution of variations. When this con-
ception is demurred to, his arguments
lose all their force. The theory of
reversion negatives the validity of his
premises ; and the hypothesis of the
conditions constituting existence is
then sustained by no proof greater
than that of gratuitous assertion.
But, whatever may be the diversity
of opinion respecting the truth of Mr.
Spencer's definition of life, there is
none, at least between him and us,
on the subject that " the coordination
of actions " is a definition of the con-
ditions of life. On this point both
he and we are fully agreed. His be-
lief that the definition is more than
that which we concede, is a matter
immaterial in connection with the ar-
gument immediately to be adduced.
We wish now to observe which theo-
ry consists more with the definition,
the theory of evolution or that of re-
version.
The coordination of actions is the
attribute which characterizes all or-
ganisms. All the parts of'eadi or*
ganism must work in conceit. **!£
one of them does too much or too lit-
tle — that is, if the coordinatioa be kn-
perfect — the life is disturbed; and if
one of them ceases to act — that i% if
the coordination be destroyed — the life
is destroyed." These remarks of Mr.
Spencer more particulariy refer to tiK
vegetative system ; but, as he ^ows,
they are, with little modificaticMi, ap-
plicable to the animal system. He
says:
"How completely the several attributes
of animal life come within the definition,
shall see on going through them t e ristim
•* Thus, sh-engik results from the
nation of actions ; for it is produced by the
simultaneous contraction of many mnsd^St
and many fibres of eadi muscle ; and the
Strength is great in proportion to the nui-
ber of these acting together ; that is, tn pco-
portion to the coifardination. Swifituu^ abo,
depending partly on strength, but requir-
ing, also, the rapid alternation of more-
ments, equally comes under the expressioB ;
seeing that, other things equal, the sMsre
quickly sequent actions can be made to Ibl-
low «u:h other, the more completely are
they coordinated. So, too, is it with ^^aZr-
iy; the power of a chamois to spring frovi
crag to crag implies accurate codrdinaikMi
in the movements of different musdet, and
a due subordination of them to the percep>
tions.*'
On page 61 of his PHm^les of
Biology y he fiirther assures us " that
arrest of coordination is death, asMi
that imperfect coordination is di»-
n
A superficial view of Mr. Spencer^
definition would involve the inference
that, upon the evolution hypotbcas,
only one of two things is poniUe.
Either there is an ever-coatioaing
imperfect coordination, ox there is an
always perfect coordination. As puts
subserve acticms, the perfect coordi-
nati<Hi of the latter must be depen-
dent upon the perfect coordination of
the former. Now, evolution implies
a constant change. In fact, accord-
ing to the hypotheas, constant change
Th* J mrnutaH M ty cf th* Sptdts.
«i3
18 the only nonnal state. The varia-
tion of parts, then, would entail their
imperfect coordinatiim, and, conse-
quently, the imperfect coordination of
their actions ; for the only conceivable
way in which the imperfect coordina-
tion of actions is possible, is by a
change in the parts subserving those
actions. As variations, then, are ever
occurring, imperfect coordination must
always exist
The following is the alternative
view. The evolutionist might assume
an ability in each organism to effect,
on the occurrence of each variation,
a re-coordinadon. This view mani-
Hestly admits only of perfect coordi-
nation. But the advocate of evolu-
tion may avoid these absurd conclu-
sions by affirming, as he has tacitly
dcme, that, while the organism is ca-
pal^ of coordinating any number
of diaracters, imperfect coordination
may ensue by a too sudden change
in any part or parts. This is the is-
sue which we desired to produce, the
dedaon of which will, we conceive, le-
gitimately preclude fUrther argument.
The question is. Is the organism ca«
pable of coordinating any number of
diaracters? or, are all the charac-
ters of the species alone susceptible
of coordination? The reader will
perceive that the latter is a mere re-
currence of our proposition that the
proportionate devdopment of all the
parts is necessary to perfection, and
that the absence of any part is dele-
terious to the organism. If we prove
tins, we shall have completely dis-
proved the evolution hypothesis.
There is a feet adduced by Dar-
win which places the validity of our
theory beyond all doubt, and which
is, at the same time, grossly at vari-
ance with the conception of evolution.
The feet to which we allude is, that
good results from crossing. Observ-
ing this result, Darwin propounds a
general law of nature, that all orga-
nic beings are benefited by an occa-
sional cross. This law he employs
as a somewhat important fector of
evolution, and essays to harmonize it
with his theory. In this attempt he
succeeds. But mere congruity with
a law is no proof of the validity of
a theoiy, where that law is only an
empirical one. Of this every person
conversant with science is aware. It
is equally well known, however, that
when a theory is shown to accord
with a law ; to furnish an explanation
of it ; and to resolve it into a higher
law, thus changing it from an empiri-
cal into a derivative law ; proof con-
clusive and incontrovertible has been
adduced. If the reader has not al-
ready mentally anticipated our argu-
ment, it remains for us to prove that
the theory of reversion fiilfils these
requirements.
Our theory manifestly implies that
the more proportionate the develop-
ment, the greater is the approach to
perfection. It also implies that the
more characters of the species there
are in each variety, the nearer is the ap-
proximation to perfect coordination.
It is apparent at a glance, then, that
crossing furnishes a crucial test of the
truth of our views. For most varie-
ties are distinguished from each other
by the possession of positive feattires.
TTie presence of the peculiar character
of one variety, of course, implies its
absence in the others. Each variety
possesses a character or characters
which the others lack, and lacks what
the others peculiarly possess. When,
then, two such varieties cross, good
must of necessity accrue to their off-
spring. For, in the formation of the
latter, each variety supplies a deficien-
cy of the other. Could a reason be
more obvious ? or could proof of a
view be more conclusive ? So con-
clusive is it, we conceive, that were
^
TU
iff j^.^pedes.
any other r^ult consequ^ on cross-
ing, such a circumstance would be at
variance with our theory.
Of the fact that good results from
crossing, not a doubt can reasonably
be entertamed. Darwin, so far from
questioning the fact, is its most strenu-
ous advocate. But upon his concep-
tion, it is crossing per s€ which pro-
duces the favorable effects. In other
words, this is another of Darwin's ul-
timate laws. Being purely empirical,
the general law of nature which he
assumes, fails utterly to explain the
cause of the variations in the quan-
tity of the effects. The crossing of
pigeons, for instance, is attended
by the greatest gain in constitutional
vigor, while comparatively little good
results from the crossing of the varie-
ties of the horse, sheep, or cow. On
our doctrine, the explanation is clear.
The many widely distinct varieties of
the pigeon necessarily imply great dis-
proportionate development of each.
They are, then, extremely susceptible
of improvement The races of the
horse, sheep, and cow, on the other
hand, approximate, as we have seen,
to proportionate development. There
is, therefore, much less room for im-
provement. Strikingly in harmony
with this interpretation is the fact
that, with pigeons, the more highly
bred the crossed varieties are, the
greater is the gain from a cross.
Equally congruous is the fact that the
more highly bred the breeds of the
horse, cow, and sheep are, the less is
the gain. The reason is, careful and
select breeding produces increased
divergence of diaracter with pigeons ;
but with horses, sheep, and cattle it
induces increased convergence. The
former become widely distinct, while
the latter converge in character. All
the characters are developed in each
variety of the latter; but in the former
different characters are developed in
different varieties. While, then, co-
ordination in the rhoragL ahfieo. .and
cow advances toward paiScctioD, co-
ordination in the pigeon is rcndoai
more imperfect by careful breeding.
Each variety of the pigeon posaenct
a character which, when joined wilb
those of another variety, will «ntail a
great advance toward due co5idii»>
tion. This concurrence is efiecml
by crossing, and the result is, as one
would be led to expect upon our doc-
trine, great beneficial effects. With
the horse, sheep, and cow the efifedi
of a cross between varieties are lea
marked, owing to less imperfect piO'
vious coordination.
In noting the advantage accndng
to crossed ofi&piing, we haare partka-
larly referred to gain in constitutxm-
al vigor. We have occasion now to
speak of gain in fertility. Seeing that
hybrids--<he product of a cross be-
tween species— are invariably sterile
it is clear that, if the conception that
varieties are incipient species is a
valid one, we are bound to expect
that the more marked, distinct, and
widely divergent varieties are, the
greater will be their sterility. The
mere circumstance that such an efiect
is not observable, goes far to inva-
lidate the conception. Wliat, then,
must the inference be when an effect
diametrically opposite to Uiat neces-
sitated by the conception is shova
to result — when increased fertility is
seen to follow crossing, and when
this increased fertility is observed to
be directly proportionate to diver-
gence of character? Such results
would, we apprehend, negative com-
pletely the hypothesis of evolution,
and would conclusively confirm oni
view, that the beneficial effects are
owing to the disproportionate devel-
opment which a multiplicity of widely
distinct varieties necessarily implies*
These results we have, and they arc
indisputable. For the fact that ciost-.
ing induces increased fertility, and
2>^ JmmmtmHtity ^iA# Sp€«iit.
66s
Ihat lUs iacreaaed fertiUty is
jpiopoitioiiate to divergeeoe of char
sactcr, is so wdl known ikaX it is
scarcely necessary to adduce proofe
fiom Darwia in sn{^>ort of it. But
that the least shadow of a doubt may
not remain^ we will quote a few of
Danrin's remaxks on the subject
Coastant reference to crossing may
be fimnd in any portion of his late
ifork« But a somewhiu lengthy chap-
ter is devoted exdusiveiy to this sub-
ject and to dose interbreeding. In
the conclusion of this chapter (p. 143,
voL iL) he sa]fs:
'^ In the earfy part of this chapter it was
ihown that the crossing of distinct forms,
vdMtber dosely or distimtly allied, giiFes in-
creased size and constitutional rigor, aiKl, ex-
cept in the case of crossed species, increas-
ed fertility to the ofispring. The evidence
rests on the universal testimony of breeders.
• • • • • Although animala of pure
blood will obviously be deteriorated by cross-
ing, as far as their characteristic qualities are
concerned, there seems to be no exception
to the rule that advantages of the kind just
■rationed are thus gained even when (here
has Bot been any previous dose interhreedp
iag. The rule applies to all animals^ tven
U cattle and sheep^ which can long resist
breeding in-and-in between die nearest blood
vdations. It applies to individuals of the
ffMSP svb-varittty, but of distinct ^unifies,
to varieties or races, to sub-species^ as well
SIS to quite distinct species.
*' In this latter case, however, while size,
▼igor, precodty, and hardiness are, with
nre exoepdons, gnaed, fertility, in a great*
or or less degree, is lost; but the gain can-
not be exclusively attributed to the principle
of compensation ; for there is no close paral-
dltsm between the increased size and vigor
of the ofl&pring and theh sterHity. More-
o^refi it has been dearly proved that moa-
0rsls which are perfectly fertile gain these
same advantages, as well as sterile hybrids."
On page 174, he reiterates these state*
tten^ which place the subject of in*-
creased fertili^ beyond all doubt.
Now, it is dear that Darwin's be*
ing necesatated particalariy' to note
that the rule that advantage results
fim crbssing obtains even in the
of cattle and sheepi implies that
compafffttively little good accrues to
the ofi&pring from the crossing of the
breeds of either of those animals.
This shows, as the varieties of the
sheep and cow are convergent in cha-
lacter, that the less divergent the va-
rieties the less is the good attendant
on crossing. The converse, that the
more divergent the varieties the great-
er the good, is plainly seen in the case
of the pigeon, of which the varieties
are manifestly and confessedly the
most divergent The following at-
sertions are unequivocal proof of our
view:
"All the domestic races pair readily to-
gether, and, what is equally important, their
mongrel of&pring are perfectly fertile. To
ascertain this fiict, I made many experiments,
which are given in the note below ; and re-
cently Mr. Tegetmeier has made similar ex-
periments with the same result The accu-
tate Neumeister asserts that when dovecots
are crossed with pigeons of any other breed
the mongrels are extremely fertile and har-
dy. MM. Boitard and Corbie affirm, after
their great experience, that with crossed pi*
gepns, thi more disthut the breeds^ the men
productive are thiirmomgrdcffspring*^ (P*C*
936, vol i., American edition.)
Mere mention of crossing m con-
nection with our theory would, we
conceive, suffice. But if any doubts
have been entertained of the conclu-
siveness of the proofs furnished by
the law, or of the competency of the
^eory of reversion to account for the
good resulting from crossing, they are
now surely dissipated by the evidence
adduced from Darwin. The law of
crossing which we propound is no ut
timate law. It fulfils every require-
ment of a derivative law. The good
which fk)ws from crossing varies in
degree in different animals, as is well
known. This is quite exphcable upon
our theory ; and the amount of good
accruing to the oflfepring from the
union of two given varieties, is even sus-
ceptible of prevision. Crcming per st
does not produce the increaaed good|
it is attribuuble to the Jack of fiiU
666
The ImmutalriHty ef ik$ ^mn.
and proportionate devdopment Of
coiuse, for increased good to result,
each of the crossed animals must con-
tribute to the formation of the off-
spring a part or parts which the other
lacks. We have, then, given what
Darwin's law, being pmely empirical,
is utterly incompetent to do— a ra-
tional and consistent interpretation
of the variations in the quantity of
the efiects. Logic requires no greater
proofe of a theory than those which
we have here adduced.
Darwin has informed us, in his late
invaluable work, that crossing induces
the appearance of new characters.
Great stress is laid upon this fact by
several writers, and some of them,
among whom Pallas is conspicuous,
have even gone so far as to ascribe
variability exclusively to crossing.
The theory of reversion furnishes a
rational explanation of the appearance
of these characters. We do not al-
lude merely to the fact that their re-
version is more probable than their
evolution ; for Darwin inclines to this
opinion rather than to the contrary
one. On page 264, vol ii., after de-
murring to the conception that varia-
bility is solely induced by crossing,
he says:
"NeTcrtheless, it is probable that the
crossing of two forms, when one or both
have long been domesticated or cultivated,
adds to the variability of the ofipring, inde-
pendently of the commingling of the charac-
ters derived from the two parent forms ; and
this implies that new characters actually arise.
But we must not forget the £sctt advanced
in the thirteenth chapter, which dearly prove
that the act of crossing often leads to the re-
appearance or reversion of long-lost charac-
ters ; and in most cases, it would be impos-
sible to distinguish between the reappear-
ance of ancient diaractert and the first ap-
pearance of new characters. Practically,
whether new or old, they would be new to
the breed in which they reappeared."
But there is another £u:tor sub-
serving evolution, to which we par-
ticularly alhide. This is corrdatioo,
which we ba;ve seen mnrm to
dode exkts,iioC oidy between difa>
ent growths, bat aho between difa>
ent centres of growth. Now, wki
a cross ensues, the ofl^nng gcnendlf
acquires from each patent a cbandcr
or characters which the other lad&
The anion of these characters streagth-
ens the centres to fHiich they are joia-
ed, and also afl the centres of wUd
the related parts are devdoped. Bf
corrdatioo, the centre to wludi theie
centres are most dosdy aflied b^
comes more firmly estabtished. Tk
more finn establishment of dik cca-
tre, then, induces the devdopment of
its formerly connected parts. Thar
parts are the characters conseqaent
upon crossing.
If, as we maintain, the proo6 for-
nished by crossing are condusive, theo
the phenomena of dose interbreediDg
must be proo6 amounting to denoA-
stration. For the law of dose inta-
breeding, which is the convene of
that of crossing, also holds good; ii»if
possible, more in accordance with tk
theory of reversion ; is also suscepti-
ble of resolution into the law of pro-
portionate devdopment; and, bong
a derivative law upon our theory, W-
ly accounts for all the variatiooi ■
the quantity of the efiects. The #
ferent data, moreover, esteemed to
mutually inconsistent, of those who
conciur in and of those who demur to
Darwin's law of dose interbreediDfr
can be shown, by the light furnished
by the hypothesis of proportioa^
development, to be perfectly coa-
gruous. If we can prove, then, thit
our law of dose interbreeding, fbood-
ed upon the facts furnished by D<^
win, is capable of all this, we sbiB
have fulfilled our promise to place otf
theory beyond the reach of caviL
As has been more than once aficrt*
ed, our views necessitate the coodo-
sion that a multiplidty of diverfoa
varieties implies the lots in each ^
The ImmmaUliiy of ^ Spedes.
C6f
irfiat oonstknte the peailiar charac-
teristics of the others. Hie circum-
stance that some few varieties are
disti&guished by the possession of ne-
gative features, but slightly modifies
this ccmclusion. Now, it is dear to
the comprehension of every one who
is likely to have followed us this far,
that, as the loss of any part or cha-
racter is deleterious, tiie pairing of
the members of a variety would tend
to aggravate the evil consequent on
the absence of the peculiar characters
of the other varieties.
Quite in harmony with this view
is the following assertion, one of a
Tast number of a similar kind made
by Darwin: ^The consequences of
close interbreeding, carried on for too
long a time, are, as is generaUy be-
lieved, loss of size, constitutional vi-
gor, and fertility, sometimes accom-
panied by a tendency to malforma-
tion." (Page "Si vol. il)
Now, according to our theory, the
evil efi^cts of dose interbreeding must
be {M'oportionate to the divergence of
character; or, rather, to the dispro-
portionate devdopment which diver-
gence involves. Darwin admits that
different spedes of animals are differ-
ently affected by the same degree of
interbreeding. Among species of
which Ae varieties are divergent, the
pigeon and fowl are preeminently con-
iqpicuous. Here, then, we must look
for the greatest evil effects from the
interbreeding of the members of the
varieties. The facts fail not to re-
aUce our antidpations. No writers
have expressed so strong a conviction
of the impossibility of long-continued
interbreeding as Sir J. Sebright and
Andrew Knight, who have paid the
most attention to the breeding of the
fowl and |Mgeon. Darwin gives us, as
the result of his wide experience and
extensive research, the foUowing opin-
ion:
««£Tideiioe of ai« eril efiectt of dose in-
terbreeding am mott readily be loqnired ia
the case of animals, soch as fowls, pigeons,
etc, which propagate quickly, and, from be-
ing kept in the same place, are exposed to
the same conditions. Now, I have inqoired
of very many breeders of these birds, and I
have hitherto not met with a single man who
was not thoroughly convinced that an occa-
sional cross with another strain of the same
sub-variety was absolutely necessary. Most
breeders of highly improved or fimcy birds
value their own strain, and are most unwill-
ing, at the risk, in their opinion, of deterio-
ration, to make a cross. The purchase of a
first-rate bird of another strain is expensive,
and exchanges are troublesome; yet aU
breeders, as far as I can hear, excepting
those who keep large stocks at different
places for the sake of crossing, are driven
after a time to take this step." (P. 117,
ToL iL)
And again, on page 125, he says:
"With pigeons, breeders are unani-
mous, as previously stated, that it is ab-
solutely indispensable, notwithstand-
ing the trouble and expense thus
caused, occasionally to cross their
much-prized birds with individuals of
another strain, but bdonging, of course,
to the same variety." He then dwells
at some length upon the great deli-
cacy of constitution entailed by the
dose interbreeding of nearly-related
pigeons, and mentions a circumstance
for which the reason is at once obvi-
ous upon our theory. He says, '^ It
deserves notice that, when large size
is one of the desired characters, as with
pouters, the evil eflfects of close inter-
breeding are much sooner percdved
than when small birds, such as short-
faced tumblers, are desired."
" In the case of the^Sw/," says Dar-
win, ''a whole array of authorities
could be given against too close in-
terbreeding." (P. 124, vol. iL) Fol-
lowing this assertion is mention of
the great sterility of bantams, induced
by dose inted>reeding. He asstures
us that he has seen silver bantams
almost as barren as hybrids. The
Sebright bantam is destitute of hac-
kles and sickle tail-feathers. Thb in-
TH^ trnmuiobiKfy of ikf^ Spaks.
volves disproportionate development;
and that the evil is attributable to
this, Darwin virtually admits when he
says, on page loi, that the loss of
fertility is to be ascribed **either to
long-continued, close interbreeding,
or to an innate tendency to sterility
correlated with the absence of hackles
and sickle tail-feadiers.**
Of all the phenomena attendant
upon close interbreeding, we know
of none which so strikingly confirms
our view as the following curious
case. It IS a most delicate exemplifi-
cation of our doctrine. " Mr. Hewitt
says that with these bantams the
sterility of the male stands, with rare
exceptions, in the closest relation with
their loss of certain secondaiy male
characteis;'' he adds, '*I have no-
ticed, as a general rule, that even the
dighlest deviation fit>m feminine cha-
racter in the tail of the male Sebright
—say the elongation by tmfy half an
inch of the two principal tail-feathers
•^Mngs with it improved piobability
of increased fertility." (Pp. 124.) The
full significance of this singular fact
the reader will at once appreciate.
For the cause of die phenomen(m is
obvious. The increased probability
of fertility, consequent on the growth
of the secondary sexual characters, is
owing to the induced return to pro>
portionatie devdopment
Darwin says, ^ There is reason to
believe, and this was die opinion of
dutt most experienced observer, Sir
J. Sebright, that die evil effiscts of
dose interbreeding may be chedted
by the related indtviduids being separ
rated during a few generatbns and
exposed to different conditions of life."
(I^. 1x5.) Now,difierentconditioiit
are, as we have seen, fiivofable to
die devdopmeot of dtfoent parts.
Exposure, then, to conditions other
dian those to idiicfa dieir bfodMts
are sobjeded, would lead to the
gfowlh or stxengtbctting of certaia
parts m the separated Miands. h-
teibreeding between members of the
two lots of animals woukl, in obok-
quence, be equivalent to oomf.
The chedc to die evil efiects isto k
attributed to a dight disBrmilarity «f
stmctmre.
These quotations fixmi Danris
place beyond doitt>t the fact that ^
greatest evil effects flowfiomthedose
interbreeding of fowls and pigeoai
It now ronains for us to ^w disk,
in animals which are cooqiantivtj^
proportionately deveAoped, the evfl
efiects are very small. It most be
observed that it does not lest widi n
to show a total absence of evd. Fer
no animals ate, in aD re s pects^ prop»
tionately devdoped. Our very abi*
ty to discriminate between dificvent
t^eds necessarily iaoplies the diipia-
portionate devdopment of aU but sue
of diem ; that is, when their diiet
ences are not merdy those of silt
With cows, want of proportion is often
caused by blind conformity is ce^
tain breeds to cmainstattdaid& Hiv,
when a breed acquires a rq)utatioo,
all its points are ^thfiiily presenro^
as if die presaradon intact of the e»>
isting condidcm of all die ieatores^Ms
k sine qua nm% of the animaTs good
quality; and this occurs even wfaci
some of die features are diockmgijr
out of proportion, or gready veduoei
If one breed were falty and prep^
tionately devdoped, die odiers oorii
be distinguiidied from it only by negi>
tive features.
Of the dose interbreeding of 4e
cow Daiwin says :
" Widi oiM^ diere caabeaodoaUM
extremely close interbreeding nay be kn^
carried on, advantageously with respect to
external characters and witli no manifesflf
apparent evil as lir as constkulion is oia*
cemed. Tka aaaie reaark is ap p Bohlc l»
sheep. Whether these aaimaU bafc Um
rendered less susceptible than others to (hil
evil, in order to permit them to live in Ii0^
-^ halat whiob kads <ht old
Tkt Jmmttttbiiiijt «^ Xfe ^tcia.
669
m^lM to ttcpal «n uitradersv mid in conse*
qoeact o(tei| to pair with their own daugh-
ters — I will not pretend to decide. The
one of BakeweU's long^oms, which were
do6^ interbrwl for a k>ng period, has often
b«tA qnoted ; yei Yooatt says the breed 'had
adjured a delicaqr of constitution inconsis*
tent with common management,' and ' the
propagation of the species was not always
certain.' Bnt the shorthorns offer the most
striking case of dose interbreeding; for
instance^ the famous bull Favorite (who
was himself the ofispring of a half<brother
and sister from Foljambe) was matched
with his own daughter, granddaughter, and
great-granddangfater; so that the produce
of this last union^ or the great^great-grand*
dftoghter^ had fifteen sixteenths, or 93*75
per cent, of the blood of Favorite in her
Teins. This cow was matched with the bull
Wellington, having 62,5 per cent of Favor-
ite Uood in his veins, and produced Cla^
rissa; Clarissa was matched with the bull
Lancaster, having 68.75 of the same blood,
and she yielded valuable offspring. Never-
t bd esa y ColHngs, who reared these animals, .
and was a strong advocate for close inter-
breeding, once crossed his stock with a Gal-
loway, and the cows from this cross realized
the highest prices. Bates's herd was es-
teemed the most cdebrated in the world.
For Unrteen years he bred most dosely in-
and-in ; but during the next seventeen years,
though he had the most exalted notion of
the value of his own stock, he thrice infused
fresh btood faito his herd ; it is said that he
did tins, not to imp rove the form of his ani*
nuda, bnt on acconnt of their lessened fer-
tility* Mr. Bates's own view, as given by a
celeorated breeder, was, that ' to breed in-
and-in from a bad stock was ruin and devas-
tmtibn ; yet that the practke may be safely
aHflwed within certain limits when the pa-
rents so related are descended from first-
rate animals.' We thus see that there has
been extremdy dose interbreeding with
shorthorns; bnt Nathusiw, after the most
carafrd study of thdr pedigrees, siqrs that
he can find no instance of a breeder who has
strictly followed this practice during his
whole Hfe. From this study and his own
experience, he condudes that dose inter-
breeding b necessary to ennoble the stock ;
bnt that in efiecting this the greatest care
is necessary on acconnt of the tendency to
infertility and weakness. It may be added
that another high authority asserts tHat many
more calves are bom cripples from short-
boras than from any other and less dosdy
intcrbsed races of cattle." (Pp. 117, 11^
ToL iL)
This last phenomenon is doubtless
due to correlation between the legs
and the small development of the
horns.
NoW| these remarks of Mr. Dar-
win unequivocally show that extreme-
ly long-contint^ close inteibreeding
is possible with cattle. They also ac-
quaint us with the fact that, although
this may long be carried on, evQ at
length begins to mmnifeit itself. This
is easily explamed. A small want of
proportion in the animals interbred
entails evil, but evil too small in
amount to be capable of manifesting
itself at once. But continued exa*
cerbations, consequent on frequent
pairing with related individuals pos-
sessing an evil identical in kind, so
augments the evil as eventually to in-
volve its display.
If further proof of the possibflity
of the long-contipued interbreeding
of cattle is needed, it may be fotmd
on page 44 of 77ic Westminster Re-
view for July, 1863. This review is
the atrcmghold of Darwinism. The
writer of the artide to whidi we re-
fer says, that "Dr. Child gives the
pedigree of the celebrated bull Comet
and of some other animals, bred with
a degree of clotoess such as no one
who has not studied the subject would
believe possible. In one of these
cases, the same animal appears as the
sire in four successive generatioiB."
So striking is the pedigree of Comet,
that the writer cannot refrain from ia>
serting it
The sheep is another animal m
which there is an approximation to
proportionate development Let us
see, then, if our doctirine equally ob-
tains in this case. Befture going fru>
ther, we may request the reader to
call to mind Darwin's assurance that
his remark, " that extremely dose in-
terbreeding may be kog earned on
with cattle/' is equally applicable to
sheep.
6/0
The Immutability of tke Species.
On page 119, vol. ii., he remarks
that,
«
With shfep there has often been long-
continued close interbreeding within the
limits of the same fiock; but whether the
nearest relations have been matched so fre-
quently as in the case of shorthorn cattle, I
do not know. The Messrs. Brown, during
fifty years, have never infused fresh blood
into Uieir excellent flock of Leicesters. Since
1810, Mr. Barford has acted on the same
principle with the Fosoote flodc He as-
serts that half a century of experience has
convinced him that when two nearly-related
individuals are quite sound in constitution,
in-and-in breeding does not induce \legene-
racy ; bat he adds that he ' does not pride
himself on breeding from the nearest affini-
ties.' In France, the Naz flock has been
bred for sixty years without the introduction
of a single strange ram."
In connection with this subject
71u Westminster Review says that,
*' M. Beaudouin, in a memoir to be found
in the CompUs Rendus of August 5th, 1862,
gives some very interesting particulars of a
flock of merino sheep bred in-and-in, for a
period of two and twenty years, without a
single cross, and with perfectly successful
results, there being no sign of decreased fer-
tility, and the breed having in other respects
improved."
Of all animals, the horse is mani-
festly the most proportionately deve-
Ic^ped. In him all th^parts maintain,
to a great extent, the due proportions.
Our doctrine, then, leads us to expect
that, in this case, litde evil results
from close interbreeding. We would
be greatly surprised that the horse
was not the most striking instance of
the possibility of long-continued in-
and-in breeding, were we not con-
scious of the fact Aat a great por-
tion of the evil eventually resulting
fit)m close interbreeding is attributa-
ble to augmentation of the diseases
to which the horse is singularly sus-
ceptible. Hie following is the only
evidence we shall adduce in Ae case
of the hcHse ; bat if is clear and de-
cisive
w.
«<
Mr. J. H. Walsh, wcQ known, vndcr
the nom deplume of StondieBge, as n «•
thority upon sporting matters, uys dtstiach
ly, in his recent wwk, that nctfly a& o«
thorough-brtd horses are bred ta-and^"
(Vide IVest, Rev. for July, 1863, p. 44-)
" Writers upon sportmg matters are pitt-
ty generally agreed that no hone eilher
bears fatigue so wdl or recovers fron its ef-
fects so soon as the thoroogh-bred, nd it
is a subject upon which sndi writers arc tW
best of all authorities. Thus, * Nhnrod ' o»
dudes a comparison between the thoroogb-
bred and the half-bred hunter in the foflov-
ing words : * As for his powers of endanaa
under equal sufferings, tiiey doubtless %otU
exceed those of the < cock-tail,' and bda^ ^
his nature what is termed a better doer it
the stable, he is sooner at his work afas
than the others. Indeed^ there is scentlj i
limit to the work 0/ full -bred JkmUtrs of pwd
form and constitution and temper; aad yet
these, as we have seem, are almost iU dm
bred." (/bidp,4S.)
The mention of " good form " 11 1
fact of significance; for the cuncit
conception of symmetry is, in the
case of the horse, a safer critcrioa of
proportionate development dun id
the case of any other animal
In all the discussions on dose wtth
breeding, no case meets with sudi fa*
quent mention as that of the pig>
Those who endeavor to gainsay tke
condusion that evil is attendant on i^
and-in breeding, signally fiul to inv>^
date the fact that pigs die out altogcdier
after being bred in-and-in for serenl
generations. Those persons are the
exceptions, however, who conadff
the fact as questionable. On ps^
121, vol. ii., Darwin says, "With
figs there is more unanimity imoog
breeders on the evil effects of cto
interbreeding than, perhaps, with any
other large animal" He then give
quite a nvmber of facts, which we wHl
not quote, as they are indisputabk.
Close interbreeding being attcodei
in pigs, by evil effects is, at first sigbt»
at variance with our doctrine. For,
not only does utility guide the selec-
tion of pigs, but diey are, as Danrifi
has inicMmed us, the most strikiagift'
stance of c o p v eiy p te of dundo.
The imffmtabUity of the Species.
671
We liave seen the greatest evfl effects
of in-and-in breeding in those spe-
cies in which selection is guided by
fency, and of which the varieties were
the most divergent in character. A
superficial consideration, then, would
lead one to expect that, where the
converse obtained— where utility was
the motive in selection, and where
the varieties were convergent in cha-
racter — interbreedinj would entail lit-
tle or no evil effects. But the incon-
gruity between the facts and the doc-
trine is only apparent, not real There
is presence of evil effects, because, in
this case, the motive of utility and
convergence of character also involve
disproportionate development Dis-
proportionate development is the only
never-failing criterion. In our last
aitide we showed that, while diver-
gence of character is solely caused
by disproportionate development, con-
vergence of character may be induc-
ed by either proportionate or dispro-
portionate development We further
showed tfiat the pig's convergence of
character is caused by disproportion-
ate development, and that the pig
has many characters either wholly
or partially suppressed. Its coat of
brisdes is greatly diminished, and its
tusks are wholly reduced. Owing to
a misguided policy, its legs are of the
smallest possible size, and, by corre-
lation, the front of the head is re-
markably short and concave. Being,
dien, thus disproportionately develop-
ed, Uie pig, of all large animals, must
be, upon our doctrine, the most sus-
ceptible of evil from close interbreed-
ing. Allow the legs to be of propor-
tionate size, and a marked decrease
in the evil entailed by interbreeding
win be observable. So impressed are
we with the idea of the truth of our
doctrine, that we will stake its validi-
ty upon the result, confident that, in
doing so, we ventiure noting.
That the cause assigned for the
lessened fertility and delicacy of ccm-
stitution of pigs is a true one, is plac-
ed beyond all doubt by the diet that,
with those members of the species
of which but little care is taken, theie
is comparatively very little evil entail-
ed by close interbreeding. The rea-
son lies in the circumstance that, in
these animals, the legs are far more
proportionately developed than in
well-bred pigs ; and that there is ab-
sent the shortness and concavity of
the fit)nt of the head. The more well-
bred the animals, the greater are the
injurious efi^ts of in-and-in breeding.
This fact needs not proof; it is too
well known. Care in breeding pigs
almost invariably induces the small
development of the legs and of the
firont of the head. A case somewhat
analogous is presented by the fowl
and pigeon. With them, the more
careful the selection, the greater are
the evil effects of interbreeding. With
cattle, sheep, and horses, however,
good breeding is a condition sine qua
non of their exemption fit)m the evil
generally consequent on close inter-
breeding. Why care should be at-
tended by different results in different
species, is at first not clear. But this
is the explanation. In fowls and
pigeons, care in the formation of va-
rieties induces greater disproportion-
ate development by augmentbg the
divergence of character. In cattle,
s^eep, and horses, on the contrary,
care, by inducing greater convergence,
causes increased proportionate deve-
lopment This convergence, be it re-
membered, is attributable to a cause
other than that which creates the
convergence of character of the breeds
of well-bred pigs.
We incline to believe that the ex-
tremely small amount of evil atten-
dant on reduced size never manifests
itself by close interbreeding. That
some evil, though inappreciably small,
does result fix>m reduced size^ may
67:1
The tmmtUabUity of tke ^eciH.
reasonably be inferred from the &ct
that, where anhnals disproportionate-
ly developed are crossed, increase in
size ic^ows, and that, where those
animals are closely interbred, de«
crease in size results.
We are assured that 0iere are cases
in which crossing, instead of resulting
in good, induces evil effects* Dar-
win says he has not met with any
well-established case, with animals, in
which this occurs. Now, our theory
contemplates such evil effects under
the following circumstances. The
varieties crossed must each be distin-
guished from other varieties by a ne-
gative feature. In addition to this,
they must lack features in common.
The evil resulting would then be at-
tributable to the same cause which in-
duces the evil consequent on dose in-
terbreeding.
It is now clear that diese phenome-
na of crossing and close interbreeding
tell a tale the direct converse and re-
futation of that which Darwin would
have us believe. They are manifest-
ly, grossly, absolutely, and irreconcila-
bly at variance with the doctrine of
evolution. They show conclusively
that no divergence of character is
normally possible; that all the cha-
racters of the species are alone sus-
ceptible of perfect codrdination ; that
the exclusive possession of any posi-
tive character by any variety is to the
detriment of the other varieties ; that
the possession of any negative feature
is deleterious to the organism; and
that there can normally exist but one
variety — ^the perfect tjrpe, that variety
in which all the positive features are
fully and proportionately developed.
These conclusions cannot be gain-
said; for tiiey irresistibly force them-
selves upon one by observatkm of the
phenomena of crossing and dose in-
teH[>reeding, frimished by Darwin.
We have now propounded a coun-
er-theofy and a rdutation of Dar-
winism. In doing to^ wc have ntr^
duced no new factocs. We have used
only those with which Darwin has
furnished us. There are, however,
three factors recognized by Darwin
which we have eliminated. These
are an innate tendency in organisms
to vary, evolution, and the law of
compoisation of growth. Of these^
the first is confi^iedly unscientific;
the second, irrespective of the wcfl-
founded doubt as to whether it ob-
tains or not, must share in the same
discredit which is accorded to the
first; and the third is viewed with
distrust even by Darwin hiwxa^f
The factors, however, which we have
retained must be conceded to be in»*
measurably moie amenable to the ca-
n<ms of sdentific research, upon the
theory of reverstcm, than when they
are adduced to subserve the hypothe-
sis of evolution. In our treatment o£
them they have fulfilled the highest
requirements of logic Take, far ex-
ample, the four principal laws involv-
ed in the controversy — variation, cor-
relation, crossing, and dose inter-
breeding. These we found ultimate
or empirical laws, and left them
vative laws. The law of variation
resolved into die law of reversioQ;
and the laws of correlation, crossing,
and dose interbreeding we resolved
into the law of proportionate dev^
opment Now, it is not possible fer
a theory to be capable of all this^ and
yet to be fidse. If the laws upon
which we based our theory were oftere-
ly empirical, a doubt of its vaUdi^
might reasonably be entertained. But,
as the case stands, it cannot
But — may exclaim a tyro who afiects
a love for sdence, and whose concep-
tion of Uology is limited to proto-
plasm and cells — assuming that the
hypothesis of reversion is vastly
conformable to the phenomena of
riation than the hypothesis of evokn
ti<m, yet your tbeoiy fails to wiMpgkf
TA£ Immuiabilii^ of the Species^
«73
the greatest requirement of biologic
science. It fails to satisfy our yearn-
ings after a knowledge of the devel-
opment of the species. Darwin starts
with cells, the lowest congregations
of organic matter. Because he does
this his theory is, at least philosophi-
cally, the more scientific.
But, even in this respect, our theo-
ry is more philosophical than that of
Darwin. Darwin assumes three or
ki\a cells, and intrusts spontaneity or
chance with the development of the
q>ecies. We assume, not '' a myriad
supernatural impulses" going to the
ibraiation of each species, not the
creation of each species in its maturi-
ty, but one cell alone for each species,
(or, pediaps, one cell for each sex of
eadi ^)ecies.) For evidence of the
&ct that the assumption of a multi-
plicity of cells is more philosophical
than the assumption of only three or
foor, we appeal to an article in the
Nmih American Ranew for October,
i868, entitled "Philosophical Biolo-
gy," of which the writer is a profess-
ed Darwinian, and to G. H. Lewes's
articles in the Fortnightly Review.
Given, then, these cells, we intrust the
development of the species, not to
spontaneity or chance, but to the ope-
ration of laws similar to those obtain-
ing in the crystal The forces implied
in the creation, formation, or exis-
tence of each cdl determine, as in
VOL, X.— 43
the case of the crystal, the whole
form and structure of the species.
The process of development b that
predetermined, from which no depar-
ture is normally possible. Time,
however, is an unimportant element
This kind of evolution of the ^)ecies
we concede. That which we deny is
the evolution of the species one from
another.
In conclusion, we cannot refrain
from stating that our views are quite
consistent with a high admiration of
the great ingenuity and vast research
displayed by Mr. Darwin. His de-
sire to be frank and candid none can
gainsay. For the ability of Mr. Spen-
cer, who is somewhat less candid, but
immeasurably more so than the petty
retailers of his conceptions, we have
the deepest re^)ect His exquisitely
constructed mind we ever delight to
study. Both Mr. Darwin and Mr.
Spencer have rendered great services
to the cause of science. And we
must in candor admit that the Bri-
tish " infidels" generally present theu:
theories in a form which admits of
their eventual confirmation, or dieir
eventual refutation. As we are con-
fident that their refutation will follow
whenever they are really at variance
with religion, we anticipate with plea-
sure many a warm but amicable con-
troversy within the next half-century.
6/4 British Premiers in RtlatUm to
Catkolia.
BRITISH PREMIERS IN RELATION TO BRITISH
CATHOLICS.
The English parliament having
lately occupied itself in discussing a
measure of the utmost importance to
the Catholics of the United King-
dom, and to Irish Catholics in par-
ticular — the abolition of the Establish-
ed Church supremacy, the time seems
very opportune for reviewing the
conduct of British premiers for the
last century and a half in refer-
ence to Catholics. The subject, we
think, cannot lail to interest our
readers, whether they be natives of
this soil of freedom, or whether they
have emigrated from an isle where
freedom was, during long ages, un-
known, and have sought on this side
of the AtlaAtic that liberty, prosperi-
ty, and peace from which in Ireland
they were cruelly debarred.
Though the revolution of 1688
fiUed the breasts of Catholics with
dismay, and the ruin of their cause
seemed complete, when the arms of
William of Orange prevailed at the
Boyne and at Limerick, yet their sit-
uation was not so forlorn nor were their
iprospects so hopeless as might have
been expected. Many circumstances
alleviated their misery; and, stormy
as was the landscape spread before
their eyes, glimpses were ever and
anon afforded them of that tranquil
and sunny horizon into which, after
so many toils and conflicts, wounds
and tears, they now seem to be en-
tering. Every premier since the revo-
lution down to the present time has
done something, directly or indirectly,
conducive to their interests, and cal-
culated t6 raise them to equal privi,-
leges with the rest of their fellow-
countrymen, if not to restore them to
their long lost ascendency.
William III. was decidedly averse
to persecution, and whether btm
coldness or kindness of disposition,
he could never be induced by any of
his counsellors to trample on the
liberty of one portion of his subjects
in order merely to please another
portion. There was, indeed, one act
of his reign,* of which we shall speak
more particularly when we arrive at
Lord North's ministry, that pressed
very heavily on English and Irish
Catholics ; but of this act, which was
never carried fully into execution, the
nation became weary in eighty yean,
and William's consent to it was given
very unwillingly. The known mod^
ration of his own views was probably
one reason why the pope (Alexander
VIII.) did not disdain to give him
his moral support in the league
against France, and to be secretlj,
though not openly, one of the al-
liance formed against ambition and
encroachments which the states of
Europe in general felt to be intolera-
ble. When his approval of the De-
claration of Indulgence was sought by
James II., in 1687, he had answered
that he and the princess must protest
against it, as exceeding the king's
lawful prerogative, and as being dan-
gerous to the Protestant ascendenqr,
because it admitted Catholics to of-
fices of trust ; but he added that " they
were not persecutors. They should
with pleasure see Roman Cathdics
as well as Protestant dissenters re-
lieved, in a proper manner, from aD
penal statutes. They should with
pleasure see Protestant dissenters ad-
• It and ts William IIT.c. 4. Maddm*! /V«W
SimimUt mgmmut JPmmm CmtMkt^ pifM aafk tjfk
433*
British Premiers in Relation to British Catholics. 675
mined in a proper manner to civil
office. But at that point dieir high-
nesses must stop."* Such being Wil-
liam's sentiments, it is much to be
regretted that he did not finnly resist
the persecutive act which disgraces
his reign, and which, far from miti-
gating the penal statutes in force
against Catholics, made them more
severe, and stood in direct contrast
to his well-known and often express-
ed convictions.
t But not only was King William
himself favorable to Catholic liberties,
neatiy one half of the Lords, the Com-
m<ms, and the people in general, were
Jacobites, or inclined to Jacobitism.
Many of the great measures which de-
cided the course of the English gov-
ernment in a Protestant and anti-Stuart
direction were passed by extremely
small majorities, and not a few of
those who held offices of the highest
trust in William's government, who
commanded his armies and fleets, and
sat by him at the council-board, were
privately negotiating with King
James and receiving the nightly visits
of messengers from St. Germain.
Such were Russell, Godolphin, and
Marlborough; and when men so
high in the state were thus striving
to serve two masters, those Catholics
who became aware of their intrigues
could not but cherish bright hopes
that the day of their own redemption
was drawing nigh. During the reign
o( Queen Anne these hopes rose yet
higher. She had a brother who
claimed the throne of England, and
she desired that he might be her suc-
cessor. There were few at the time
who knew the inmost thoughts of her
heart ; but it was evident to all that
she leaned to the Jacobites; and
when statesmen like Oxford and Bo-
lingbroke, and a bishop like Atterbury,
stood high in her fiivor, it was mani-
* Macaolajr, Hitt ofEm^nd, ckjqk tU^ BBn. 1687.
t Ibid, duqik xrii.
fest to Catholics that her royal mind
turned wistfully toward the Catholic
d3ma8ty. The rigorous measures
which had been passed agamst Ca-
tholics in her predecessor's reign re-
mained, for die most part, a dead let-
ter during hers. Anne herself was
no bigot; and if the country had not
been kept in constant alarm by a
threatened Stuart rising, the Catholic
population would have enjoyed great
tranquillity and considerable freedom.
In 1 7 14, we find Lord Bolingbroke
writing that the Catholics enjoy as
much quiet as any others of the
queen's subjects.* But diis assertion,
it must be admitted, loses part of its
credit when we remember that the
oppressive measures enacted at va-
rious times under William and Mary
were followed by several fresh refine-
ments of cruelty in the reign of
Anne.t
When the peacefiil accession of the
Elector of Hanover to the throne of
England darkened the prospects of
the Jacobites, and suggested to them
the adoption of desperate steps as
the only remedy for their disappoint-
ment, the government was sorely
tempted to subject all Catholics to
rigorous laws, and to render existing
statutes still more severe. To this
temptation, however, happily, it did
not yield except in one or two in-
stances. The mind of Sir Robert
Walpole was neither persecutive nor
narrow. He had, shortly before
Queen Anne's demise, opposed the
odious Schism Act, by which every
tutor and schoolmaster in Great Bri-
tain was compelled to receive the
sacrament in the Established Church,
obtain a license fit)m the Protestant
bishop, and pledge himself in writing'
to conform to the state religion.^
In speaking, as he did, against this
measure, Walpole was battling for
• To Mr. Prior, Jin. 30th, 1714.
1 10 Aon« c a. ss St a, c 14
X Earl Stanhopa, Hiat of Eni^and, voL t. p. St.
676
British Prtmiert im RdaUam to Brkish CaHwUcs.
die religious Kbtrty of CadioUcs as
well as of other dissentefs from the
Anglican communion, and was doing
all that lay in his power to promote
education among them.
His associate in and out of office^
General, afterward Eari, Stanhope,
who also became premier in his
turn, was a man of most honorable
feelings and enlarged views. During
his tenure of power he not merely
endeavored to repeal the Schism Bill,
the Test Act, and the Bill against Occa*
sional Conformity, but he had designs
of a higher order. Though Catho-
lics had favored the Scottish insurrec-
tion in i7i5» ^ough Protestant anti-
pathy to them was at its height,
though the popes and the Catholic
courts of Europe in general support-
ed the designs of the Stuarts, though
" Papists" were proscribed by com-
mon consent, and even the genius
and very moderate CathoHdsm of
Pope could scarce save him from
opprobrium on account of his reli-
gion, Lord Stanhope, to his immortal
honor, undertook the cause of the
persecuted remnant, and formed the
design of repealing, or at least great-
ly mitigating, ^ penal laws in force
against them. A paper which he
wrote on the subject was placed in
the hands of leadkig English Catho-
lics. The Duke of Norfolk and
Lord Waldegrave were disposed to
accept the conditions, provkled they
obtained die sanction of the pope.*
But a variety of causes prevented the
scheme from being carried into effect ;
and premature death carried off the
only man who would, at that period,
have had the least chance of success
in a matter so difficult, tmpopular,
and benevolent Lord Stanhope's
offer of indulgence to Catholics, on
condition only of dieir swearing alle-
giance to the reigning famfly, was an
admirable precedent, and his descen-
* Ctagp to Stabepo, Jum joch. 1719.
dant, the historian of F-nglgifd fitom
the Peace of Utrecht to 1783, caMs it,
very properiy, tiie eaiiiesi gena of
Roman Catholic emancipation.
The Earl of Sunderland atoo^ who
was premier in 1718, concnned widi
Stanhope in his schemes for xdigioiB
liberty, though he was not equally
sanguine in his hope s. He bebeved
that any attempt to get rid of the
Test Act — in odier words» to admit
dissenters and Catholics to places
under government— would be luis*
ous to all their liberal designs. He
therefore prevailed on Staidiope to
abate some of his demands, and a bdi
for the relief of non-conformists was
carried by die ministry through bodi
houses, after several important daans
had been struck out Sir Robert
Walpole unfortunately opposed the
bill which, on a former occasBOBy he
had supported in principle. Thoagh
a great roan, a sound statesman, a
true patriot, he had his Uttleseves.
He did not rise above his age. He
was one thing in office, and another
out of office. He had a pasnon lior
governing, and was not over-scmpu-
lous in the means he took for attain-
ing power. Expediency was often
his law, and principle was set aside.
Hence, when Sunderland and Stan-
hope were dead, and he once more
took the helm of the ship of state, he
laid a heavy tax on the estates of Ca-
tholics, on the ground of their having
cost the nation so much by foment-
mg die rebellion of 17x5.* The dis-
afiection they then mani^^ted was the
cause also why, in 17x6, diey were
forbidden, under pain of punishment,
to enlist in the king's service.
But these enactments were of a
temporary nature, called fovth l^ a
special circumstance, and not of suffi-
cient moment to disprove the asser-
tion tfiat^ under the prime miniitffH
of George I., the political and social
*9 G«ofgtI.,€i tSi
British Pnmisn it$ Msi^ium i0 Bri$i$h CatboJics^
677
ccnidition of Ei^Ksh Catholics was
rendered more hopefiiL Yet in say*
ing this we do not forget that the
statute-book lemained unpurged,*
and exhibited even some additional
defilement. But it is not always by
law-bodes diat we can judge of a na-
tion's condition* Its acts are often
better tiian its laws, and it mends its
ways long before it improves its sta-
tutes. It was so for a long period
with Great Britain as regards her
dealings with Catholics, and if it had
been otherwise, scarcely a remnant
of the chosen people would have re-
mained to bear witness to the ancient
fax^ Sir Robert Walpole inclined
in his heart to lenient measures, and
wotdd have done more to promote
religious liberty if he had not &llen
among a stiff-necked generation, to
whom retaliation and oppression
came as things of course. His ef-
forts to relieve the Quakers from
prosecution and imprisonment for re-
fusing to pay tithes and church rates,
and to substitute for these a levy by
distress on their goods, sufficiently
proves his aversion to the oppress-
ive policy which Gibson, the Bishop
of London, and many of his lawn-
sleeved brethren, wished to pursue.
Litde alteration took place in the
condition of Catholics during the
premierships of Carteret, Pelham, and
Newcastle. They were few in num-
ber, except in the southern and west-
em provinces of Ireland, where they
comprised the great body of the la-
boring classes. In England, cm the
contrary, they had scarcely any hold
on the lower orders, but numbered
among their people many peers,
country gentlemen, and other educat-
ed persons. The alarm they occa-
sioned was incredible, considering the
poverty of their diapels, and the
scanty numbers by whom these were
frequented. The most wicked and
absurd doctrines were ascribed to
them, nor was any f&lsehood re-
specting them too glaring to obtain
credit with the prejudiced multitude.
The rising of 1745 brought them
more than ever into disrepute, and
their enemies saw with fierce joy their
bones whitening on Temple Bar and
Tower Hill The butchay of the
Duke of Cumberland was accounted
lenient when exercised against Ca-
tholics; and if the govoimient had
drenched the scaffolds with more
blood of Highland chie&, it would
probably have been applauded by a
crowd of Protestant zealots. But
Pelham and his brother, the Duke of
Newcastle, were neither cruel nor fa-
natical ; and the effort made by the
former to ameliorate the condition of
the Jews, though frustrated by the in-
tolerance of the times, proved that
his leanings, at least, were in favor
of religious and political equality.
Deserted as he was in this matter by
his timid and shuffling brother, hoot-
ed at and cried down as an enemy of
Christianity because he was averse to
persecuting the forlorn and helpless
Jews, we may judge how hopeless
would have been any attempt to
plead the rights of Catholics, and
how prudence itself demanded that
the redress of their wrongs should be
postponed to a more convenient sea-
son. The Whigs of George II.'s
reign did what they could in their
favor, and it was litde indeed, by
paving the way for future conces-
sions.
While Chatham, with his fiery ge-
nius, was holding the reins of govern-
ment, in concert successively with
the dukes of Devonshire, of New-
casde, and of Grafton; while Bute
enjoyed the favor of his sovereign,
and incurred in an equal degree the
odium of the people; while Grenville
goaded the American colonists into
revolt, and Roddngfaam vainly en-
e?«
British
M Rjdation to British Catholics.
deavored to heal the wounds which
his predecessor had inflicted on them ;
litde was thought, and still less was
said, in parliament about the eman-
cipation of Catholics. Yet many
of the events which occuired, many
of the political gladiators who ac-
quired for themselves such renown in
the arena of public life, were preparing
the way for this happy consummation
in the fulness of time. Every blow
that was struck for freedom was
a gain to the Catholic cause ; every
check that was put on the arbitrary
power of the king or the parliament
was in effect a loosening of their
bonds. When Chatham declaimed
against die use of general warrants,
and Wilkes waged war single-handed
with the crown, the cabinet, and
the commons; when Burke and Rock-
ingham, no less than Chatham, de-
nounced the injustice of the Stamp
Act, and the fratricidal cruelty of the
war by which it was in principle to
be enforced, the arguments by which
they clove down menaces, boasts,
and blatant soj^istry availed more
or less against every thing that could
be pleaded in support of the bond
age and degradation to which Ca-
tholics were subjected. Edmund
Burke was the burning and shining
light of the Rockingham administra-
tion. It was scarcely possible for
the premier to overrate his impor-
tance as an ally. He had the most
philosophical mind of any statesman
of his age ; and the fact of his being
chattered against as a wild Irishman
and a concealed papist by the Duke
of Newcastle, proved that the despis-
ed and the detested Catholics of
Ireland were likely to find a friend
in him. He was more than a great
man; he represented a principle.
He never shifted his ground, though
he sometimes changed his front He
always pleaded for order, and "a
manly, moral, regulated liberty." In
the outset of his political career, the
tide of human thought was setting
in new directions. . America was
declaring her independence; the
Wealth of NaHons was laying the
foimdation of political economy;
Wesley and Whitefidd were stirring
up a dormant spirit of sincere thougli
misguided religion in mines, fiurtories,
frdds, and wolds ; Hargreaves*s qxn-
ning-jenny was well at woik; Ark*
wright*s patent had been issued some
years; Crompton's mtile was seen
coming into play; Brindley's canal
from the Trent to the Meisey was
being cut; and Watt was preparing
his third model of the steam-engine.
Powerful solvents of old systems were
applied, and active genns of nev
ones sprang up on every side. It
was a time, therefore, when thought-
ful men were accessible to new ideas,
when they would listen to arguments
so new, so strange, so extravagant,
(for such they had once thought
them,) as those which Burke advanc-
ed in favor of reUgious toleratiofi,
and of the persecuted Irish. Year
after year his convictions gathered
strength, till at last '' the god within
him " burst forth, and he denounced
the penal code of Protestant Eng-
land as " A system full of coherence
and consistency ; well digested and wdl
composed in all its parts, a machine
of wise and daborate contrivance,
and as well fitted for the oppression,
impoverishment, aiKl degradation of a
people, and the debasement in them
of human nature itself, as eva: pro-
ceeded from the perverted ingenuity
of man."* As the secretary, the
friend, the adviser and colleague (i
Lord Rockingham, Edmund Burke
had some influence in abating the
rigor of enactments against '"pa-
pists;" and though the Rev. James
Talbot, brother of the Earl of Shrews-
bury, was tried for his life at the Old
* LttMr to Sir Hcrcoks L Myh b t, 179*^
BrMsk Pt€mkn in Rtiaihn to BriHsk Catholics.
679
Bailey for tafing mass, so late as the
year 1769, yet the spirit of persecu-
tion sensibly declined after the Mh
year of Creorge IIL's reign. It was
rardy, and at long intervals, that it
Tcntured to display itself in the Eng-
lish parliament; and in 1774, the
first decided step toward toleration
was taken by that prejudiced body.
The Catholics of Canada were allowed
by law to enjoy free exercise of their
religion, subject to the king's sujure-
macy.*
O^y four years passed before this
concession was followed by another
of &r greater importance and extent.
It was under die ministry of Lord
North, and with his concurrence,
that S^ George Savile, in 1788, in-
troduced a bill to repeal the atrocious
enactments extorted from William of
Orange by a relentless parliament
The bigots of his day had often re^
peated the felse reports of Jacobites,
who affirmed that A^Hlliam was in
secret a favorer of their religion ;
but now that eighty years had rolled
by, the representatives of the nation
in parliament, though not the peo-
ple themselves, were sensible of the
injustice their forefathers had wrought,
and were willing to make reparation
for it. It was already a marvellous
change that had come over the
minds of the thinking part of the na-
tion; and it is pleasing to reflect
that Sir George Savile's healing mea-
sure encountered little opposition.
The penal statutes which his bill re-
pealed had not, generally speaking,
been put into execution, but in some
instances they had ; and Sir George
declared himself cognizant of cases in
which Catholics were not merely living
in terror, but were obliged to bribe
informers not to betray them, in con-
sequence of the powers which the
law conferred. Thurlow, the attor-
ney-general, supported the bill, and
* S4 Geocft III. «. 35, §5.
80 did Dundas, die lord-advocate
of Scotland. Hie only whisper of
opposition came from a Whig bishop
of Peterborough, named Hinchcliffe.
By this repeal the priests were secur-
ed from persecution, schoolmasters
were permitted to teach. Catholics
were enaUed to purchase and to in-
herit estates, and many other happy
exemptions from pain and penalty
were granted to them.* Horace Wal-
pole, in one of his letters, t called the
repeal "the restoration of popery,"
and "expected soon to see Capu-
chins trampling about, and Jesuits in
high places."
It is needless to recount the ex-
cesses which fbllowed this measure.
The Lord George Gordon riots are
too well known even here to require
more than an allurion to be made to
them. Gibbon, the historian, was
an eye-witness of the scene, and he
says, in memorable words, that " the
month of June, 1780, will ever be
marked by a dark and dialxrfical
fanaticism, which I supposed to be
extinct, but which actually subsists
in Great Britain perhaps beyond any
other country in Europe,** Impend
by these frantic disturbances, the
pariiament condescended to explain
Sir George Savile's bill to the people,
and to show that, though intended to
relieve "papists," it was not meant
to encourage " popery."
The coalition ministry, under the
Duke of Portland, did not last long
enough for Fox, its most dtstingui^-
ed and philanthropic member, to pro-
pose measures for the relief ofCatho-
lics. But his great rival, Pitt, during
his long tenure of office, had means,
of befriending them whidi he did not
altogether neglect The Toleration
Act I received the royal assent in
i79r, and many of its provisions did
* tS Geocft IIT., c ^
t To Rer. Mr. Cole, May si, 1778.
X 31 George III., a ^
6So
British Premiers in Relation to
CattoUcs,
credit to William Pitt's wisdom and
humamt]r. It removed penalties still
attached by law to the celebration of
C^atholic worship, and relieved tutors,
schoolmasters, barristers, and peers
fiom some degrading restrictions.
Pitt would willingly have gone fur-
ther, much further. He would glad-
ly have fulfilled the promises made to
some of the leaders of the Irish peo-
ple, and would have cemented the
imion of England and Ireland by ad-
mitting Catholics to a share of politi-
cal power and by providing a state
endowment of die Catholic priest-
hood. He even resigned his post as
premier in 1801 because he found it
impossible to obtain the consent of
the purblind, bigoted old king to the
measures he had planned for the
peace of Ireland It would have
been better for his £une if he had
persevered in his good intentions.
That he did not do so, is a stain on
his memory which posterity, however
lenient, cannot wash out. His hon<^
was involved in completing the union
with Ireland by Catholic emanqpa-
ticm. This he not only failed to do,
but, out of regard to his sovereign, he
promised in writing that he would
never again moot the question, and
that he would oppose its being agi-
tated to the day of his death. This
was CBirying loyalty too far. It pre-
vailed against justice. It cancelled
personal honor. An engagement is
fsacred; and if Pitt had observed his,
•he would have stood higher in the
•esteem of thinking men, without driv-
ing George III. into lunacy or to
Hanover. Considering all the cir-
cumstances, we cannot fed surprised
at his setting it aside; but we regret
tiiat he did not hold to it firmly.
Faith in political leaders would then
have been more easy, and public vir-
tue less a sham. When the strength
of Pitt superseded the weakness of
Addington, and the great statesman
found himsdf again prime nmier,
his tongue was tkd in rderenoe lo
Catholic claims. Nay, even \m rival,
Fox, when he came once more into
office, refiiained fit>m advocatii^
emancipation out of defecence to
the king's weakness and tendency
to madness. Indeed, Ae Grenvifle
ministry, called usually " All the Til-
ents," broke up at last on the ques-
tion of removing Catholic disabiHtiei,
as that of Pitt had done in Ae jor
1 80 1. A puny and pitiable concei-
sion had been made to Irish Calfadic
soldiers in 1793. They had been
allowed by law to rise in the army to
At rank of colonel, in case of their
serving in Ireland. Lord SdmoaA
and Chancellor Erddne were opposed
to Catholic emancipation, yet even
they were willing in their boundless
generosity to extend this privilege to
officers serving in Eng^d. The
king was alarmed at the proposal,
and wrote to Lord ^)enser, dedaring
that it should never gain his consent
It would remove a re s trict i on on Ro-
man Catholics, and it was only p«it
of a S3rstem to which he was un-
changeably averse. But when tvo
da3rs had passed, his majesty diooj^
better of it He would not thwart
his ministers for such a trifle. He
yielded the point, and then discotei'
ed than he had been deceived by the
liberal members of the ad)inet, and
that they actually intended to pot
Catholics and dissenters on exactly
the same footing as members of the
Anglican church in the army, and to
exact from them merely an oadi of
allegiance. The bill for the pmrpoae
had, in fact, been submitted to faJflBt
but, being blind, he had let it ptf
without proper scrutmy. His minis-
ters always affirmed tiiat, if he hid
been misled, it was not thjx>ugh their
&ult or intentitm. The affli^ oU
man was greatly disturbed by what
he heard on the subject from Lord
I ftmttfs iu JCwUttton 90
CaikoHes. tti
Sidmoodi, and be became stHl more
indignant wben tbe ImII was fiilbered
on bim, introduced into parliament
by Lord Howick, (afterward Lord
Grey,) opposed stoutly by Mr. Per-
ceval, and read for the first time.
He resolved in secret to rid himself
of ministeis whom he regarded as
dangerous and false. He informed
them that the bill in question would
never be signed by him, that it must
be withdrawn, and that he should be
satisfied with nothing less than an ex-
plicit assurance and promise that no
such measures in fiiture should be
imposed. This "All the Talents"
refiised to give, and the king, on hear-
ing that their answer was final, said,
" Then I must look about me." •
Though die Duke of Pordand be-
came prime minister in 1807 with the
express intention of defending the
sovereign against importunity in favor
of Catholics, it is worthy of remark
that the College of Ma3mooth was
endowed during his premiership ; and
tfiis is only one illustration of the re-
markable fact which we are endea-
voring to exhibit — that the Catholic
cause in England has progressed in
England under every government
since the revolution of 1688, in spite
€^ penal statutes, obstacles, and resist-
ance of king, lords, commons or
people.
Mr. Perceval, who succeeded the
Duke of Portland in 1809, is describ-
ed by Madden as '^ a stupid lawyer,
without character or practice, noted
only for his bigotry."
There was litde done for Catholics
in his time; but about two months
aAer he had been shot in the lobby
of the House of Commons, Lord Wel-
lesley moved that die Catholic daims
should be ccmsidered.
The cabinet of Lord Liverpool
was formed on the basis of neutrality
regards the Catholic question ; in
•EogBshPrawen. No. liL <Mm^ |86^
Other words, its membos were allow-
ed to advocate or oppose emand-
paticm, just as they thought fit Can-
ning and Casdereagh were its fiiends;
Lord Eldon was its bitterest oi^k>-
nent The premier himself invariably
spoke against it, but he was not viru-
lent His hostility to it arose fix>m
the conviction that Protestant ascen-
dency was the real and proper bads
of the British constitution, as revised
under William III. To alter that
basis was, in his eyes, to e£fect a re-
volution; and he predicted, in 1812
and in 1825, that if emancipation
were granted, either the Protestant
church in Ireland would be diMstab*
lished or the Roman Cadiolk Chuidi
there would be established by law.
Events have proved, happily, that ha
was not altogether wrong.
The period of the Liverpool ad-
ministration was, of course, a dreary
one for Catholics. The effints of
Grattan, Wellesley, Sir Henry Par-
nell, Phmkett, and Canning to obtain
for them some redress, ended for the
m^ part in cruel disappointmoit
Yet in 18x7 the government intro-
duced a bill, which passed both
houses, opening to them the army
and navy, and thus generously be-
stowed on them the privilege of shed-
ding their blood in the service of
their oppressors. By annual acts of
indemrdty, also, CathcAc officers
were relieved firom the penalty of not
taking the oaths of supremacy.
In 1824, Lord Liverpool had so far
relaxed his oppostion to Catholic
claims that he spoke in favor of Lord
Lansdowne's two bills for giving the
elective firanchise to English as it had
been given to Irish Catholics, and for
dirowing open to them magistracies
and odier inferior offices, besides al-
lowing the Duke of Norfolk to exe-
cute his hereditary office of earl mar-
shal The bills were rejected, but
the duke's claim was allowed In
682
British Premiirs im Riiaiion to British Catholics.
1826, just two yean before his death.
Lord Liverpool submitted to the king
an important paper, in which he re-
minded his majesty that the cabi-
net he had framed in 1812 regard-
ed emancipation from the first as
an open question, and declared that
he could not now be a party to any
other arrangement He humbly sug-
gested that the king should advert to
the actual state of the opinions of
public men in the two houses of par-
liamenty particularly of those in the
House of Commons, upon the Roman
Catholic question, and diat he should
seriously consider whether it would
not be at least as impracticable as in
x8z2 to form an administration upon
die exclusively Protestant principle.
Thus Lord Liverpool himself, and his
neutral or dividal cabinet, prepared
the way for emancipation in the year
after his death.
Canning succeeded Lord Liverpool
in 1827. He had long advocated
the redress of Catholic wrongs. It
was not his fiemlt that Lreland was
duped by the union. It had been
his desire and intention that emanci-
pation ^ould seal and complete that
measure. He coidd scarcely venture
to ^>eak of it, however, except in
vague terms; for the smallest allusion
to it on his part would have been
sure to call down upon him the ven-
geance of the treasury benches. Yet he
did allude to it in January and April,
1799, and thirteen years after, when,
speaking of die Catholic daims, he
declared that ^ e]q)ectations had been
held out, the disappointment of
which invdved the moral guilt of an
absolute breach of faith."
^Does history," asks Goldwin
Smith, in discussing tiie wrongs of
Irefaud-^'does history afford a pa-
nllel to that agony of seven centuries
which has not yet reached its doie?
But England is ^ favorite of Hea-
ven; and when she commits oppicr
sion, it will not reooQ on the oppr»
sorl"
If Canning's life had been spared,
there is no doi^t that he would have
signalized his tenure of office b§ te
completion, in some measure at lent,
of the designs of the Catholic Aao-
ciation. This body, formed bj
O'Connell in 1823, had infiised net
life and hc^ into Irish patriodOL
Disi^pomted and betrayed as the
pe(q>le of Ireland had been by oae
statesman after another, they coold
not but expect something from €»•
ning's hands, especially when tbej
saw him rise in April, 182a, and more
fi9r leave to bring in a biU whid
should relieve Roman Catholic peen
from die disabilities imposed on then
by the Act 30 of Charies II., wxdi»
gard to the right of sitting and vot-
ing in tlie House of Peers. His bd-
Uant and beautiful ^>eech was oova-
ed with a certain success. Hismotka
was carried by a majority of five; bit
Peel opposed the measure, and the
Lords rejected it by a majoritf 0^
forty-two. Their policy in sudi nat-
ters has always been one of obstnc*
tion. They declined to let nobkfflcfi
so noble and so pacific, and of fiu»
lies so ancient, as the Dukes of N<r-
folk, the Eari of Shrewsbury, Lord
Petre, and Lord Stourton, sit bende
them in their chambers w^ pem of
the realm.
After this Mure, Canning's seal is
the Catholic cause is said to have d^
dined; but he doubdess Mt his in*
potence, and waited only tfll a roff^
fiivorable opportunity of serving thi
Catholic interests should arrive.
TO BB OOMTUfUSOi.
Ck€S9.
68s
CHE6&
It is rather difficult finr. the qpects-
tor at a game of chess (who is not
himself a player) to OHnprehend the
pteasure of it, and to beliere that
those two grave, silent individuals are
not only seeking but actually finding
amusement and recreation.
Yet no game is more beautiful in
ks appointments.; beautifiil in the
mathematical precision of its moves;
beautiful in its colored, carved, and
varied pieces; intellectually beauti-
ful in its very quietude — in the power
with which it represses every mani-
festation of hope or disappointment,
in its wordless intensity of thought
Other games come in some degree
within the scope of the most hum-
ble capacity ; but chess, royal chess,
loftier in its requirements, demands
the most noble. It has attractions
all-absorbing and fascinating as well
as profitable unto wisdom; but they
stand fully revealed to him only who
can widely plan and steadily execute;
whose circumspection is never beguil-
ed and whose caution never sleepeth ;
who is elated not overmuch by suc-
cess nor despondent imder disasters;
who keepeth his own coimsel and
can baffie an opponent's penetration ;
whose well-schooled eye gives no
due, by a glance, to his intended vic-
tim, and whose well-trained finger
never hoveis in irresolution. Behold
the requirements of chess 1
It has been justly called in olden
English Th€ RayiUle Ganu; for not
only is a king its h«t>, but it has af-
forded amusement to kings and war-
riors through many a past age, and
in countries widely distant from each
other.
The origin of the game of diess is
ttiU an unsettled question. like some
of the oriental monarchs, it might
write itself '' brother to tte sun and
moon "^-60 ancient is its pedigree.
Some writeis have proved, to their
own satis&ction at least, that it was
chess which enHvened the tedium of
the Greeks encamped about the walls
of Troy, and that its inventor was
Palamedes, son of Nauplius, King of
Eubcea. Who can doubt the inven-
tive genius of Palamedes after all die
tales told of him ?«— tales we learn once
and then forget I repeat one. When
the Greek heroes were gathering for
the mighty Trojan conflict, Palamedes,
himself a warrior, was sent to Ithaca,
to summon Achilles and Odysseus to
join them. The latter, desirous of
evading the call, feigned himself in-
sane, and Palamedes, to test his truth-
fulness, seized his infknt child and laid
it before him in a furrow which he was
ploughing. Odysseus paused, raised
the child, and removed it, thus giv-
ing evidence of his sanity. Who after
this can doubt the mventive powers
of Palamedes or his historian, and
who can say that either might not
have invent^ chess ?
In a manuscript of the fourteenth
century in the Harleian collection, in
the British Museum, is a drawing in
which two warriors are represented,
evidently Greeks, with a chess-board
between them, engaged in play. The
author of the MS. traces the game
back to Odysseus, and concludes that
one of these chie& is intended for him.
In the great Egyptian collection of
the British Museum, specimens are
preserved di a kind of chess-men taken
fiK>m a tomb of one of die Pharaohs,
which prove that they had a game
684
Ch$s$.
similar if not identical with our chess ;
and some hieroglyphics on the ruins
of Luxor, Thebes, and Pahnyra have
been interpreted as indicating such a
game.
Caxton, who printed a Boke of
Chesse in 1474, quoting from some
other writers, gives a wonderful story,
showing that it was devised in the
reign of Evil-Merodach, King of Ba*
bylon, by a philosopher "whychc
was named in Caldee Exerses, and
in Greke Philemetor.'* The Greek
cognomen of the philosopher leads
somewhat to die belief of such a pos-
sibility.
Chaucer, without any proof^ gives
us in rhyme another candidate for
the glory — ^Athalus. He describes,
in a sort of dream, a visionaiy oppo-
nent, Fortune—
** At cbesse with me the gan to plcj«
With hir &Is drtughtea dyrene*
She stule oo me and toke ny fcn, (»oir gBMB^
And when I taugh my fen awaye^
Alas, I kottthe no longer pleye.
With a powne enaale, alias I
Ful craftier to pleye the was
Than Athalos, who made the game
First of the dwsse, eo was h|s
A repetition of half the assertions
and conjectures on this subject would
fill volumes; indeed, volumes have
been written on it; for no other thing
of pure amusement has ever enlisted
in its cause so many learned commen-
tators of all tongues and nations, who
unite, however, upon two points — ^its
remote antiquity and its mighty re-
nown.
The most reliable account of the
origin of the game is, without doubt,
that given by Sir WiUiam Jones. His
high official rank for many years un-
der die English government in India,
and his familiarity with oriental lan-
guages, gave him opportunities for
oriental research beyond almost any
other writer. He asserts, as die re^
suit of his inquiries, that it was in-
vented by the Hindoos, and from
*Bdrs citfwcm vol fi
them (accordmg to a univenal Per
sian tradition) it was brought, in the
sixth century, to Persia. Its next step
was to Arabia, and from Uience it
was carried by the Saracenic cooqiMst
of Spain to western Europe. He
found no mention of it in the
writings of die Brahmins, ahknigh (be
continues) they say confidemly tihit
Sanscrit Ixxdn on chess exist
Who the gifted individual was fron
whose brain emanated such aa ingeoi>
ous complication of mathematics and
strategy, disguised under the auak
of amusement, we shall perhaps norer
know. He might well have excUa*
ed with Horace,
Exegi moonmeDtnsi sere ptfummL
But alas ! the name of the builder
is lost; or perhaps a future Layard, in
exhuming the splendors of some an-
cient city, may find a record on some
crumbling stone of the inventor of
chess.
To an indefinite number of persons
the honor is at present ascribed, e>i-
dently in mere conjecture, as in the
following extract translated fiom a
Chinese annal on chess; but it has
an interest, in showing die antiquitj
of the game and the high esteem in
which it was held :
''Three hnndred and seTcnty-Biae yoo
after the time of Confudus, or 196$ voo
ago/' says the annal, " Hung Cocho, jCiB|
of Kiangnan, sent an expedition into tlie
Shense conntry, nnder commaiKl of a nua-
darin named Hansing, to oonqner it Aiv
one campaign, the foldiera went into wiattr
quarters, and they grew homesick and waat-
©d to return. Then Hansing inrcntcd 4e
game of chess. They were well pleaseA
In the spring they took the Md wp^ v^
toon added the rich oountry of Sbcnse !•
the kingdom of Kiangnan."
It is more l&e)y diat Hansing onljr
taught the soldiers what he had him-
self learned elsewhere; but Shense is
stifl the name of a n<^em prorince
of China, and Chinese soldieft stl
play chess.
^i^^^^^^w##
68S
Tor^ the name of the game also, as
well as its origin, we rely most on 6ir
W. Jones, who traced it to Chaiur^
Enga, signifying in eastern dialect cer-
tain parts of an army; and in his
time the Malays still called it Chaiur.
The whole vocabulary of chess—
the only sound which bieaks the mo^
notonous silence of the game, is the
little word check; and it is a singular
feet; remarked by Mr. F. W, Cron-
hehn, tiiat, however varied the names
of the pieces in different languages,
yet the Italians, French, English,
Danes, Icelanders,* Germans, Poles,
and Russians all give the king wam-
m^ in the same word — check I Some-
body traces it to 5?ieik^ the tide of a
high ruler in the Arabian djrnasty, and
supposes that they so named the prin-
cipal piece, which we caH ki$^; hence
when the adversary placed him in
danger, he called out to him '' sheik !"
or, as we say, " check I" This is cer-
tainly plausible; for mat in Arabic,
as also in some dialects of Per«a and
India, signifies 1o kUly to slay ; hence
comes ^sheik-mat^^ king-slain, or the
modem ** check-mate.**
II.
It may be supposed, then, following
the dates of Sir W. Jones, that the
game of chess made its entrance into
Arabia in her most glorious era ; and
it is easy to believe that a recreation
so purely intellectual, so entirely reli-
ant on skill and removed from chance,
and which called into action all the
higher powers of mind, would speedi-
ly find favor with the refined and cut
tivated Arabians in the golden days
of her history. It is easy to picture
Haroun-al-Rasdiid, who *' never built
a mosque without attadiing to it a
school,** and who taught his subjects
^at ^the most noble homage of a
creature is to cultivate the faculties
bestowed on him by his Creator "-*
h is easy to imagine him seeking re-
laxation firom the cares of government
in a game of chess ; and not he alone
—but that, firom the universal diffu-
sion of learning and refinement among
the people, under him and his imme-
diate successors, it would meet imi-
versal acceptance, and be engrafted,
as it were, on their nationality. And
thus we find it was ; and so entirely
adopted that it was the most che-
rished pleasure which they carried
with them to (what was to them) the
far-off lajii, of Spain.
To the Arabians then, the west of
Europe, at least, if not the whole of
it, is mdebted for chess; and it is
pleasant to believe that its present
perfections may have been wrought
out by some modifications of it, in
those famous dd universities and
schools of learning which history tells
us were scattered over every land
where the Arabians held sway, but
more especially over Arabia proper.
Chess, looked upon in this con-
nection, wears a mantle of romance;
there is a spell upon it of that depart-
ed glory 1 It is redolent of orange-
groves, and jasmines, and thickets of
roses ; of sculptured halls, and gor-
geous tapestry, and marble pave-
ments ; of learned men and beautiful
women. All around it in that land
breathed an impassioned poetry and
anenchainingeloquence; the language
of passion, and inspired thoughts, and
bokl imagery, of whose power to sway
mankind our rule-bound brains can
form no conception.
It speaks to us of the days when
Bagdad was the gathering -place,
under Al-MamouUi (Mahomet-aben-
Amer,) of the wise men of all nations;
when her universities and schools of
science were the boast of her rulers;
when long trains of camels were daily
seen entering her gates laden with
precious manuscripts fxx her libraries;
trtntt mediciaii^ law» mathematics^
6S6
Cias.
astronomy, counted among her dd-
zens dieir most renowned professors,
and when all diese sciences were
made accessible to the people by col-
leges and academies in every town.
Nor were Bassora, Kaffii, Samarcand,
and numerous other cities much less
famous; Alexandria possessed more
than twenty schools for philosophy
alone; and Fez and Larace hdd in
their immense libraries works of rare
value nowhere else to be found. In
every department of science and art
they seem to have labored with suc-
cess. They had dictionaries, geogra-
phical, critical, and biographical; the
universal history of ^e woild by
Aboul-Feda, and the great historical
dictionary of Prince Abdel Malek.
Al-Assacher wrote commentaries on
the first inventors of the arts; and
Al-Gazel, a learned work on Arabian
antiquities. Nor were their research-
es confined to the schools; after forty
years of travel in studying mineralogy,
Abou-ryan-al-Byrony produced his
treatise on precious stones — ^rich in
facts and observations. With equal
zeal, at a later period, Aben-al-Beidier
traversed the mountains and plains
of Europe, the sands of Afiica, and
the most remote countries of Asia, to
gather every thing rare and worthy of
record in die vegetable and animal
world. Chemistry they implied to
the arts of life; and Al-Farabi, who
spoke seventy languages, spent his
liife in making a compend of dl known
sciences in one immense encyclopaedia.
They had invented gunpowder al-
though the honor is often falsdy given
to a German chemist— and they were
familiar with the compass, long before
either was named in Eurc^; and
our sciences of calculation are indebt*
ed to them for numerals. The mast
of their poetry and fiction exceeds
that of all other nations put togedien
One, at least, we all know; for who
cannot recall many-^iyet, how wwiy
happy hours of boyhood, begdled
with the gorgeous impossibilitifis o£
Arabian Nights /
Amidst all these royal students,
these accomplished scholars, the dieo-
boaxd had its place; it was the pies-
sure, the recreation — the fidd wher^
on wit encountered wit in sharp and
pleasant tilt And while from all that
land the light of science has depart-
ed ; while the glories of the past are,
with the mass of its people, not ereo
a tradition, travellers tell us that, af^
ter the day's journeying is done, the
dusky Arab ''spreads out on the
ground a checkered doth, and plajrs
on it a game similar to our chess."
IIL
Although Spain, and the adjacest
nations through her, received dies
fix>m Arabia, the game not only ex*
isted but was wide-spread in the north
of Europe at a period so early (and
under a dight modifica^on) ^ «e
are led to believe they derived it fim
some other source. Indeed, nothing
would seem more likely than that
some of the many tribes who were
constandy migrating thither from Asia
would carry it with them. Major C
F. de Jaenish, a Russian writer, is of
opinion that Russia received it diied
from the east through her andeot
conquerors, the Moguls ; and in proof
of this, he notes two pieces changed
in the chess of southern Europe, but
retained in their original form in Ros^
sia. These are, first, the commander
of the army, or biser^ called in Pcista
fert; and second, the tlephani^ called
in Russia, Shne, But it doabdess
existed in Russia long before the Mo*
guls hdd sway, whidi was not until
the thirteendi century ; and longb^
fore that time there are records of it
as an amusement anxmg the North-
men of the neighboring kingdoms.
Besides this, in the ninth century the
«7
descendants of Ruric the Nonnan,
who then ruled Russia, had extended
their conquests to the Black Sea, and,
in the language of the old historian,
"greatly infested its waters;" one
of them had even married the sister
of the Greek emperor. It is^ therefore,
more than prc^able that through
some of these channels chess was
introduced into the northern part of
Europe at a very early date.
It may have been carried thither
by those maritime marauders, called
&e sea-kings, even before it was heard
c^ in Spain. The first movement of
die Arabians against Spain is gene-
rally fixed in the year seven hundred
and ten ; when Taric-ben-Zeyed, with
some ga]ie]rs disguised as merchant-
men, cruised along the coasts of Anda-
lusia and Lusitania, to see what temp-
tation the Christian land ofiered to
the followers of the prophet That
his survey was satisfactory, we know
by what followed. But long before
this, the Northmen in their ships had
made themselves famous and feared.
An Icelandic chronicle tells lis '' they
were on every sea, and more numer-
ous on water than cm land." In the
eighth and ninth centuries, they were
to be found not only repeatedly ra-
vaging England, Scotland, and Ire-
land, but sailing up the Somme, the
Seine, the Loire, the Garonne, and the
Rhone ; they had pillaged and burnt
Paris, Amiens, Orleans, Bordeaux,
Toulouse, Nantes, and Tours; and
laid waste Provence and Dauphiny.
More than once they lanclied in Spain ;
and they had coasted the Mediterra-
nean, to Ae terror of Greece and Italy.
These expeditions were always preda-
tory; and they may not only have
acquired in their Mediterranean voy-
ages some hints of the game of chess,
but chess-men and chess-boards may
have made a trifle in the booty with
which they always returned laden to
their nofdicrn homoii
Mons. Mallet, the antiquarian, in
seeking to account for the great quan-
tity of foreign coin found about that
time in the northern kingdoms, thinks
it less |»:obable that it was the honest
gains of commerce than '' relics of
the plunder collected by these rava-
gers." In like manner, perhaps, they
appropriated chess. In whatever way
obtamed, it must have been to them
particularly attractive ; for what was
it but that for which they lived— -bat-
tle and victory ? Nothing could have
been better adapted, in the long
nights of their northern winters, both
to divert them fi'om that restlessness
which seems to have possessed the
whole of their existence not spent in
the tumults of war and die chase, or
in preparations for them — and also as
a pastime at their fi-equent and mag-
nificent feasts; occasions upon which
they infiised into it their own fierce
and vindictive spirit, for we know
that their chess games ended very
frequ^tly not in the check-mate of
the king, but in breaking each other's
heads with the chess-board. Some
such instances on record are tragic
and revolting. Similar manners ex-
tended along the middle ages. An
old writer thus explains the feud
which existed between Charlemagne
and Ogier the Dane :
" At one of the festivals At the court of
Charlemagne, the emperor's son Charles,
aad Baaduin, son of Ogier, went to play to-
gether. They took a chess-board and sat
down jto play for pastime. They arranged
their chess-men on the board. The empe-
ror's son first moved his pawn, and yomig
Battdmn movd his ouJiM, (bishop.) Thea
Charles thought to press him very hard, and
he moves his knight upon the other at^n.
The one moves forward and the other back-
ward so long that Bauduin said mad to him
in die comer. Then die young piinoe waa
fiirious at hit defieat, and not only tttaited
the son of Ogier with the most insulting
language, but seized the chess-board and
dealt him such a violent blow on his fore-
head that he split Ids head and icatterad h&i
biaiiia on tht floor 1"
68«
Chess.
Kisg John of England, in hti youth,
at the court of his father Henry 11.,
played sometimes with Fulk Fitz Wa-
rine, a lad like himself, and as often
it ended in a quarrel A curious old
history of the Fitz Warines gives the
following story:
** Young Fulk was bred at the court of
King Henry, and was much beloved by all
his sons except John ; for he used often to
quarrel with John. It happened that John
and Fulk were sitting aU idone in a chamber
playing at chess. John took the chess-board
and hit Fulk a great blow. Fulk felt hurt,
raised his foot and struck John so that his
head went against the wall, and he grew
weak and £unt Fulk was in consterna-
tion, but he was glad they were alone. Then
he rubbed John's ears, and he recovered
and went to the king his father to com-
plain.**
His majesty bestowed upon him
little sympathy, for he punished him
for being quairelsome. Considering
diat John began the afiray, this might
pass for justice ; but he did not forget
the matter when he came to the
throne. Fulk was the famous outlaw. -
In many old manuscripts inciden-
tal mention is made of chess as a
favorite amusement for heroes. When
Regner Lodbrog, the warrior-poet,
was killed, the messenger who carried
the news to his sons found two of
them — Signed (snake-eye) and Hur*
tish (the bold) — playing chess; the
third one, Biom, was mending his
lance. Regner Lodbrog died about
the dose of the eighth century.
Snorro Sturleson relates that, in 1028,
Canute, King of Denmark, rode to
Roskild to visit Earl Ulft, the husband
of his sister. The king was very dull
and scarcely spoke, and to enliven
him, Eari Ulft proposed a game of
chess. So they sat down to it, and
played until Ulft took a knight; this
the king would not allow.
** Are you a coward ?" he exclaimed.
^ You did not call me coward when
X shielded you in battle," replied the
eail ; but f<^ this reminder he lost
his head.
An early metrical romance teDs w
that when Witikind, king of the pa-
gan Saxons, received infomiatioD ^
Charlemagne was marching cm his
dominions, the messenger found him
in his palace at Tremoigne, playing
chess with Escorsaus de Lutise; and
his queen, Sebile, who also under-
stood the game, was looking on.
Witikind was so indignant at the news
that he '' seized the chess-board and
smashed it to pieces, and his ktf
grew as red as a cherry."
There is a droll story told of a
kindred spirit of more modem date.
A choleric Scottish nobleman, a for-
mer Earl of Stair, frequently play-
ed with a friend of his, Colond St^
wart Not contented with bestow-
ing very expressive invectives on the
colonel's occasional superior play, he
sometimes, when goaded by a chtck-
malfp flung at his head any object
possible within reach ; so at last the
colonel, for prudence* sake, when
about to make his last move, alvayi
rose hastily and retreating behind
some door, called out, ** Check-matt^
my lord 1"
While the general manners of aa
age are gathered from its grave histo*
rians, we can learn them more in d>
tail from its romances. In all the
early romances left to us, wherever
chess is mentioned — and it is con-
stantly introduced aa a pastime of
knights, princes, and courtly dames-
it is almost always an occasion or
implement of some fierce dispute.
In the romance of Quatre Jih
ttAymon^ the agents of Regnault go
to auest Richard, Duke of Norman-
dy, and find him playing chess. The
result is thus quaintly told in an old
English version, printed by Copeland.
«<When Duke Ridiarde saw tliese to^
{ettratef hed bim bjr the aroi, be btkk «
his binde a lady of tvei7» wherewitb hi
Ck€$S4
689
wtfiM,\mit'^i^tak matt t^yofwdU THenhr
withdrew his arm, and gave to one of the
sergeauates such a stroke with it into the
forehead that he made him tumble over and
over at his feete ; and then he toolre a rooke
and smote another widial upon his head» sa
that he all te-brost it to the brayne."
In the romance of Jhrisf la Du-
chesse^YiCt young son, brought up at
the court of Himgaiy, becomes an
object of jealousy to some of the
nobles, and four of them conspire to
murder him. In order to accomplish
their object with safety to themselves,
they mvite him to play chess with
them in a retired cellar. *• Hughes,**
said they, "will you come with us
to play at chess ? For you can teadi
us chess and dice ; for certainly you
know the games better tlian we do.**
Hughes seemed suspicious of their ad-
vances, and It was not until they pro-
mised him to avoid all disputes tiiat
he accepted their invitation. He be-
gan to play with the son of Duke
Granier; but while he in kindness
was about showing them in what
manner to move, they drew their
knives upon him, and outrageously
insulted him. He killed the foremost
of them with a blow of his fist, and
seizing the chess-board for a weapon, '
for he was imarmed, he ** brained the
other three with it."
In Spain and Italy, about the same
time, the game is mentioned under
more gentle guise. An interesting
letter is preserved, written by Da-
niianus. Cardinal Bbhop of Ostia, to
Pope Alexander II., who was elected
pope in xo6i. Damianus tells the
pope how he was travelling with a
bishop of Florence, when,
'* having arrived at a hotel, I withdrew
into the cell of a priest, while he remained
with a crowd of travellers in the spadous
house. In the morning I was informed by
niy lenraiit that the hiahop had been playing
chess; whidi information like aa arrow
pierced my heart At a convenient hour I
sent for him, and said, in a tone of reproof
' The haftd is stretched oat, the rod is ready
VOL. X. — ^44
lor the ^fieaden' « Let thelanlt be proved,'
said he, 'and penance shall not be refused.*
'Was it well,* I rejoined, 'was it worthy
of the character you beer, to spend the eve-
ning in the vanity of chess-play, and defile
^ hands and toofue which oaght to be the
mediator between man and the Deity ? Are
you aware that, by the canonical law, bishops
who are dice-players are ordered to be de-
posed ? ' He, however, making himself n
shield of defence from the difference oC
niunes, sud that dice was one things and
chess another ; consequently, that the canon
only forbade dice, but tacitly allowed chess.
To which I replied, ' Chess is not named in
the text, but the general term of dice coou
prebends both games ; wherefore, since dice
is forbidden and chess is not named, it fol-
lows without doubt that both are equally
condemned.' "
It is safe to conclude from this that
the cardinal himself was not iamiliar
with the game.
Females are lepresented on many
illuminated manuscripts, as well as in
early romances, as playing chess to-
gether or with knights. In one call*
ed Blonde of Oxford^ J«an, ^ young^
French nobleman, comes to Englaria
and enters the household service pf
the Earl of Oxford, It was a part
of Jean's duty to attend on the liady
Blonde, daughter of the carl, and
serve her at table; after dinner, he
goes hawking and hunting with them,
and also teaches the ladies French,
"Then he entertains the Ladye
Blonde, and teaches her chess, and he
often says check and male to her."
Similar scenes are in Ipomydon^ as
in the following quoted l^ Strutt :
" When theye had dyned, as yon taye^
Ix>rd8 and ladys yede to playe.
Some to tables, some to cheue,
And other gaznys more or less.**
" The writers immediately after the con-
quest," says a distinguished antiquarian,
'* speak of the Saxons as playing at chess ;
and pretend that they learned the game of
the Danes. Gaimar, who gives an interest-
ing story of the deceit practised on King
Ed^gar (A.D. 973) by Ethehrold, when sent
to visit the boiutiful Elfthrida, daughter of
Orgar of Devonshire, describes the young
lady and her noble father passing the day
at chess.'' (Wri^)
690
Chess.
Such examples mig^t be maltipKed
to tediousness ; but one more notice
of it among the Northmen is worth
giving, because it is found in one of
the grandest of modem epics, by the
Swedish poet, Tegner, foimded on
events in the life of one of their most
renowned heroes — The Legend of
FHthiof.
The fortunes of the valiant Frithi-
of, who was the son of a thane, seem
to have been ruled by his love for the
fair Ingebom, daughter of a king,
and the scorn with which her two
brothers spumed his proposal for her
hand. A day of retaliation, however,
soon came. Helg6 and Halfdan,
the brothers, were threatened by a
neighboring foe, and sent to Frithiof
— <ertainly with a sublime forgetful-
ness of what had passed — to ask his
aid. \Vhen the messenger arrived, he
was pla)nng chess with his friend,
Bjom, the Bear. Frithiof refiises very
decidedly. His heart still pines for
Ingebom; and, Kke a true Viking, he
betakes himsdf for coDsdatioQ to the
eea» which be vows shall be ^bb
home in life and his grave in deadk"
The diess-boaid beside vhkrb Frithi-
of doubdess forsoC his griefe for a
brief space is described s iMg^ijv
Vj^i iiit,aier a
S«;ic2x m:xs coe c£
cc
r>cc
i^>f ctess^
It ^?
C^lS ^MK 3k3h3( XL t^
The lapse of time, whidi has swept
away cities and their inhabitants,
which has so blotted from human
speech the words of those who (»ce
held converse around it that ^tMi in-
scriptions on stone are unintcfligMf,
has lefr it almost unaltered.
Coming close to that domestic lie
of nations of which chess made oee
pleasure, what has not chang^?
Modes of dress, ccMistruction of dwell-
ings, fashions of entertainment— aS
have had their mutations. Yet tbe
game, as far back as the earliest ac-
counts of it, has been almost literaSy
such as we see it. One featoie h£
always marked it, ckcssj there lus
alwajTS beena sovereign to be atod-
ed and defended, and inferior pieca
to accomplish these ends in combi-
nation, yet by difierent means. Be
board of sixty46iir squares has ako
almost invariably been maintaiDei
Two pieces wrcre mfwfifird wfaea t
passed from Arabia to Spain, or o-
tber, from tbe Suaccn to the Qcs-
ttan. In Arabia and Fexsia, there v2
DO Semak oo 6ie board; wHItatwcoI
Chess.
691
siasm enkindled by faith. Every
earthly interest, every tie of affection,
all consideration of self, was to be ac-
counted nothing, compared with die
sacred obligations involved in the ex-
pedition.
The means of expressing all these
delicate sentiments and deep emo-
tions, and furthermore of expressing
them in poetry, was happily opened
to them at this era in the language
of the troubadours — the Langue (TOc.
The polish which poetry had received
from the Arabians in Spain had ele-
vated it to an art, and made it so at-
tractive to the more refined classes
that the highest bom, even kings and
princes, did not think it beneath them
to cultivate it; and he added greatly
to his renown who had qualified him-
self to express in it the two ruling pas-
sions of his soul — ^liis martial ardor
and his devotion to his laifye-hve.
Every knight, almost, was a trouba-
dour, and the homage rendered to
woman seems almost fabulous. A
French writer says of this period :
" Love had assumed a new character. . •
It was not more tender and passionate
than among the Romans ; hut it was more
respectful, and something of a mystery was
mingled with its sentiment Women were
considered rather as angelic beings than as
dependents and inferiors. The task of serv-
ing and protecting them was considered hon-
orable, as though they were the representa-
tives of the divinity upon earth ; and to this
worship was added an ardor of feeling, pas-
sion, and desire, peculiar to the people of the
south, and the expression of which was bor-
rowed from the Arabians." *
Woman was not slow in extending
her influence to more prosaic matters
than Les Cours d^ Amour and the in-
spirations of poetry ; and history fur-
nishes an abundance of examples
where female interference was permit-
ted and female decision respected in
the gravest affairs of life. Afler Al-
phouso VI. of Castile had driven the
* SimoDdi, LU, of Traubadcun,
Moors from Toledo, he granted to
such of them as chose to return the
use of a cathedral to serve as a
mosque ; but, says history, " he soon
broke his promise, and deprived them
of it, at the instigation of and in or-
der to please his wife."
Who, then, but a woman could have
routed the grand- vizier from the chess-
board and taken his place ?
The other piece altered is the bi-
shop, which of course was not so call-
ed by the orientals. This piece with
the Arabians and Persians was repre-
sented by an elephant, and named
pil or pkiL In southern Europe, the
name was modified into o^/and aujin^
and is found so in old writers ; but at
a very early period the bishop seems
to have been generally adopted. In
northern Europe, it was not so ; the
Russians and Swedes still retain the
elephant. What we now call castle,
and sometimes rook, was also called
by the Saracens roc, and by the Per-
sians rokh, signifying champion or
foot-soldier, and shaped accordingly.
This form is seen in some ancient
chess-men in the British Museum, sup-
posed to be of Icelandic manufacture ;
the Icelanders called this piece hrokr.
These chess-men, many in number
and carved in ivory — that is, the tusk
of the walrus — were found in the year
183 1, on the coast of the Isle of Lewes,
and are referred by antiquaries back
to the twelfth century. They are the
renmants of seven or eight distinct
sets, and are therefore supposed to
have belonged to some dealer who
was shipwrecked there. The carv-
ing on them, and the costumes, bear
traces of being Scandinavian. The
king is tn a sitting posture, crowned,
and has a sword in his hand, which
he rests crossing his lap; the queen
also is crowned, and holds a drinking-
horn, such as the northern women
used in serving mead and ale to their
guests; one of them represents a
69a
Chisi.
bishop wth mitre asid crozter; the
knights are on horseback, and are cov-
ered with armor; and here i$ the mr
of the Saracois in its original form, a
kind of foot-soldier, in place of the
castle— which, however, is yet called
rook. The remainder are pawns.
Thus they are nearly identical with
any set of modem chess-men, al-
though falmcated more than seven
hundred years ago.
The largest king in this collecdon,
in his sitting posture, is more than four
inches in height and near seven in
circumference. The other pieces are
smaller, but onrrespond. The chess-
board which accommodated such
pieces must have been a formidable
weapon in a strong hand, and quite
likely to "break heads and scatter
brains,"
Many dd books are to be found in
public and private libraries which con-
tain descriptions of chess-men, rules
for playing, etc. In the twelfth cen-
tury, such a manual was composed by
some devotee of the game in Latin
verse. A little later, a volume was
written in Latin by Jacques de Ces-
solas; it was translated into French
by Jean de Vigpyt and entitled Mo»
nUtMiion of Chess, It may be seen
in English in Caxton's Boke of Chesu^
published in London, 1474.
Damiano, a Portuguese, in the fif-
teenth century compiled a book of
directions for playing, with examples
of eighty-eight games.
A little vdume, very amusing in its
quaint old English, was published in
London in the reign of EUzabeth; it
is dedicated to Lofd Robert Dudley,
afterward the oeldi>rated Earl of Lei-
cester. It is entitled. The FUasaunt
and Witiie JPksfe of the Cheasts^ rr-
vuwed with iHstmctions both to Learn
U EasUy and to Fiay U WeU, iMefy
tfw$slated out of Italian into fnmk,
and now set fort he in Engiuhe if
ydmes Rowbotham,
In it, among many other things, the
author describes the chess-men :
" As for the fashion of the pieces, that is
according to the fantasie of the workeman,
which maketh them ader this manner. SonM
make them lyke men, whereof the leyngt fa
the highest, snd die qmttmi (which mm
name amasonc or ladye) it thtt next, botbe
two crowned. The bishoppes some naiM
alphins, some fooles, and some princes,
lyke as also they are next onto the kysge
Old qneene^ other tome ad them ardiav
and they are fJaahioDed aecordipge to the «7ll
of the workeman. The knights some al
horsemen, and they are men on horsebtde.
The roohes some call elephantes, cari^rng^
towres upon theh: hackes, and men witMa
the towres. The /mimy some cal fote-nca,
as they are sooldionrs on fole, cariytee
some of them pykes, and other some javdyas
and targets. Other makers of dieast-no
make them other fashions, but use thereof
wyll cause perfect knowledge."
Such has chess been through times
past ; it numbers still among its voU*
lies the noble and the learned; aofi
it is advocated by some of them with
an enthusiasm surely never surpassed
in the days long, long gone by in its
(»iental home.
It has floated down to us froo
those days like a leaf on some broad
stream beneath whose waves mightier
things have sunlu
TJIu fkst
Council of the Vatican^
693
THE FIRST (ECUMENICAL COUNCIL OF THE VATICAN.
The nineteenth centory is stitl add-
ing to the cata]og;ue of important events,
for which It will be memorable in fature
histories. Men stiU live who looked
on Fulton's first steamboat on the Hud-
son, who ventured on the first railway
train, and who smiled incredulously at
the folly of Morse stretching iron wires
on pdes along the country between ci-
ties a day's journey apart, and pretend-
ing thus to transmit messages between
them with the velocity of electricity.
The humMe river steamboat has deve-
loped into the gigantic ocean steamer,
timt heeds not the winds and bids defi-
ance to the waves. Lines of railway in-
tersect continents, and cross from ocean
to ocean. Telegraph wires spread their
network over every civilized land, and,
boldly plunging into ocean depths, aim
to girdle the earth. The cotton-gin has
revolutionized the habits of nations and
the commerce of the world, and the
sewing-machine is bringing the change
into every household. This wondrous
increase of travel and commerce among
nations has given birth to international
exhitntions of art and indns^ as gor-
geous as the visions of the Arabian sto-
ry-teller. In the Suez Canal, this cen-
tury has succeeded where antiquity
fiuled ; and In the Mont Cenis tunnd,
•oon to be finished, It is accomplishing
what past ages never dreamed of at-
tempting.
, Science, too^ contributes her wonders.
The sun and the stars and the nebulae
are }'ielding their secrets ; chemistry
boasts of her unexpected conquests;
and the eardi is giving forth its pages
of geological lore, fragmentary as yet,
and somewhat confiised, ofttimes unde-
cipherable, often wrongly read by men,
but still presenting to us a kingdom of
knowledge unknown a century ago.
^In the political and social sphere this
century has been equally marked. Vast
wars and bloody revolutions ushered It
in. Wars and revolutions have marked
every decade of its progress. Empires
and kingdoms have been thrown down.
Others have been established instead,
and have perished m their torn. The
strong have grown weak, and the weak
have become powerfiiL And to-day, the
nations of the civilized world feel that
they stand on the thin crust of a vol-
cano, that trembles imder our feet, and
that may at anytime biurst forth. In oth-
er revolutions and wars. In which arms
of precision, titank artillery, and Iron-
clad vessels shall play a part never yet
witnessed by men.
In the moral and religious world, too,
there is equal excitement and confusion.
Novel principles are proposed, advocat-
ed, and pushed to their extreme and
most violent consequences. Nothing in
government, in monds, or m relig^n is
left unassailed. There is an incessant
war against God, against truth and vir-
tue, and against every principle that
would withstand the passions, or the in-
terests, or the caprices of men. And
the press, which In its wondrous deve-
lopment has kept full pace with every
other art, is ever busy bringing to every
household, to old and young alike, some-
times words of truth and goodness, but
a thousand times oftener and more ac-
tively lessons of inmiorality, discontent,
disorder, and Irreligion.
In looking at the world, as it Is now,
so rapidly moving on, with its vast ener-
gies and untiring activity, its ever-in-
creasing commerce, its Intense worship
of luxury, Its oblivion of principle, its
grasping after wealth, Its res^essnens
and craving for change for change's sake,
one ieels like the traveller who crosses
the Alps by that late feat of modern
engineering, the Mcmt Cenis Fell Rail-
way. The wondrous scenery of motm-
tain and valley charms you. You are
amazed at the boldness which conceiv-
ed, and the skill which executed the ^
work. You rejoice, as you are borne
zapkUy on, in the kurarioosly-cusbioned
seat and well-*warmed railw^ oompart-
ment, over the steep road, you lemem-
694
The First CEeumemcal Couttcil of tlu Vatican.
ber well to have travelled, years ago,
so slowly and painfully. But amid all
this pleasure, you cannot shut out the
thought that perhaps the very rumbling
and jarring of the train may set in mo-
tion the vast field of freshly-fallen snow
that lies so lightly on the steep side of
the peak rising above you, on the right
or the left, and bring it down as an irre-
sistible avalanche, overwhelming road
and train, and casting the shattered cars
and mangled passengers down to the
masses of rock and ice that lie in the
gorge a thousand yards below.
We glory in our rapid advance in
arts, science, and civilization. We feel
ourselves borne rapidly and joyously
forward in a career of progress. But
we cannot shut out entirely a sense of
danger. In many countries, society is
mined by revolutionary combinations,
active and vigilant, watching for any &-
vorable opportunity, and ever ready to
take advantage of it In the universal
questioning of every thing and of every
principle, the minds of the masses have
become excited, have lost in great part,
or are fast losing, those fixed and hal-
lo^ved principles of justice and truth
which are absolutely necessary for cor-
rect judgment and prudent action. They
are ripe for any plan to be proposed,
even if its only attraction be its novelty.
And they may easily become a mighty
. engine of brute, unthinking power, in
the hands of any one bold enough to
seize the control, and skilful enough to
guide them for a time. Might now
makes right The world is ruled on
the theory of accomplished hcts. Peace
;tself must stand armed cap^-pie. No
one knows into what horrors the death
of one individual might, any month,
throw hundreds of millions of men.
Has all sense of right and justice fad-
ed fh>m the minds of men ? Must our
progress be marred by this ever-increas-
ing danger. Is there no voice to be rais-
ed, no authority to come forth to meet
this emergency of the world ?
God gave revelation to mankind,
^ teaching the world truth and justice,
charity and every virtue, and imparting
to man, in his weakness, strength to
struggle against and overcome his own
passions and the temptations from with-
out To his church* the p9hr and
ground of truth, Christ committed dw
duty of teaching all nations all thingi
whatsoever he had taught, and promis-
ed to be with her, in the diKharge of
this duty, all days even to the coosun-
mation of the world. In its fulfilmeot
she must meet opposition, trials, scao*
dais, and difficulties of every sort Bat
the gates of hell shall never prevail
against her.
Many a struggle has she gone throa|h
in the eighteen centuries of ber exit*
tence ; and incalculable are the benefib
the world owes to her, even by the cot*
fession of her enemies.
While she ever and always teacbo
the unchangeable truths and preceptt
given by her Divine Founder, she isRir
dy to accept and bless what she fiuk
of good among men, and labors to eli-
minate what is evil. From Greece she
took what was pure in poetry and tbe
fine arts, and true in philosophy. Frota
Rome she gathered what was just asd
good in her admirable jurisprudeooe.
Yet, even in the fece of bitter penea-
tion, she failed not to denounce imiao-
rality, however decked in classic vene;
atheism and impiety, however dotbed
in words of seeming intellectual wisdon;
and cruel tyranny, however upheld bjr
power and authority, or nude sacred I7
antiquity and the prejudices or manoen
of a people. In after times, under the
debauched and luxurious rule of the
Byzantine emperors, and still bier*
when the northern barbarians bad ove^
run western Europe and destroyed aB
government, her powerful influence was
felt Hers was the only voice wWck
could reach and in some measure coo-
trol the fierce men who sat on tbroocs
they had built with the sword, or cookl
bring peace and the consolations of refi-
gion to the hovel of the poor and oppreat-
ed. She checked immorality and iaj«-
tice and taught obedience to law. No
one will now contest the truth, that it b
to her the nKxlem world owes wha!
knowledge we have of the olden classic
civilization. But for her, it woukl be as
dead to us as that of Assyria is to the
wiki Arabs who pitch theur^nts 00 tbe
motmds of Kouyvinjik and Kborsabad-
To her it owes those grand principles
Thi First (Ecunumkal Council of the Vatican.
69s
of law and justice, of stable gOYernmeat
and individual rights, of holy marriage,
and of arts and science, which %o to
constitute civilization. The church of
Christ cannot be wanting in any emer*
gency of men. It is her office to estab-
lish order where else chaos would reign.
Hence it is that in this present crisis,
this time of so much good and so much
evil, so many hopes and such great
danger, she renews and increases her
effi>rts, as of old, that what is good may
be increased and confirmed, what is
evil may be diminished or eliminated.
She devotes to the work her most so-
lemn and effective mode of action — an
cecumenical council
Assuredly no more remarkable event
has occurred in this nineteenth century
than the meeting of this (Ecumenical
Council of the Vatican, formally opened
in Rome on December 8th last, the
feast of the Immaculate Conception.
The civilized world seems conscious of
its importance. Catholics and Protes-
tants, believers and infidels, all treat of
- it, some with full faith and earnest hope,
some with a dim sense of reverence,
some with curiosity, and some with ha-
tred. But none can ignore or despise
it The books that have been publish-
ed, the stream of pamphlets in every
language that is flooding Europe, the
countless articles of every character in
countless newspapers of every hue — all
bear witness to the universal interest in
an assembly so extraordinary in its cha-
racter, and destined to wield so great a
moral influence.
Men are struck with wonder at this
singular and hitherto unprecedented re-
presentation of the whole world. The
number of members is in itself large.
There were present at the opening
session, 5 cardinal bishops, 36 cardinal
priests, 8 cardinal deacons, 9 patriarchs,
4 primates, 124 archbishops, 481 bi-
shops, 6 abbots with ^«f/{j/-episcopal
jurisdiction, 22 mitred abbots, and 29
superiors of religious orders; in all,
719 of the 1050, or thereabouts, who
would have the right to enter. Many
dioceses in the world are vacant, the
venerable bishops of others are too
aged to travel so farv some are detained
by illness and will come later, and some,
to their regret, are detained by the spe-
cial ch-cumstances of their own dioceses.
None of those under the Czar of Russia
have come. His Tartar policy threw
them into dungeons, where some died.
Those that lived he sent to Siberia,
some for their religion, some for being
Poles. But among the bishops here
every other nation of Europe has a full
and strong representation. Besides all
these, there are also forty-nine from the
United States, eighteen or twenty from
Canada and the British possessions of
North America, and over forty from
Mexico and the various states of South
America. The eastern and the west-
em shores of Africa have sent several ;
two have come from British Africa, at
the south, and quite a number — among
them a Coptic bishop from Egypt — re-
present the dioceses along the Mediter-
ranean shores of Africa. All the an-
cient oriental rites of the church have
patriarchs, archbishops, and bishops in
the council ; India, Thibet, China, Japan
itself, Australia, New Zealand, and the
isles of the Pacific are fully represent-
ed. Never before in the history of the
world was there seen such a gathering
of prelates from the uttermost parts of
the earth. And the members who com-
pose the council deserve individually
special attention. They are chosen men,
holding in their several homes posts
of dignity, responsibility, and authority.
The Catholic Church is in one aspect
eminendy democratic. She will take
into the roll of her clergy men of
every rank and station. She asks not
what was their condition or their lineage.
If a clergyman possess piety, learning,
zeal, and administrative ability, the door
is open for his preferment, even to her
highest offices. If Pius IX. is noble
bom, his predecessor, Gregory jXVI.,
was the son of a poor viUage baker, and
owed his earliest education, and his en-
trance into the sanctuary, to the gratui-
tous kindness of a good monk, who was
attracted by the bright eyes and intelli-
gent look of the modest little boy, as he
used to carry around to customers the
loaves his father had baked. So too of
these bishops. Some may be of lordly,
or noble, or princely lineage. Others
were bom in humble, thatched cottages.
696
The First (Etpmemkal C^mcU' €f the. Vctiium*
Here they are «qilaL Some have doied
the ermine,' some hare qvikted the bar,
others left the army, "wliere their names
are still mentioned ivich praise and 8ol«
dierly pride by their old companions in
arms. Some have given up to younger
brothers wealth anid titles, that they
might freely devote themselves to God^
holy work. Some, filled with apostoMc
2eal, have given up friends and home
and country to go to distant lands to
preach Christ and him crucified ; and
some have been honored with chains
and imprisonment and stripes for
Christ's sake. They all pursued a kmg
career of preparatory studies, tbey were
afterward tried by long years of prac*
tice in the ministry, and have finally
been chosen as qualified for their im-
portant and responsible positions. Dif-
fering, as they do, in language and na-
tionalities and human feelings and pre-
judices, they have all the same faith,
the same zeal, and have all come toge-
ther at the summons of their common
fether. They all gather around the
chair of Peter.
Well may the world look with wonder
at such an assembly as this, containing
so much of learning, such strength of
character, such personal worth, wielding
so much power over the minds and con-
sciences of men, possessing such an in-
timate, practical knowledge of the whole
world, of the good and the bad in it,
and of the needs of men — an assembly
every member of which has learned, t^
years of ministerial duty, to read, as no
others can, the heart of man, and where
all have come together with the same
•earnest purpose, and in the same single-
mess of heart, to confer candidly and
frankly with each other, in order, with
^he aid and light of heavenly grace, to
•determine on such measures as shall
"best promote the glory of God, the Inte-
irests of religion, and ^e spread of truth
-and virtue among men. Even to the
man of the world, not to say to the
Christian, can any tiling be nobler or
more worthy of respect than such a
meeting ? Must not every honest heart
rejoice in the effort they will make, and
wish them success ?
But to the Catholic this oecumeiiical
council has a higher character* We
knowtlMt the dtvnili wm ibqoM.Mi
by man, but by Christ himself s that sk
stands, not by human leanitQg<>r human
wisobm and pnideace, bsit by the power
of God ; that Christ is ever wkk her,
that he baa senthis Holy Spirit, the Spi-
rit of truth, to abide with her for ever, to
teach her aM truth, to recall to her n^
all thmgs whatsoever he taught, and that
so she is to us the pillar and groiiBd
of truth. We look back and see that is
all the greait emeigenciei of ChristisA
tinth, or ratiier emetgendes of the world,
it has beok her custom to call toesether
her bishops in councils like this* Thas,
when Ariantsm arose, and the minds of
simple men were thrown into confiiskM
and perplesdty concerning the divinity
of d»e Saviour by the wily quotations
of Scripture and the plausible teachings
of error, the Council of Nice dedanu
dearly and emphatically the ori^oal
doctrine of the divinity of the Son ; aad
guarded it by establishing the conse-
crated terms in which theocelbrth
Christian lips should express it. Sc^
too, when Nestorius and £utych«% and
other later heresiarchs arose, other
councils were held, solemnly settii^
forth the original doctrines received and
held by the church, and pointii^ out
and condemning the opfiostte errors.
So, too, in the mxteen^ century the
CoiAcil of Trent met and gjsve to the
world a full and dear statement of the
CathoHc doctrine of justificaUon, ao vio*
lently assailed by Luther and his fol-
lowers and companions — a doctrine, by
the way, which no small portion of those
non-CathoUcs who still retain a belief
in an actual divine revelation, now re-
ceive substantially and admit to Xnt the
only doctrine on that head recoociia-
ble with reason and common sense.
So, tooy in this nineteenth cendUT,
annd the confusing uncertainties of nacn»
and the discordant clashing of opinioos
in the world, we turn with reverent hope,
with fullest confidence in the words of
the Saviour, and with grateful hearts and
willing minds, to this iaU. CEcnmenical
Council of the Vatican. We recog^niia
in St the same authority whkh spokn
at Nice, at Ephesus, and at Chakedoo,
at Constantinople^ at Lyons, nad at the
Latcran, and in Trent We await the
Tki First CEomm^tal CouhM af th$ Vatican.
^7
irords of itt tcac W ng «fid Its precepts
of discipline. For it wiN speak with au«
thority. "It haA aeemed good to the
Holy Ghost and to us."
Ourreaders are no doubt fitmiKar with
the chief antecedents of the connciL 1 1
ivas in his address to the bishops as*
•emWcd hi Rome in June, 1867, to cele-
brate the centenary of St. Peter's mar*
tyrdom, that the Holy Father made the
first public and official announcement of
what had been for a short time before
mooted and considered in private. It
was his desire, at as eariy a day as cir-
ctimstances would allow, to convene the
bishops of the Catholic world in an
cecumenical council. The prelates pre-
sent, about five hundred in number, ex*
pressed their gratification and cordial
Sttsent The attacks of the Garibal-
dians in November, 1867, if successful,
would probably have frustrated the de-
sign. But under divine Providence it
signally ^.iled. Some thought that the
bun of convocation would appear in
December, 1867. But it was not pub-
lished until the midsummer of 1868, and
the council was summoned for Decem-
ber 8th, 1869. It was a solemn work.
AH fblt that a most important day was
i^proaching in the history of the church.
Throughout the world, ever since, in
every church and religious house, as
oiiten as the priest ascended the altar to
celebrate the divme mysteries, or those
rowed to the Lord assembled to sing
Ms praises, petitions were offered un-
ceasingly that God would bless the
council, and give to the prelates such
Rght and grace as would lead them to
speak and act for his greater glory and
the welfare of souls. As months roHed
on and the time approached, clergy and
fitithful throughout the world united
with redoubled fervor in triduums, no-
venas, and suitable religious exercises
to ob^in this special favor from Heaven.
In order that when the prelates
should come, they might not be detain-
ed too long from their dioceses attend-
ing the council — as was the case at
Trent — it was deemed advisable to es-
tablish preparatory committees of cho-
sen theologians to study maturely such
questions as it was thought would pro-
bably come up or be proposed in the
council In Rome, the centre of dieolo-
gical learning, there were eminent theo-
logians in abundance from whom to
choose. But it was felt that something
more was needed* To erudition must
be added an intimate knowledge of the
modes of thought and the practical needs
of the various nations ; something which
books alone cannot give. Hence, emi-
nent theologians from France, Ger-
many, England, Ireland, and other
countries were invited, and sent to
Rome as representative men of their
respective countries. From the Uait-
ed States, the Very Rev. Dr. Corcoran,
of Charleston, South Carolina, whom our
bishops had learned to appreciate as
secretary to our Second Plenary Coun-
cil of Baltimore, was chosen for this
purpose, and came to Rome fifteen
months ago. The choice was a most
happy one. He has won the esteem
and respect of all by his simple and
quiet dignity of manner, the vastness
of his learning, and, more than aU, by
his sound judgment and practical good
sense. I believe he stands in the coun-
cil as one of the theologians to the
pope. Five committees, thus formed of
Roman and foreign theologians, each
under the presidency of a cardinal, have
for nearly a year and a half been engag-
ed in an exhaustive study of the sub-
jects most likely to come up. Their
dissertations and essays on such fxiints
have been printed for the private use of
the bishops, and being up to the day,
must be of great use, and will naturally
aid much in expediting business.
Other material preparations were ne-
cessary. The sessions of the council
were to be held in the north arm of
the Transept of St Peter's— that which
stretches toward the Vatican Palace.
The place assigned had to be fitted up
with appropriate decorations and suita-
ble furniture. Other places were to be
prepared for the genend congregations —
committees of the whole, as they would
be termed in the United States— and
for particular congregations, or special
committees. Beyond this, many of the
bishops who would desire to attend
would be too poor to pay the exorbitant
rates which landlords here and else-
where know how to ask when a city is
i
698
The First (Ecumenical Coumil of tlie VaticajL
crowded — as Rome would be — ^perhaps
might be too poor to pay any thing.
Such should be the guests of the Holy
Father. He would provide for them.
This was obviously the case with many
of the Italian bishops. The kingdom
of Italy has seized and turned over to
the national treasury all ecclesiastical
property, promising, as a partial com-
pensation instead, to pay the clergy a
stated stipend from the government
As might be expected from persons ca-
pable of committing such wholesale and
barefaced robbery, the promise, in too
many instances, has never been kept I
apprehend that the vast majority of
the clergy of Italy are now managing
to feed, clothe, and lodge themselves on
an average of twenty cents a day. The
number of such bishops from Italy, with
others from the East, and from distant
and very poor missions, may amount to
one hundred and fifty or two hundred.
All this would cost money, and the
pope himself, stripped of four fifths of
the territory of the States of the Church,
but not stripped, as yet, of the old pub-
lic debt, the interest of which he is
struggling to meet punctually, is poor.
The earnest Catholics of every country
knew his condition and poured in con-
tributions for this purpose. Last au-
tumn the papers announced that all due
preparations were being actively pushed
forwajrd.
In October, bishops began to arrive.
The first comers were from the East,
who had set out early. In their coun-
tries men travel slowly, and time is not
so precious. Perhaps, too, some thought
they might be as long on the journey as
their records and traditions said their
predecessors had been four hundred
years ago, when they came to the Coun-
cil of Florence. The European and
western bishops were better acquainted
with the speed of railways and steamers,
and began to pour in only in the latter
portion of November. By the ist of
December, fully five hundred had arriv-
ed, and the week that followed saw two
hundred more come in. Every courte*
sy was shown them. As a train cross-
ed the frontier into the Pontifical States,
an officer ascertained the names of all
the bishops, tel^;raphed the inforai-
tion to Rome, and, on their arrival, dicy
found other officials ready to wekooe
them, and to escort them in carria^ to
tiieir several destinations. Their bag-
gage, too, was exempt from custon-
house inspection. This, however, wai
a favor scarcely confined to the Pontic
cal States. In more than one iastaace,
bishops have passed from the United
States, through England, France, aid
(strange contrast to 1867) even through
Northern Italy, without having their
trunks once opened. It were to be
wished that the annojring and now Qs^
less system of passports were dou
away with. It has scarcely any advan-
tage save that of giving fees to consols
and employees.
On December 2d, the Holy Father d^
livered to die bishops then in Rone,
assembled in the Six tine chapel, an al-
locution in preparation for the council ;
and they received printed copies of an
apostolical letter, dated November if^
settling some matters for the good o^
der of the coimcil, and the dispatch of
business. Chapter L reiterates the
laws of the church, and enjoins on all
the duty of living piously, and of caz^
fully maintaining an exemplary demei'
nor. Chapter ii. declares the full fi-
berty of each bishop tQ propose anj
matter which he thinks of importance.
But that all things may be done in or-
der, and without unnecessary confusion,
and consequent delay of other matters,
such propositions must be submitted is
writing, must be supported by some
show of reason, must be of a character
to concern more than one or two dio-
ceses only, and must not run counter
to the constant sense and inviolable
traditions of the church. A special
committee shall be appointed by the
pope to receive such propositions, and
to consider whether they fulfil the re-
quired conditions, to report to the pop&
The committee has since been appoint-
ed. The Archbishop of Baltimore is a
member of it. Chapter iii. charges all
to keep silence on the matters under
discussion. The council will hardly be
as leaky as Congress, and our readen
will do well to pay little or no attention
The First (Ecumenical Council of tlu Vatican.
699
to tfie thoasand and one reports that
will be circulated in the newspapers.*
Chapter i v. declares that the seats shall
be occupied according to grades of the
hierarchy, and seniority of promotion.
Olher chapters set forth the officials,
secretaries, notaries, masters of ceremo-
nies, etc. — z, matter of obvious neces-
sity under the circumstances ; establish
six general committees, the members of
which are to be elected by ballot \ and
make known some points of order to
be observed in the religious exercises
of the public sessions and the general
congregations ; and finally enjoin on the
bishops attending the council to remain
until the close of it, forbidding any one
to depart before such close, save with
regular leave of absence, duly applied
for and obtained.
With a copy of this letter the bishops
also received pamphlets containing the
forms of prayers to be used, and a de-
tailed account of tlie ceremonial to be
followed, all based on or extracted from
the ceremonial of the ancient councils.
For the people little preparation had
been made, or indeed could be made in
the church. St Peter's has no pews ;
you will not find even benches or chairs.
On grand occasions, when the pope is
celebrant, seats are placed in the arms
of the transept, capable of holding six
or eight thousand persons, who are ad-
mitt^ by ticket, and must come in the
* An example has just come under our notice. The
qiecial correspondent of the London TimtSt writing
firom Rome on the 8th of December, has a long story
of a mjrsterious bull prepared to be promulgated on
the 8th, in the grand ceremony, and secretly confided
only to a trusty few. Somehow, within twenty-four
hours of the time appolhted, that is, on the 7th of
I>ecember, some bishops got wind of it beforehand,
and so great a storm of opposition arose that the bull
was kept bade, perhaps suppressed. The writer ac-
tinny got sight of a copy, and makes an extract.
This was taking a little too much rope. For the ex-
tract is from this ap<»toUc letter, which was dated
November a7th, was soon after printed, was distribut-
ed on December sd, to all the bishops then in Rome
— lurther copies of whidi were carefully supplied to
the bishops arriving later : and which is in fiill forces
regulating the procedure of the council, not only with-
oot a murmur, but to the perfect satis&ction of all the
prelates. A "spedal correspondent" of the TYmtx,
who had retired from business after years of senrice,
defined the chief qualification of such a correspondent
to be, the ability to write fiankly and boldly about
persons and thii^gs as if he knew erery thing about
them, even though, as was generally the case, he
knew nothing at all. For doing this acctpiahfy^ he
would get if 600 a year, and trav^ng expenses paid.
proper costume. They are chiefly occu-
pied by ladies. But on this occasion
one half of this space was required for
the council. On the other hand, Rome
would be full, and it was felt that not
one twentieth of those who would de-
sire, and indeed who would ordinarily
be entitled to receive tickets for such
reserved seats, could be accommodated
The gordian knot was cut by dispensing
with reserved seats altogether, and leav-
ing full play to tlie democratic principle
oi first come, first served.
On Tuesday, Rome was in com-
motion, and given over to the mer-
cies of free-trade in lodgings. House-
holders were waylaying strangers, striv-
ing to let their apartments at the highest
possible rates. Strangers were wander-
ing about seeking apartments which
they might obtain on the lowest possi-
ble terms. Purchases were briskly made
in preparation for the morrow. Every-
where, all day long, in carriages and on
foot, and in all the different costumes
of their several nations, might be seen
bishops and priests passing to and fro,
visiting the churches and the shrines of
martyrs, or seeking out some friend of
their youth, whom they had not seen,
perhaps, 'for twenty-five or forty years,
but who, they were told, had just arrived
in Rome.
At noon precisely, the booming of the
great bell of St. Peter's came over the
Campus Martins and the seven hills of
Rome. Instantly the thousand bells of
the three hundred churches of the Eter-
nal City answered in one united clamo-
rous peal ; and the cannon of St Angelo,
and the heavier metal of the new Aven-
tine Fort, chimed in with the deep bass
of a grand national salute. And thus,
for an hour, was heralded the near ap-
proach of the great day. Again at
nightfall the salute was repeated.
The morning of December 8th dawned
— ^the Festival of the Immaculate Con-
ception, and the day fixed for opening
the council A third repetition of the
uproarious yet thrilling salutation awak-
ed the sluggards, if there were any. We
say if there were any ; for although the
clouds were hanging low and heavy, and
the air was filled with mist, and at times
the rain poured down, all Rome was
700
The First (Eoimemcml CoumcU vf tfu VoHcm.
astir. B}rfiveA.iL, the murmur ofvofceB
and the tramping of pedestrians filled
every street, and soon the rolling of
carriages over the hard pavements
soimded like distant thunder. By six
A.Bf., tens of thousands were wending
their way, despite the weather, to St
Peter's ; and by seven, every eligible por-
tion of the floor of the vast basilica was
crowded. At half*past seven, the cardi-
nals, archbishops, and bishops began to
gather in the Vatican falace, where they
robed, putting on white copes and mi-
tres, and then passed to the great
hall at the front, and immediately over
the vestibule of St Peter's. Here the
masters of ceremony assigned to each
one his proper place, and they awaited
the coming of the sovereign pontiff.
Punctual to the moment, he appeared
All knelt in prayer. In a clear and so-
norous voice he intoned the Vtni Crea*
tor Spiritns, The choir took up the
strain, the bishops arose, and commenc-
ed to move in procession back to the
Vatican Palace, through the ducal hall,
down the unequalled Scala Regia, and
into the vestibule of St Peter's. Ak>ag
the line the voice of chanting was
heard. Without, the air was filled again
with the sound of bells and the boom-
ing of cannon.
It was not like the grand processions
on which Rome delights to look every
jrear. The young orphan boys, with
their snow-white dresses and angel
faces, the various religious orders, Ca^
puchins, Franciscans, Minor Observan-
tists. Conventuals, Carmelites, Augus<>
tinians, Cistercians, Benedicdnes, Do-
minicans, and Canons Regular, in their
varied and picturesque dresses, did not
walk in it There were no confi^temi-
ties with their huge crosses, no groups
of clergy firom the maay parish church*
es, no chapters of the ancient basilicas
with their tent-like canopies and tolling
bells. These appeared not in the ranks ;
but delegates from all of them formed
lines on either side, between which, as
guards, the prelates marched two aad
two, each one attended by his chaplain.
It was a procession such as the world
has seen but once before, and that six
hundred years ago, at the SecoBd Coun-
cil of Lyons. First came the cross, sur-
rounded with bnmiiig li^^hli attd dvods
of incense from the censcn,aiid a gmop
of ecclesiastics attached to the Vatican
and to St Peter's. On came the !••(
white line of mitred abbots, bisbopsi
archbbhops, primates, patriarchs^ wA
cardinals, slowty moving, joiaing in tk«
chanted hymn, or else with sobdncd
voices reciting psalms a&d prajrcA
The hall, the grand stairway, aad the
vestibule were packed by thousands
who despaired of being able to enter tlic
church, and hoped at least to look on the
procession. All ty^% seemed to acnili*
nize tiie line of prelates with rewtieat
ciniosity. Some in the line had doc yet
lost the smoothness of their che^j^
They had not yet closed their d^tk
lustre. The great majority had passed
the half-century of life. Labors, cares*
and study had brought furrows to many
a brow and many a cheek ; gra^ haifs
had come, often prematurely ; but the
firm step told of still unexhausted
strength. Their bx^t^^ fiill of iateUea
and (kdsion, told of long and sturdy k*
bor in the vine3rard ; you felt they could
still bear the heat of the day and the
brunt of lad>or. Many of them, too^
far more than the younger ones, west
aged and venerable prelates, wbo^ like
the rest, had come at the summons o£
the chief pastor. But when they ahouki
have borne their testimony to the £utk
in this council, tiiey would soon saqFi
Nunc dimittis.
It was a glorious line. The specta-
tors, of every nation, looked to reco^
nize the bishops each of his own land
They pointed out and whispered to each
other the names of those who had won
for themselves a world-wide reputation
in the church, and k)oked with ^wdal
attention on the oriental prelates, scat-
tered here and there through the line,
robed, not like those of the Latin rite, ia
unadorned white copes and white linen
mitres, but in richly ornamented chasu-
bles or copes of oriental ^hion, glitter-
ing with gold and precious stones and
bright colors, and wearing on their
heads tiaras radiant with gems. Oa
they passed, Italians, Greeks, Germaoii
Persians, Syrians, Hungarians, Spanish
and Copt, Irish and French, Scotch
and Brazilian, Mexican and English,
The Pint <Eeummkat C^tmcil of the Vatican.
701.
American and Chioesey Canadian and
South American and Australian; ab*
botSy bishops, archbishops, primates^
and patriarchs.
Next came the cardinals — the senate
of the church. If before you saw the
i»trength of the church, here you look*
ed on the embodiment of intelligence
and wisdom, in the most venerable body
in the world. Spotless purity of life,
brilUaat talents, long study, a longer ex-
perience of men and afl&urs in a series
of responaiUe offices worthily filled — a
thoraagh devotion of all their powers to
the interests of religion, have led them
to dils digni^— Antonelli, Bilio, Bonne-
diose, Cidlen, Schwartzenberg, Hohen-
lobe, Bamabo, Pitra, Patrizi— every one
seefned worthy o^ and to receive, spe-
cial homage as they slowly moved on.
But even they were forgotten as the
Holy Father approached. Surrounded
by his chaplains and attendants, by
Swiss guards in their picturesque cos-
tome, designed, it is said, with an eye
to effect, hy Michael Angelo himself^'
and by the Roman noble guard in their
richest uniforms, he came borne, accord-
ing to the old Roman custom which has
come down from the times of the re-
pobKc, in a cumle chair, such as ediles
and senators were borne in ; such as
that which the convert Senator Pudens
appropriated to the Apostle St Peter,
which he and many of hb successors
used, and indiich is still preserved with
care and veneration in St Peter's. Pius
IX. is, we bdieve, really eighty-one
3rears of age. He is still robust^ won-
derfully BO for that age. His counte-
nance beams still with that paternal
benevolence which has such power to
charm. None ever looked on him with-
out feeling it No one, CathoHc or Pro-
testant, Israelite, Turk, or infidel, ever
left his presence without carrying away
a sense of reverence, and sweet memo-
ries of a blessing received. All knelt as
be was borne by, blessing them on either
side. In his train followed other atten-
dants and ^e superiors of religious or-
ders, who enter the council, but are not
pilvileged to wear mitres. Conspicu-
ous among them was the thin, ascetic,
fleshless ioma of the superior-general of
the Jesuits, in black— ^he litde black
pope, as they call him in Rome.
Meanwhile the head of the procession
has longsinoe reached the grand portals
of the Basilica. From the door to the
central line of the transept is about four
hundred feet, and the nave of the church
is about ninety-five feet wide. All this
space is crowded with people standing
so jammed together that there is not
room to kneel, if one wished. Back on
either side, under the broad arches, and
into the side aisles, the vast mass of
humanity extends. The bases of the
columns and piers are seen to rise to
the level of their heads, and, guided by
this measure, die eye, for once, catches
at a glance the immense proportions
of this gigantic building. The partition
which cuts off a portion of the transept
for the special use of the council is not
seen from the nave, and the church
stands before you in all tiie grandeur of
its architecture, unchanged for better or
for worse by those vast masses of dra^
pery and those lines of galloon, and the
hundreds of immense chandeliers which
sometimes are placed here to adorn it
To the Roman eye, familiar with every
detail of the building, such an adorn-
ment may be pleasing as a change.
But strangers love to see St Peter^s as
they see it now, in its own native beau-
ty and majesty. The eye loves to pass
from the noble columns and the statues
of pure Carrara to the un&ding mosaics,
the variegated marbles of the walls and
piers, the ornaments in sculptured re-
lief^ the richly-wrought capitals, the vast
line of cornice of classic accuracy, and
the lofty arched ceiling, one hundred
and fifty feet and more overhead, pro-
fusely decorated with panelling, roses,
and richest gilding. It travels on to
the main altar wi^ its hundred ever-
burning lamps around the tomb of the
great apostie of Rome, and the spiral
columns and canopy of bronze which
rise full ninety feet above it And hun-
dreds of feet further away, in the wes-
tern apsis, you catch a view of the bronze
statues of the fonr great doctors of the
church, who support the identical chair
of St Peter, and of the circular window
of stained glass through which the Ho-
702 The First (Ecunnnical CouttcU of the Vatica$t.
\y Dove seems to pour in a stream of
golden light, giving life and heavenly-
beauty to that other flood which pours
down into the church from the lofty
dome.
Guards had kept free for the proces-
sion a passage-way through the crowd,
from the door to the main altar. Up
this lane the bishops walked with uncov-
ered heads, for the blessed «acrament
was exposed on the altar. Kneeling a
moment in adoration, they arose, and,
turning to the right, passed into the
space set aside and prepared for the
council halL To each one, as he enter-
ed, his proper place was assigned by the
masters of ceremony. The greater part
were so placed, when a fuller burst of
the choir told us that the Holy Father
had reached the portals of the church,
had been received by the chapter of
canons, and was entering. He left the
curule chair and doffed his mitre ; for a
greater than he is here enthroned, and
even the pope must walk with uncover-
ed head. He, and the cardinals with
him, knelt at the main altar as the bi-
shops had done, and waited until the
last strophe of the hymn, Vent Sancte
Spiritusy was finished by the choir. He
arose, chanted the versicle and prayer to
the Holy Ghost, and then, preceded by
the cardinals, also entered the council
hall. They passed each to his proper
place, the pontiff to 2.prie Dieu prepar«
ed for him in the middle, to await the
commencement of the high mass.
We have said that this coun<fil hall
occupies nearly all of the northern arm
of the great transept That arm alone
is over two hundred feet long, and nine-
ty-five feet broad. Its northern extre-
mity is a semi- circular apsis, and mid-
way of its length it is crossed by the
northern aisle of the church, which opens
into it by a lofty and wide arch on either
side. These arches are now closed at
the top by temporary partition walls.
In front — that is, on the south, towaid
the main altar and nave — another parti-
tion wall, perhaps fifty feet high, shuts
the hall off from the main body of the
building. All these walls are exquisite-
ly colored, so as to correspond even in
minute details with the decorations and
color of the marbles of the church. In
the last-named wait is a large door-way,
fully twenty feet wide, through whidi
the prelates and cardinals and the pon-
tiff have passed in. It is open now,
though when necessary it can bedosedj
and you may look in and see the interior
arrangement I n the further extremity,
the semi-circular s^>5is, a number of steps
rise to a platform, in the middle of which
other steps lead to the throne of tiie
pontiff, surmounted by a canopy with
hanging drapery. On either hand, ek-
vated one step less, are placed the cstf-
dinats, before each one a kneeling'Staod,
which may be changed into a writiof-
desk. Before the cardinals, and a Httk
lower, sit the patriarchs. Down dtlMr
side of the hall, for the full length, nn
seven rows of benches with high bides.
The front row is on the floor, the oth-
ers rising as they recede, so that tbe
last one next the wall is about the nse
level with die platform. In the nuddk,
about one fifth of the way from the door,
with its face toward tbe pope and tk
bishops, and its back toward the (to
stands a temporary altar prepared for
the mass, with which every pubUc ses-
sion and every general congregatk)o wifl
commence. Here and there, on the
floor, are seats and tables for the use cf
the secretaries, notaries, stenographers,
and other officials. Of the altar «e
need not speak. It is simple though
rich in materials, and without accessory
ornamentation, which would take <9
space and impede the view. The plat-
form is covered, as is the floor, with
Brussels carpeting. The seats of the
cardinals are covered with red damask ;
those of the patriarchs with purpk-
The seats of Uie bishops are covered
with Brussels tapestry of a greenish boe.
They are roomy. Each bishop uses tlie
back of the seat before him as a pru
Dieu when he kneels. Should be at
other times wish to write, there is a ta-
ble hinged to it in front of him, which
he may raise up and render firm by a
movable support When he is done»be
simply moves back the support and lets
down the table to its former positton.
All is simple, yet very satis£actofT
There is, near at hand, a refreshoNst
room, and, indeed, every convenieoce
that is needed. The artistic decora-
The First
Council of t/u Vatican.
703
tkms of the hall also deserve attention.
They are not many, but are excellent
and appropriate, and were prepared,
of course, for this occasion. Over the
doorway, as jovl are about to enter from
the church, there is a majestic painting
of the Saviour enthroned in the clouds,
holding the Gospel open in his left
hand, while the right is stretched forth
m command to the apostles. Under-
neath is the inscription, ** Go, teach
ALL NATIONS. I AM WITH YOU ALL
DAYS, EVEN TO THE CONSUMMATION OP
THE W0RiJ>." In the interior of the
hall, over the seat of the pope, is a
painting of the Descent of the Holy
Ghost On either side are the Council
of the Apostles at Jerusalem, and the
Councils of Nice, of Ephesus, and of
Trent Higher up are large medallion
paintings of the twenty- two popes who
catted or presided personally or by
legates over the various oecumenicsd
ooundls of the church; while higher
still are colossal figures of the four great
doctors of th« church, St Ambrose, St
At^;ustine, St Jerome, and St John
Chrysostom. ^ the seats we have
mentioned are for the prelates and offi-
cials. There are several galleries open-
ing through the wall rather than pro-
jecting forward. On the left of the
pope, as he is seated, is one for the sing-
ers of the Sistine chapeL On his right
is another, to be occupied by sovereigns
and members of royal femilies. The
Empress of Austria, the Queea of
Wiirtemberg, and the King of Naples
were present at the opening. Another
much larger one, on die side of the sing-*
ers,is for the diplomatic corps. It was
iUled with ambassadors in their state
uniforms, with full display of jewelled
decorations. Two other similar galle-
ries are for the theologians.
The council hall, as we have described
it, is about two hundred feet long and
nearly one hundred feet broad. The ceil-
ing above is that of the transept ; like
that of the nave, arched, panelled,and de-
corated with gilding, and is one hundred
and fifty feet above you. The seemingly
low partition wall in front shuts out Uie
view of the lower portions of the church,
but you have a full view of the upper
half of the columns and piers, with
their statues and decorations, and of
the cornice and lofty-arched ceiling, and
above all, of the magnificent dome, with
its mosaics of the evangelists and the
angelic host You see and feel all the
time that you are in St Peter^s. But
there are drawbacks. The size of the
hall, the height of the ceiling, and, per-
haps more than either, this want of dis-
connection from the church, render it
impossible for any but the strongest
voices with eminently clear enunciation
to fill it and be understood. Weak, and
even moderate voices, are simply inau-
dible to the majority. As things are
now arranged, discussion would seem
impossible, and already there is talk of
changes which may have to be indicated
in our next article. But let us return
to the pope and the bishops, whom we
left awaiting the commencement of the
pontifical high mass. This should have
been celebrated by Cardinal Mattel, the
dean of the body. But his age and in-
firmities are too great to permit so great
an exertion. Accordingly, the next in
rank. Cardinal Patrizi, took his place,
and was the celebrant The pontifi* ap-
proached the altar with him, recited the
yudka and the Confiteor^ and then re-
tired to his own seat, and the cardinal
ascended to the altar and continued the
mass. The music was that of Pales-
trina, executed by the papal choir as
they alone can sing, and without any in-
strumental accompaniment Such voices
as theirs need none. Just before the
last gospel, a portable pulpit was brought
out near the altar; Mgr. Passavalli,
Archbishop of Iconium, ascended it,
wearing cope and mitre, and preached
the introductory sermon. It was in
Latin — the language of the council — and
occupied just forty minutes. It has
since been published, and the reader
will not fail to recognize and admire the
eloquence and fervor of his thoughts
and the elegance of his Latinity. But
no pages can give an idea of the clear,
ringing voice, the musical Italian into-
nations, and the dignified and impres-
sive, almost impassioned gesture of the
truly eloquent Capuchin. The sermon
over, the pope gave the 8<^emn blessing,
the Gospel of St John was rodted, and
the mass was over.
704
The First (Ecumemical. Qmncii' 4ff the VaticatK
TYxt altar being now clear, the atferi-
dants brought in a rich, throne-like
stand, and placed it on the altar in the
centre. Monsignor Fessler, secretary of
the council, attended by his assistant,
brought in procession a large book of
the Gospels, elegantly bound, and reve«
rently placed it on the throne. It was
the place due to the inspired record of
the life and teachings of oxu* divine
Lord — a ceremony touching and most
appropriate at the opening of a council
of his followers, assembled in his name,
to declare and vindicate his teachings
and promote and carry out the commis^
sion he gave them.
The Holy Father then assumed his full
pontifical robes. The cardinals and all
the prelates, in their proper order,.thea
approached, one by one, to pay htm hom«
age, kissing his hand or the stole he wore*
Their numbers made it a long ceremony.
It told of the union of all with the head
of the church.
This over, all knelt while the pontiff
chanted the sublime prayer, Adsumus^
Ihmine* Solemn and subdued were
the chanted amens of the entire aasem*
bly.
Four chanters next intoned the litany
of the saints in the well-known varying
minor strains of Gr^orian chant Most
impressive were the responses made by
the united voices of tiie £fithers. But
when, at the proper time, the pope rose
to his feet, and, holding the cross of his
authority in his left hand, replaced the
chanters, and raising his streaming eyes
to heaven, and in his own majestic and
sonorous tones, trembling just enough
to tell how deeply his great heart was
moved, thrice prayed oxur divine Lord
to bless, to preserve, to consecrate this
council, tears flowed from many an
eye. All were intensely moved, and
not bishops alone, but the crowds
of clergy outside^ and ^ousands of
the laity, joined, again and again, in
the response, 7> rogamuiy audi nas.
Then, if never before, St Peter's was
filled with the mighty volume of sound.
Back it came to us from arch and
chapel, from aisle and lofity nave and
transept, 7> rogamus^ audi nos. We
seemed to hear it murmured even from
the aerial dome, as if the angels repeated
the words as they bore the pethkA t^
heaven, T$ rogamus^ amdi nes»
The chanters resumed, the litany
was terminated, and the pope recited the
prayers th^ follow it* Caidioal Bono*
meo then, actiog as deacon, chanted
the Gospel taken from Luke x^ narratiiig
the mission of the disciples. He used
the volume that had been enthroned oa
the altar. When he concluded, the \'o-
lume was carried back as before, andre-
vexcntly replaced on the throne. The as-
sembly were seated, and the Holy Father,
himself seated and wearing his mkr^
delivered a discourse or allocution full,
as all his discourses are, of unctioisand
replete with the thoughts and wofds of
divine inspiration.
At the conclusioo of this diacoune
all knelt, and the Holy Father again in-
toned the Veni Cntaior Spiritus. The
choir look it up, and the members of the
council responded in the alternate stro-
phes. The pope saag the versides and
prayer ^lat follow it, and all af;aia wcm
seated.
The secretary now monated the p«l-
pit and read akwd the first pcoposed de-
cree, "" That this Holy Vatican ComciI
be, and is now opened." The fatbcct
all answered, Placet; the pope gate his
sanction ; the formal decree was passed
and proclaimed, and the notaries in-
structed to make an official record of it.
A second decree was simikurly pro-
posed, voted, and sanctioned, fixing the
second public session for the festival of
the Epiphany, January 6th, 167a The
first general congregation was annowic-
ed for Friday, December loth, in the
same hall of the council
This closed the proceedings of tlM
first public session, which necessarilj
were purely formaL The Holy Father
arose and intoned the solemn 7> Deum
ot thanksgiving. The choir*— the tin-
rivalled one of the Sixtine chapel — took
up the strain, intertwinhig the melody
with subdued but artistic harmonies.
The assembled bishops, the clergy with-
out, thousanda of the huty, feniliar fr^orn
childhood with the varying strains of
its Gregorian chant, responded with ooe
accord, in the second verse of thegiand
old Ambrosian hymn. The dioir saa^
the third vene as befove» the crowd r«*
Foreign Literary NcUs.
705
sponded with the fourth, and so oa they
alternated to the end. It is impossible
to tell in words the thrilling power
of such a union of voices. It moved,
overcame, subdued one. It was impos-
sible to resist it if you would. Tears
came unbidden to the eye, and the lip
quivered as you instinctively united your
voice to that of the multitude. No one
sought to make himself heard, all unit*
ed in those subdued, thrilling tones in
which the heart speaks. Catholic and
Protestant all felt it Even the infidel for
the time believed, and, bowing his head,
joiaed in this praise and thanksgiving
to God.
At half-past two, the 7> Deum was
finished, and the services closed. The
Holy Father unrobed, and withdrew with
his attendants. But it was past three
ere all the bishops could issue from the
hall and leave the church. The crowds
looked on as they slowly departed,
their own numbers long remaining
seemingly undiminished. Many could
not tear themselves away from the hal-
lowed spot. The shades of evening
found hundreds still lingering there, con-
templating the place where they had
seen the hierarchy of the church gather-
ed around the chief pastor, or kneeling
in prayer at the tomb of the great apos-
tle to whom our Lord said, '* On this
rock I will build my church."
Since the day of the opening session,
two general congregations have been
held The chief work has been to or-
ganize and elect members for the various
committees. Where all are desirous of
having the best men on these commit-
tees, the bishops seem to consider it
well to proceed slowly, until they gain
an acquaintance with each other, which
will enable them to act with greater
knowledge. Meanwhile they are evi-
dently stud3ring up the matters before
them. What those subjects are, no one
outside their body appears as yet to
know. They are remarkably reticent,
and so &r have not been *' interviewed "
by newspaper reporters.
It is thought the council must last
several months. But at the present
stage not even the prelates themselves
can form more than a vague conjecture
on this head. It may be that a month
will throw light on the subject In that
case, we may be able to speak more ck-
finitely in our next article on the coundL
Rome, Dec. 15, 1869^
FOREIGN LITERARY NOTES.
The renowned Captain Dugald Dal-
getty, that redoubtable man of war, or-
thodoxy, and provant^ firmly held and
was known occasionally to express th
opinion that Gustavus Adolphus, King
of Sweden, was the Lion of the North
and the bulwark of Protestantism. In
so fiir as the ' bulwark * was concerned,
that clever soldado merely reflected the
estimate of the Swedish hero held by
the contemporary Protestant world — ^an
estimate still clung to by the same world
of the nineteenth century. That opinion
and that estimate have lately received
fiital Injury In the house of tiieir friends.
For thus has it come about CathoPc
VOL. X. — ^45
historians have never hesitated to state
that the fiicts bore them out in claiming
that the governing motive of Gustavus
Adolphus in taking the important part
he did in the Thirty Years* War, was
not religious enthusiasm, nor even a re*
ligious motive ; but on the contrary one
that was fax fix>m possessing any great-
er elevation than self-interest and politi-
cal advantage. So thought and wrote
Hurter and other Catholic authors. Of
course these authors were not listened
to in the Protestant world any more
than were vindications of Mary, Queen
of Scots, until they began to come fix>m
Protestant pens. But in the courseof
7q6
Foreign LiUraty Notes^
a few succeeding years no less than four
distinguished Protestant historians —
KIopp, Barthold, Leo, and Gfrdrer,
(who afterward became a Catholic,) fully
coofirmed all that Hurter had advanc-
ed. And now, within the past three
months we have a new historical work
on Gustavus Adolphus, from the pen of
another Protestant — Professor G. Droy-
sen — an eminent name In German lite-
rature — which certainly appears to place
the question of motive on the part of
the king of Sweden beyond further con-
troversy. Professor Droysen*s work
is written not so much as a biography
as with special reference to the political
necessities and ambition of the Swedish
king when he interfered in the German
struggle, and is written, also, mainly
with materials from the Swedish ar-
chives. The result of Professor Droy-
sen's research is not only to more than
confirm the position assumed by Hur-
ter, but to leave no room for serious
discussion. Professor Droysen ex-
pressly denies that the interference of
Gustavus Adolphus in the afllairs of
Germany was in fiivor of the liberty of
conscience and religion, and he quite as
explicitly asserts that motives purely
political decided and even forced him to
^put forward those pretexts*
Aux IncriduUs et aux Cray ants.
VAthde redevenu Chrdtien, Ouvrage
posthume de Af, Delauro Dubes, Con-'
seilUr d la Cour de Montpellier, Paris,
1869. The author was judge of the court
of appeals at Montpelher, and until his
sixty-lburth year lived an irreligious life.
His conyersion was the result of reflec-
tk>ti, and he wrote this book solely for
the take of one of his relatives who had
reteed to read any thing favorable to
Christianity. The work is preceded by
an opinioA of Rev* M. Foulquier, Supe-
rior of the Seminary of Rodez, and l^ a
letter from a Polish officer brought back
ito the Catholic kUh by its penuaL
A late number of the Theotogischcs
Liieraiurblatt^ published at Bonn, con-
tains an excellent review by Professor
Aberle of Tubingen of a remarkable
vvork on the year of our Saviour's birth
--Das Cehurtsjakr CkrUtL Ctsdkki^
lUh'ChroHohgische UnUrsuchuHgrnvm
A, M. ZumpL The same number also
has an admirable notice, by Professor
Hefele, of Kampschulte's new work on
Calvin, J^hann CaJvm. Seine KircJU
undsein Stoat in Gen/,
San TommasOj AristoteU^ e DmnM^
awero delta prima filasefia ItaJiaMO,
Firenze, 1869. In 4ta The Martpni
Palermo in this work shows pliikMo-
phy and science traversing the mkldie
ages under the protection of the dcr-
gy, and particularly of St Thomas. He
specially dwells upon the purely Chris-
tian character of the philosophy set
forth by Dante in his divine coaied|y.
Le Monde et PHomtne PrimUifseUn
la Bible^ par Monseignenr Afetgnsm^
Evique de Chalons sur Marme, The
right reverend author expresses the
opinion that, in our day, one of the
causes of the weakening of £uth in ^
vine revelation is certainly the false idea
formed of the Bible in connection with
the sciences. In this respect times
have greatly changed, and opinion has
passed from one extreme to the other.
Formerly, no important discovery was
made without seeking to confirm its
truth by Scripture testimony. The sup-
port of a text, of a word, was then ne-
cessary, even if they had to be slightly
wrested from their received acceptatioo.
Galileo undertook to prove his theory
by Bible texts badly interpreted. But
the contrary course now prevails to such
an extent that there exists almost an
affectation of contradicting the Scrip-
tures. The author takes up the six days
of the Mosaic account of the crcatioo,
the six days being six indeterminate pe-
riods of time — illustrating each day with
modem scientific views of the unity of
the human race, the primitive unity of
language, Chaldean and £lg}*ptian chro-
nology, etc On the unity of the human
race the right reverend author insists
with some emphasis — as indeed he well
may, recognieing in it, as we all OMist, the
well-established doctrine of the Catholic
Church — ^aod takes occasion to address
himself specially to Americans of the
Fonign Literary Notes,
707
'Untted States on the subject of the man
of dusky hue. " Let us not forget," he
says, ** that he is a child of the same
God, a descendant of Adam, having the
same faculties, the same soul, the same
heart ; that the unity of the human
species has made him our equal, and
the Gospel our brother." The work
evidei\ces great research and learning,
especially on the subject of the primi-
tive uni^ of language, where the au-
thor shows entire familiarity with all
the results of modem treatise and tn«
vestigation from Bopp down to Ewald
andDelitsch.
We are aware that Bohemian and
Hungarian literature has but few attrac-
tions for the very great majority of rea-
ders in the United States. Neverthe-
less, it may not be uninteresting to note
that in Bohemia, as in Hungary, there
exists a general awakening of interest
in their respective national literatures.
In both these countries many talented
authors are coming into notice, who
confine their literary labors to their mo-
ther tongue. Palacky in Bohemia has
lately won high praise as a historian,
even in Germany and France. Besides
his History of Bohemia^ he has lately
written several works on the historical
period of John Huss.
Of these the most important is
Palacky's Documenta mag, Joannis
Hus vitam^ doctrinam^ causam spictan-
iia. Divided into four parts, the first
includes all the letters of Huss in Latin
and in Tcheck, the latter accompanied
by a Latin translation by Professor
Kviezala ; the second part gives the
trial of Huss ; the third, an account of
his trial and death by a contemporary,
Peter Mladenowicz ; and the fourth, the
largest, all the documents relative to the
religious controversies of Bohemia from
1403 to 14 1 8. In all cases the Tcheck
documents are accompanied by Latin
translations. While on the subject of
Bohemian literature, it may be well to
mention that the best general work upon
it is that of M. Hanusch,* late librarian
of the University of Prague. For the
Inbtiography of the literature, the most
complete work fs that of Jungmann, writ-
ten in Tcheck. For literature proper, the
best is perhaps that of Sabina, which,
however, only comes down to the se-
venteenth century. Sabina*s work may
be said to be completed by that of M.
Sembera — Hisioire <U la langue et (U
la litterature Tchequc, the third edition
of which is lately published at Vienna.
On the subject of baptism, or baptis-
mal water, Dr. Heino PfafFenschmid
publishes a work* in which he under-
takes to show that baptism was a cus-
tom of both Jewish and pagan rites be-
fore the introduction of Christianity.
We see announced a work by Dr.
J. H. 'f omassen on the age of the hu-
man race, Enthiillungen aus der Urge*
schichU; oder^ Existirt das Menschett"
geschUcht nur 6000 Jahref There is
a slight dash of charlatanism in the
title, calculated to make one suspicious
of the book.
Professor Dollinger, of Munich, has
in press a new worl^ entitled. Tin RelU
gious Sects of the Middle Ages,
The Chronology of the Roman Pan*
tiffs during the last three Centuries^ by
Professor Lipsius^ of Kiel, is announc-
ed as neady ready for publication.
Volumes xiii. xfv. and xv. of the re-
print of the continuation of the His-
toire Littheure de Franu^ commenced
by the Benedictinesi are lately publish-
ed by Palmi^, Paris.
The following important works are
announced as soon to appear : Volume
xviii. of the reprint of the Annales Ec-
clesiastici of Cardinal Baronius, issued
under the direction of Father Theiner.
The first volume of a magnificent edi-
tion of the Bible, printed at Rome, at
the expense of the Propaganda. This
edition reproduces textually, with zfac-
simile^ the famous Codex Vaticanus,
The present volume contains the Penta-
teuch and the Book of Joshua. The
^QmOfrnhmAmmd BOlwgra/kkigrb^miscke' •Das WtikmMuter im heub$k€k€n xmd ckrut-
tUenUMr-GtscAkkU, ticJkem CttUmt, VU.
7d8
Foreign Literary Notes.
fifth volume, containing the New Testa-
ment, was printed last year.
The work of Cardinal Jacobatius, en-
titled De ConciliOf is also in press at
Rome, and will be printed as an intro*
duction to the great work forming a col.,
lection of all the councils.
A decided success in historic litera-
ture is the latest work on Calvin and
his timesy* by F. W. Kampschulte, pro-
fessor of history at the University of
Bonn. The first of its three volumes
has appeared, and meets with almost
universal approbation. The author ap-
pears to have spared no labor, and has
brought to light fresh and valuable au-
thorities. The manuscripts, mostly for
the first time used, far out-number the
printed works referred to. Heretofore,
the archives of Geneva have been con-
sidered sufficient to furnish material
for a life of Calvin. But Professor
Kampschulte rightly judged that, in
view of the intimate connection be-
tween Geneva and Berne during Cal-
vin's life, the archives of the latter city
must be rich in documents for his pur-
pose. A similar reason induced him to
visit Strasburg, and both places jrielded
largely in fresh and important matter.
For Calvin's correspondence, previous
historians have contented themselves
with Beza's edition of the Epistola it
Responsa Calvinij or with Bonnet's col-
lection. Professor Kampschulte, with
indefatigable research, has succeeded in
gathering a large number of Calvin's
letters, heretofore unpublished, which
he found scattered in every direction.
In this he was greatly aided by MM.
Reuss, Cunitz, and Baum, of Strasburg,
who for many years past have been
making a collection of the letters of
Calvin for a new edition of the Episto^
la in the Corpus Reformatorum. With
a liberality deserving all praise, these
scholars generously placed all ibis va-
luable material at Professor Kamp-
schulte's disposition.
Dr. J. B. Abbeloos, professor at the
Seminary of Mechlin, assisted by Canon
im Gti^, Leipsig. %9% 4913 pix
Lamy, professor of Oriental laBj;oigcs
at the University of Louvain, is prepar-
ing for publication an important histo-
rical and literary monument, of whid
a small portion only has heretoiBfC
been printed. It is the great Sjibc
chronicle of Bar Hebreus, Primate of
the Oriental Jacobites. The first put
of this work was edked in 17S8 at
Leipsic, by two well-known orieital
scholars, Bnisis and Kirsch. The
second and third parts contain tbe
Ecclesiastical History, and present, as
to the beginnings of Christbnity in Ibe
East and on the history of the first four
ages of the church, a number of vahi»>
bJe detaib not elsewhere to be fousd.
The distinguished Assemanni (Oriental
Bible, vol. il p. 312) says that the
ecclesiastical history of Bar Hebreus
admirably sets forth the religious bis*
tory of the Nestorians and of the Jsco*
bites, which is entirdy unknown to tbe
Greeks and Latins.
Ever since the period of the fiital and
futile attempt of certain unbelieving as-
tronomers to foist the Zodiac of Den-
derah upon the Christian sdeodfic
world, infidel and rationalistic writers
have never allowed an occasion to pass
to seek to elevate or praise old pagan
manners and systems of morality. Tbe
more remote their field of disquisitxm,
the more positive are they. This at-
tempted rehabilitation of ancient sys-
tems most remarkable for their profoimd
immorality is thoroughly defeated by
M. Francois Lenormant in his latdy
published Manuel (thisUnre AncunM
de rOrienty 3 vols., avec un atlas it
24 cartes. His exposition of ancient
paganism is thorough and learned. M.
Lenormant's father was a co-bborer of
Champollion, and he has a European re-
putation as an oriental scholar. Tbe
work here announced was, in the fbnn
of an essay, previously crowned by the
French Academy.
The third and last volume of M9l^
let's History of the Chunk, edited by
the Rev. Father Gams, has appeared
in Germany, and a French translatioB
of the same by the Abb^ Belot at Paris.
Wherever it was practicable, F. Gani
Nfw Publications.
709
has filkd voids left by M(Uiler with
review articles, written by Mdhler on
the same subject Mdbler has given
special attention to the study of Protes*
tantism^ and is convinced that the
'judgments passed on the condition
oi the church during the century ante-
rior to the reform itself^ greatly need
reforming." He refutes with great
force the erroneous opinions of' men,
either ignorant of the past or willingly
blind, who have attributed to Luther
the honor of bringing the Bil>Ie to the
light of day. Nothing can be more
false. Immense works on the Bible were
produced during the middle ages, and,
rapidly following the discovery of print-
ing, numerous translations made their
appearance. From 1460 to the first
version of Luther in 1521 there were
printed in Germany at least sixteen
Bibles in High German and five in Low
German. Up to 1524, there were nine
editions in France, not counting those
of Italy, the first of which appeared in
1471.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
The Romax Index and its late
Proceedings. A Second Letter, etc.
By E. S. Ffoulkes. American edition.
Pott & Amery.
After the publication of Mr. Ffoulkes's
letter, entitled, The Churches Creed or
the Crown's Creed f he was refused the
sacraments, as it was perfectly plain he
must be according to the certain rules
of moral theology by which priests are
guided. Archbishop Manning submit-
ted the letter to the examination of
four theologians, who, separately and
without mutual consultation, gave in
their opinion that it was heretical. The
archbishop, with the greatest delicacy
and kindness, began to treat with Mr.
Ffoulkes, for the purpose of inducing
him to make a sufficient retractation, in
order that he might repair the scandal
he had given and be restored to the en-
joyment of his privileges as a member
of the church. On the 22d of March,
1869, Mr.Ffbulkes submitted the follow-
ing letter to the archbishop :
" Having 1 Jrned from my bishop that a
pami^et, lately published by me, entitled,
The Church's Creed er the Crmm's Creed f
has been examined, and pronounced by him
Co be heretical, I desire hereby to submit
myself to that judgment, and to express my
sorrow that I should in any thing have erred
from the Holy Cathoh'c and Apostolic faith.
Although I trust I have not intentionally
erred from the truth, nor wilfully opposed
myself to the divine authority of the diurch,
nevertheless I am well aware how easily I
may have done so. I therefore hereby, with-
out reserve, retract all and every thing that
I have written, there or elsewhere, which is
contrary to what the church has defined as
of faith.
'' Having learned also from him that scan-
dal, offence, and pain have been given by my
writings, and especially by the pamphlet
above named, to the faithful ; and that the
same pamphlet has been used by those who
are separate from the Catholic and Roman
Giurch OS an excuse or argument for not
submitting to its divine authority, I hereby
desire to explain myself categorically on
two points in particular, the most likely to
have caused such results of any that occur-
red to me, from not having been brought
out as prominently there as they might have
been, but on which it never was my inten-
tion that my meaning should be ambiguous.
"I, Whatever I may or may not have
been called upon to profess fourteen years
ago myself, I nevertheless believe, and be*
lieve heartily, in the inerrancy, fy perpetual
assistance of the ffafy Ghost in ail ages, of the
one Catholic Churdi in communion with the
pope, and of which the pope' is head by di-
vine right, ' infidei ae morum cUscipiind tra-
dendd, as the Catechism of the Council of
Trent teaches. And 2, as regards matter of
hxX, my own personal investigations enable
me to afiirm the verdict of history to be,
that the see of Rome, as such, has been
7IO
Ntm P$Mkaiiens.
preserved la aU ages firom vpholding or em-
bracing heresy. / say this more parUaiiarfy
with refirence to thedoctrim oftheproctssion qf
tii£ Holy Ghost, on which I fear my meatwt^
may have been misapprehentUd, Therefore,
negatively, should I hare ever seemed to
say or imply that the true church has ever
ceased to be one visibly^ or that the see of
Rome was not constituted its centre of unity
upon earth, so that ooramanion with the
one should be the indispensable conditioa
of participalinc in the unity of the other, I
hereby declare my heartfolt sorrow at bar-
ing, in any of my writings, so expressed
myself on these points as to have offended
any or misled any by seeming to say or im-
ply, in language it^rious to the Holy See,
what I never meant to assert, and hereby re-
pudiate.
" And as the best reparation now in my
power, I willingly undertake that this ex-
plicit declaration of mine shall be printed
and distributed gratuitously by my publish-
er, and appended as a fly-leaf to all copies
of my pamphlet, of which the copyright is
not in my own hands, and other published
works of mine that may hereafter be sold,
should it be desired. Lastly, I freely, and
from my heart, renew my assent to what
follows, taken from the profession of Pope
Pius IV. :« I acknowledge the Holy, Catholic,
Apostolic, Roman Church for the mother and
mistress of all churches ; and I promise true
obedience to the Bishop of Rome, successor
to St Peter, Prince of the Apostles, and
Vicar of Jesus Christ.' " (Pages 37, 38.)
Oq the 18th of December, 1868, a
work, entitled Christendom's Divisions^
by the same author, had been placed
on the Index, and, on the 26th of March,
the letter was placed there likewise.
The archbishop made some further sug-
gestions to Mr. Ffoulkes on the 2d of
May, which he accepted, and, on the 4th,
wrote to Mr. F., " I have received with
sincere pleasure the declaration as last
amended, and I trust it will complete
what I have daily prayed may be accom*
plished.'' On the 17th of May, Mr. F.
wrote to a clergyman of the Church of
England, ^ / wtmld be txcommmnkated
a dosten times a tlay sooner than retrtut
my pamphlet; and Archbishop Man-
ning, to his credit let it be said, never
proposed any such thing. What he
proposed, however, I rejected ; and
substituted for it a declaration of my
own, which is merely justificatory.''^
* Hm itdto am ocr oim.— In. C W.
This, slightly altered, he has since ac-
cepted ; so that my part is over." This
letter was made known by the penon
who received it, and came to the know-
ledge of Archbishop Mjumia^ who re-
quested Mr. F. to obtain the letter and
hand it over to him, a request whkh tfie
latter gentleman considered as insulting
to his *' English feeUngs,*' and refuted.
He himself writes to the archbishop^
and to the public also, (p. 43,) "Year
grace was apprehensive lest this loose
statement of a well-known tale-beanr,
duly reported to Rome, should give rise
to your being inhibited from acqeptiog
my declaration. Though I thought this
extremely probable, I contented myself
with assuring your grace, by letter,
that, if the individual in question had ^^
ported me to have said, * I would rather
be excommunicated than retract, (^)**
he had either misrepresented roe wil-
fully, or stated what was not the bek
My English feelings would not allow ne
to do more." The archbishop may cer-
tainty be excused for not accepting this
statement, since the Anglican clergy-
man had read the first paragraph of the
letter to the person designated, we hope
unjustly, as a '^ well-known bosybody,"*
and had communicated its contents to
several other persons *^ in strict coa6>
dence." The archbishop had comms-
nicat^d Mr. F.'s retractation or justifi-
cation to the Congregation of the Indes,
and, on the 6th o? August, a letter 6t>«
Mgr. Nardi to the archbishop was read
to Mr. F., in which his document was
pronounced insufficient, particularly bfr
cause not containing an expression of
submission to the decree of the sa-
cred congregation. A general form of
retractation of every thing which the
congregation had condemned hi hi5wri^
ings, and of submission to its jodgmcot,
was sketched out for his gutdancs ta
preparing a pn^>er statement, and be
was informed that when such a declaia-
tion had been sent to Roo|k and accept-
ed, no pubISc notice wouil be taken of
it except to append to the censure ia
the Index the words, auctor laudMiUr
se subfecii^-^t author has submitted b
a laudable manner. Mr. F. refused to
• This «r b Mr. Ffeolkn** : »lut k oM
ooly to hiatelf m4 hnwa.— £0. C W.
New PubtieatiMS.
711
male this anltmlsston, and was, acconl-
Ingly, notified by the archbishop that
he could not b« admitted to the sacra-
mead. Mr. F. also notified bis grace
that if any official sentence was pro-
nounced upon him, he should appeal to
the ctvrl tribunal. At the conclusion of
his pamphlet he says, respecting the
"arbitrary sentence of a foreign court,"
" Please God, I shall Hire to contribute
my quota toward l>eing the death of the
system from which it proceeds. . . .
Please Cod, one of two things — for
which I shall continue to labor through
life — either that Christianity and Rome
may become convertible terms, which it
is my sincere wish that they should be ;
or else thst fresh halting-places forsober,
ordinary Christians, between Rome and
Infidelity, may be developed amongst us,
and new life be vouchsafed to those
which exist already." Finally says
Mr. F., in his last paragraph, " All we
of the west are lying under more than
one solemn anathema of more than one
pope, speaking as bead of the church—
if popes have ever spoken as heads of
the church — for having changed a sylla-
bi; in thecreed authorued by the Fourth
Council."
This Is Mr. F.'s case. It is evident
that be became a member of the Catho-
lic Church under a great misapprehen-
sion of her doctrine and law, and has
never been any thing more than an
Anglican. He is disposed to blame
those who received him ; but it is plain
that they had no reason for suspecting
that his misconception of the obvious
Tueaning of the profession he made of
submission to the Roman Church was
so fundamental, and that he has only
bis own confused state of mind to blame
for it He has never really believed in
the e*er-living, supreme, infallible au-
thority of the church, or had any oth-
er principle than the Protestant one to
guide him. Hence, be has bewildered
and lost himself in a maxe of historical
difiiculties which he is unable to under-
stand or remove. His letters are the
most conclusive proof possible that the
bogus Catholicity of unionists is fit only
to complicate instead of solving the
controversies among Christians. It
■bows the necessity of the most ex-
plicit teaching of the principle of infat- .
Hble authority in all its practical appli-
cations, and proves that it is only by
fully understanding and submitting to
the doctrinal supremacy of the Roman
pontiff as the vicar of Christ we can
have any sufficient and certain criterion
by which to distinguish genuine from
spurious Catholicity.
One other point remains lobe noticed.
Mr. F.'s complaint that the sacred con-
gregation violated its own rule, by fail-
ing to give him notice of the errors
in his writings and the opportunity of
explaining himself and making correc-
tions. This is a mistake on his part
When erroneous statements are found
in the works of a Catholic author of high
repute for learning and orthodoxy, he
receives this notification, and, in any
case, when a book is placed on the Index
merely on account of some particular
errors, the phrase donee corrignlur is
added. Mr. F. is not an author of high
repute for learaingand orfliodoxy. His
writings are thoroughly unsound and
mischievous. There was no occasion
to cite him for a formal hearing or de-
fence of himself, since the whole ques-
tion was in reference to his writings,
which speak for themselves. The only
thing necessary for a judgment was an
examination of his books, and that they
were not hastily condemned is evident
from the fact that the censure was pro-
nounced three years after they were
published. M. Kenan has just as much
reason to demand a hearing as Mr.
Ffoulkes.
Across America and Asia, By Ra-
phael Pumpelly, Professor In Har-
vard University, and sometime Min-
ing Engineer in the service of the
Chinese and Japanese Governments.
New York ; Leypoldt & Holt. 1870.
Mr. Pi
ume an i
arc inten
a five ye:
by way (
China, T
returned
tic to N<
what feU
7ia
New PuUkatums.
observation daring his travels are no
doubt accurate, and give an excdlent
idea of the natural features of the re-
gions and people through which he
passed— particularly of the former ; for
theauthor's profession and tastes made
him observe nature closdy^and detect
and describe things which an ordinary
travdler would have left unnoticed.
His description of the plateau of Cen-
tral Asia is specially striking and valua*
ble, and the strictly scietktific iniorma-
tion contained in this as in the other parts
of his work important ; but he has, of
course, treated purely professional sub*
jecte more Mly elsewhere.
The worlf: is interspersed with his(o«
rical sketches and political essays, some
of which perhaps are not without value ;
but the egregious blunders made in the
account of the expulsion of Christianity
fsom Japan, on pt^e 97, would lead one
to suspect that the author has not always
been duly careful in collecting his in-
formation. He seems to profess to be
a Christian, as he speaks in one place
of ''our Lord's sermon on the mount ;**
but was evidently much impressed by
what he saw of Buddhism, from the
practices of which he wisely says tliat
^ western ritualism, and much of the su-
perstition on which it is based," (p. 166,)
is derived. The same idea is brought
in on page 383. Other forms of hea-
thenism also impressed him fiatvorably,
and he thinlcs well of the Mohamme-
dans, judging from what he says of
those at Kazan ; but this admiration
for, and fascination by every thing ex-
cept the truth is not unusual among men
without faith.
He could not, of course, avoid noticing
the finilure of Protestant missions, whose
•converts he regards as hypocrites, in-
fluenced solely by the hope of soup, and
frequently shows an appreciation of the
genius, devotedness, and success of Ca-
tholic missionaries.
The author appears to be a man of
undaunted courage, great humanity, and
a high sense of both honor and morality.
His exposure of the vilkiinous conduct
of white men toward the Indians in our
own country, and the dark races of
Asia, deserves our cordial thanks. His
remarks on the question of the effect
of SdavQiiiaa advancement in die old
world and Chinese immigratk>n in the
new, on the destinies of the coming age,
are fitted to awaken many deep and anz*
ious thoughts. The chapter on Jaj»-
nese art hy Mr. John La Farge is wor-
thy of that accomplished artist On
the whole, with the exceptions above
noted, this is one of the best boob
which has appeared from the Americu
press.
The Pope and the Council.
Janus. Authorized translation firom
the German. Boston : Roberts Bro-
thers. 187a
This is not a book which can be re*
viewed as to its contents in a critical
notice, or in any thing less than a volume.
It goes over the entire field of the rela-
tion of the papacy to the church, consi-
dered historically, and is a work of some
show of learning. We cannot, there-
fore, touch on the question of its in-
trinsic truth or falsity at present, but
simply on the point of its orthodoxy, as
judged by the criterion according to
which doctrine is to be judged by tbe
canons actually making the law of tbe
Catholic Church at the present moment
According to this criteiion, it is hereti-
cal, and therefore to be rejected by eveiy
Catholic, as much as Dr. Pusey's Eire-
nicon^ or Guett^e*s Papacy Schismatic,
The review of this last-named book in
The Catholic World for July and
August, 1867, written^ by one of tbe
ablest of our contributors, vrill furnish
cui interim a sufficient refutation of tbe
and-Catholic principles on whicb it
rests. We cite a few pass^es in proof
of the statement we have made. In tbe
prefiice it is suted that the book is "a
protest, based on history, against a me-
nacing future, against the programme
of a powerful coalition," This "pro-
gramme " means the whole preparatory
work of the body of theologians sum-
moned to Rome by the pope to prepare
for the counciL Again, that "a great
and searching reformation of the cburcb
is necessary and inevitable. ** Speaking
of those who follow the teaching of tbe
supreme pontiff In all things as tbcir
Ngw Publications.
713
mthoritative role, the autlKNv lay^
^ While in oatward communion with
theiB» we are inwanlly separated by a
great gulf 60m those,'' etc. ''The pa^
paq^ such as it has become, presents
the appearance of a disfiguring, sickly,
and choking excrescence on the organ!-
atioa of the church, hindering and de-
eomposing the action of its vital powers,
and bringing manifold diseases in its
train." They say that there has been a
dtTolopment " of the primacy into the
papacy, a transformation more than a de-
velopment, the consequences of which
have been the splitting up of the pre-
viously united church into three great
ecclesiastical bodies, divided and at en-
iQity with each other." These extracts
prove the attitude of open rebellion
against the pontifical authority assumed
by the authors. The following shows
their utter defiance of the authority of
the Council of the Vatican :
" An Gecomenical assembly of the church
can have no existence, properly speaking,
in presence of an ordinarius orditutriorum
(equivalent to bishop of bishops) and in&IIi-
ble teacher of faith. . • . Bishops who
have been obliged to swear ' to maintain,
defend, increase, and advance the rights,
honors, privileges, and authority of their
lord the pope '^-aad every bishop takes this
oath— -cannot regard themselves, or be re*
garded by the Christian world, as free mem-
bers of a free council ; natural justice and
equity require that. These men neither
will nor can be held responsible for decisions
or omissions which do not depend on the m.
** With abundant reason were the two de-
mands urged throughout half Europe in the
sixteenth century, in the negotiations about
the coondl— firii, that it should not be held
in Rome, or even in Italy ; and, secondly,
that tlie hishops should be absolved from
their oath of obedience. The recently pro-
claimed council is to be held not only in
Italy, but in Rome itself; and already has it
been announced that, as the sixth Lateran
coandl, it will adhere fitithfully to the fifth.
That is quite enough — ^it means this, that
whatever course the synod may take, one
quality can never be predicated of it, name-
ly, that it has been a really free council.
Theologians and canonists declare that
without complete freedom the decisions of
a eovuicil are not binding, and the assembly
is only a piieudd-synod. lu decrees may
have to be corrected." (Pp. 343-345-)
Such is the harsh, dissonant cry of
discord which interrupts the harmoni-
ous accord of voices fh>m all the world,
rising in responsive welcome to the
call of the vicar of Christ, summoning
together the whole church around
the tomb of the aposUes. Naturally, it
gives great delight to the enemies of the
church, who see no hope for their cause
except in dissension among her own
rulers and members, and who welcome
these faithless Catholics, a4>phiud them,
and disseminate their writings, as allies
of their own within our camp. Their
rejoicing, however, is premature. The
number banded together in this clique
is extremely small Neither Mgr. Ma-
ret, Mgr. Dupanloup, or the so-call-
ed Liberal Catholics, represented by
Li Correspondant^ hold the extreme
opinions of Janus^ which has been
I^ed on the Index in company with
Mr. Ffoulkes's productions. Galileans
and liberals acknowledge the supreme
authority of the Council of the Vatican,
and will readily give up any private opi-
nions which may be condemned by its
judgment Although the disciples of
Bossuet*s school maintain that the papal
decretals do not become irrefbrmible
until they have received the at least
tacit assent of the bishops, yet they ad-
mit their binding and obligatory force
over all the fidthful and over each
bishop, taken singly, as soon as legally
promulgated. All the pontifical decre-
tals which are proposed as dogmatic
judgments by the Roman Church have
received at least the tacit assent of the
bishops, and are, therefore, now irrefor-
mible, even by a council, on Gallican
principles.
Janus is in open rebellion against the
authority of these decretals, and against
the Council of the Vatican itsel£ The
persons concerned in its publication,
and all ecclesiastics who share their
sentiments, will be interdicted from all
exercise of sacerdotal functions in the
church, and excluded firom her commu-
nion, unless they retract their heresy
and submit to the authority of the coun-
cil, or else hide themselves under the
cloak of anonymous secrecy. The only
importance which l^rockurts of this sort
have, comes from the supposed fru:t that
/
714
Ntw PtAHcatums.
tiieir authors maintain a tenable position
in the Catholic Church. When they
are cut oif from her communion, as they
certainly will be if they prove contuma-
cious, they mix with the great mass of
unbelievers, and are of no account We
have had a succession of these traitors,
from Judas to Gavazzi, and it is quite
probable that the Council of the Vatican
will prove the occasion of a certain
number of apostasies. The departure
from her outward communion of those
who have already lost the foith is, how-
ever, an advantage rather than an injury
to the church, and the places of these
deserters will be better filled by the
new converts who will be gained
Life of Daniel Webster. By
George Ticknor Curtis, one of his
literary executors. Volume I. New
York: D. Appleton & Co., 90, 92,*
and 94 Grand street 1870.
Among the numerous regrets caused
by the death of Edward Everett, many
felt a disappointment because he had
not added to our literature and to his
own memoir of Mr. Webster a complete
biography of that distinguished states-
man. As for as we can judge from the
present volume of Mr. Curtis's work,
there is little cause, however, to regret
that the task of writing it should have
devolved on him. Its typography and
paper deserve special praise ; while the
elegant yet modest appearance of the
book is in harmony with the dignity
of its subject, the style of the author,
and the taste of that portion of the
community who will constitute its most
attentive readers.
The story of Mr. Webster's rustic
boyhood, of the fireside legends of In-
dian and British warfare, whence he
drew the patriotism of his riper years,
the history of his struggle with po-
verty, and of the warm ties which
bound him to his elder brother, are all
told in a vividly interesting manner,
and will recall similar scenes to the
mind of many a reader. The success-
ful career at school and college of the
pooriy-dad, sensitive lad, developing
gradually into his splendid manliood
and growing daily in the esteen of aft
is also graphically portrayed. I n bis h»-
bits of toil and deep study we see the
foundations of that solidity of charaGter,
that grasp of intellect, whicb ga:v€ fea his
eloquence its commanding foroe, aad It
many of his forensic efibrts their pre-
sent character of legal authority.
The rising generation will axtaire Ihe
record of Mr. Webster's eatraace iali
public life, and the independence, iat^
grity, and loyahy which mxrtced kit
course therein. From hk youth he
seemed to know of no other policy
right Though party lines are
days more sharply defined than ia his
time, we think this broad and true Aaw>
rican spirit is still the surest guide
to lasting politicsd infiuence. And the
young politician who will place patriol-
ism and devotion to principle bcibie
private ambition will secure Uie highcit
triumph for both, and need never fiear
the lash of party despotism.
In the present state of political afiairs,
which proves in so many ways and on
so many points the correctness of Mr.
Webster's views, and the deep, £u--see-
ing genius of his statesmanship, we
h^rtily approve the moderation and his-
torical calmness with which Mr. Curtis
records the exciting, scenes of the ^nal-
Irfication" and ^ expunging" times, and
also Mr. Webster's views on the hash-
ing up of discussion on the abolition pe-
titions of '^'fi and '37.
We have evidences, in portions of his
correspondence brought into the work,
of the true place which Mr. Webster as-
signed to principles, and of his contempt
for openly immoral men. Writing to
Mr. Ticknor in 1830^ he says of a cer-
tain eminent literary character, whose
sins have not been left to dimifnicar
with his ashes :
*' Many excellent reasons are given for hit
hehig a bad husband, the sun of which is
that he was a very bad anaa. I ooniess» I was
rejoiced then, I am rqoioed dow» that he was
driven out of England by pabhc aoom ; lor
his vices were not ia his passions, hot in his
principles."
On the whole, there are few biogra-
phies of public men more healthful to
the moral system of the reader than that
Nnf P$MUatiot$s.
7n
of Mr. Webster. We see his acknow-
ledgment of true principles, and if in
liis private life he at any time afterward
lost sight of diem, this weakness has not
the sanction of his genius, but standi
condemned by it
As an orator, his natural powers rank
him witfi Demosthenes, wi^ Chatham^
with O'ConnelL The legal profession
will look upon him as one of its lights
and ornaments. And an who love Ame-
rica win honor !n him one whose heart
beat in unison with the mighty pulse of
this nation. We venture to hope that
the rest of the work will equal the pre-
sent volume, and that it will be read by
every intelligent young man in the Uni-
ted States.
MxssALE ROMANUM. Tours Edition.
Royal quarto. 1869. New York
and Cincmnati : Benziger Bros.
This is a very fine edition of the
Roman Missal It is carefully bound
in morocco, tastefully ornamented, and
opens easily. The page is pleasant to
the eye, the type being large and clear,
and the paper very good. All the re-
cent masses will be found at their pro-
per places in this edition, whicfa is in
itself both a convenience and recom-
mendation. At the commencement of
the canon there is a very good steel-
plate engraving of the Crucifixion. We
recommend this missal to the notice
of the reverend clergy and members
of altar societies.
The History of Rome. By Theo-
dor Mommsen. Translated by the
Rev. W. P. Dickson, D.D. With a
preface by Dr. Leonhard Schmitz.
New edition, in four volumes. Vol. I.
New York : Charles Scribner & Co.
1870.
This is a philosophical history. It Is
difficult to do justice to the depth and
accuracy of the erudition it displays.
The style is also singulariy happy — es-
pecially for a translation. We accept
the author's facts, but not all his theories.
Some of the latter would accotmt for
certain religious beliefii and practices
by ignoring, on the one hand, primitive
tradition, and attributing, on the other,
to peoi^es but just emerging from bar-
barism the sublimest poesy and the keen-
estwisdom. Ratk>Baiism will never suc-
ceed in accounting for what was true in
tiie religions of Greece and Rome, any
more than for Christiani^. The great
philosophical historian of our age is
Professor Leo, of^Halle, whose account
of Rome is especially admirable. Those
who read German will probably find in
Leo and Mommsen, together with Nie-
buhr, aU they need to luiow of the prin-
ciples, constitutioa, origin, and histori-
cal development of pagan Rome. For
a correct and condensed narrative of
events, Cantu*s Universal History Is
the best
Women's Supfraob: A Reform
AGAINST Nature. By Horace
Bushnell. New York: Scribner &
Co« 1869. X2mo, pp. 184.
We agree with Dr. Bushnell, as our
readers are aware, in opposing female
suffrage and eligibility as repugnant to
the law of God, the natural relations of
the sexes, and the interests of the fami*
ly, of society, and indeed of woman
herself; but in the course of his essay
he uses so many weak alignments, and
concedes ^so ' much to the women's
rights folks, that his conclusions, though
just, are not well sustained, and are not
hkely to carry conviction to the minds
of those women who aspire to be men.
We do not believe the lot of woman in
society as it is can be truly said to be
harder than that of men. The curse of
our age is its femineity, its want of
manliness, its sentimentalism, and its
pruriency ; and it could only be aggra-
vated by female sufirage and eligibility.
'* The reigns of queens," said a queen
of France to a duchess of Burgundy,
*'are conceded to be more successful
than those of kings." "True," re-
sponded the duchess ; " but it is be-
cause queens follow the counsel of
men, and kings the counsel of women."
The age, or what is called the age, needs
reforming, we grant; for it hzM been
1^
^..44H ^ Vi^ *^ M4M; ^
^fflfumttHi 111 pfffdminx^ dhtrW^ua^
#h4 nmm*m\h% llf« HMUrial goods d^
M»l« ll/«i, Nfi/I UlMid »/> MfJtrtmt of tbe dS»
v)fi# «frv#rf lifMy, or (/f m»n*B moral and
«|(lflhmf W4fiU, w«Ar« aulu willio^ to
M«iH »'il«i t« n rmfiifMl f^rnluct of the Re-
^(MHrtltoM, It irMind wAntt beyond iu
|«(«wiif l(» «iilUfy, (MtM And habiu of
l)(«i wtilili tlntimml for their gratiAca-
IImm himI Wdrtllli, and great wealth can
\m {\\p l(i| t>f only Uit few. It creates a
Uu^ tt'^^* <*f Hiptt nml women, espe-
«Mlly «ir wornvn, tor whom It doei and
«"«M ihi«K«» im iMovUion, and who luffer
{Mil IM |MMimi (loll to Ihclr cultivated and
\¥\\\w\\ hi^Vltn mill taaira. The system
U Iu UmIi, in UMVil oil the fuUe princi-
^ IKhI Ihi^ m«4^ WAiUs you can stimu-
Mtf ^ \lvNvioii (u n man or a woman
tH^ M^ix llfiK^ U cn?4tta a large
vU*^ \^Kv» Ai« III Hi ^Nis^ mi!«|4Ace<l, dis-
v\^W^tv^t,A^vl ii>AdUvn^ by wants that
^^\ s^MMvM Mti^ty^ Atnt pitrpared to be
WK4 WK^MH'^iftt l^^l tVV\4xttv^Ut3k
IHy^v vt li^ ViUY Ml curtt^ the eYiK»
yk* V>*K'**\ii^ biit tk> tirturntu^ li> tbe
V^'.V'xu* ^h*ik*|nV w^* *vU*sWtiulk a(»d
'* x\,^ii^ ii x,4 uV ^ i^^v'vHtt v*t ^^ni ami
S„\ 'tkvx.sw **Ki iii x'>.U|t'* »i>*»*l b* Ofcivi^
Lofd
let m^untar
be counted
^yt evils our
's rights
disappear,
proper ^ace,
So pofitical or social
wtlldoaaj
is to substi-
cGooomy for the pa-
Mkodtm society.
S
AXD BIS Thxee Magic
Wamds. By £. Prentiss. Boston:
A beantiM all^onca] story, the
ral of which is that riches and know-
ledge arc worthless if not accompanied
by the lore of your neighbor. Bro-
theriy love is the great lesson of this
little volume, without which no ooe
be happy, and with which every
may be happy, even though
be only a cabin. It is the best book of
the kind we have read in & k»g tsai^
and should be placed in the h»b of
the ambitious youth of oor
whose God seems lo be
unlimited power.
Bible Animals : Bein$ x Dcscrpoon
of every hvtng Creatare mrnnomai a
the Scriptures^ front the A^ ii :be
Coral By the Rnr. J. G.
M^A^F.LS^ etc* Xew York . -C
Scribner & Ox iStql 2^ a^
This book
It is so cnipkTK ifaat .t
bccoBse the standard
brands o£ hihfiral I kcuou
appears almost to
ao that.. ailiiOQg^ tbe
mote e^edaHy to .xui j^^.
ir«c the sc^enciiic
\V.\}c s CTptjiwntMi
« *U Take :£is. tuuubc
^ n*2^
tefT-
a ^r-CBAT
Niw FubKcatians.
7^7
httons do not really designate the crea-
tares that are intended. Mr. Wood
seems to have brought good sense and
great ^mess to this difficult portion
of his task. Where he is unable to de-
cide with probability, he is not ashamed
to say that he ** is lost in uncertainty,
and at the best can only offer conjee*
tures.** But this uncertainty refers prin-
ctpally to the smaller and less conspicu-
ous species. The larger animals and
birds are nearly all identified with tole-
n^le certainty. The illustrations of the
Tolume are numerous and finely execut-
ed. They are mostly taken firom living
animaU, while the accessory details
have been obtained firom Egyptian and
Assyrian monuments, and firom the pho*
tographs and drawings of modem tra-
vellers. In every respect the book of-
fers a rich and varied treat to those
who feel an interest in knowing some-
thing of the land and the people which
our divine Saviour chose for his own.
Art Thoughts : The Experiences
and Observations of an American
AuMteur in Europe. By James
Jackson Jarves. i2mo, pp. 379.
New York : Hurd & Houghton.
Mr. Jarves is one of the few Ameri-
can writers on art whose works are
worth reading and preserving. He
has devoted to the subject the study
and travel of many years, and has
gathered one of the finest collections of
Ijrenuine masters ever brought to this
country. To a certain extent, his ver-
dict upon painting and sculpture is en-
titled to the greatest weight ; for it is
founded upon intelligent study and a
natural artistic appreciation. For the
antique and the modem schools we may
cheerfully accept him as a guide ; but
in the great realm of Christian art,
which lies glorious and beautiful be-
t^veen these two extremes, he is but a
bund leader of the blhtd — a pagan of
the nineteenth century, unable to com-
prehend true religious inspiration, or to
lieel the artistic value of religious symbol-
Ism ; and for whom mnch of the sublimi-
ty of the JUmaissoHCi^ as well as the ru-
der but sincere and of^n eloquent art of
the earlier Christian period, is therefore
covered with an impenetrable veiL It is
one of the canons of Mr. Jarves's criti-
cism that every species of asceticism,
either in life or in art, is a violation of
nature and of truth. That is £alse art,
therefore, whkh deals with represen-
tations of physical suffering, and the
Apollo is a nobler subject than the cru-
cified Saviour. What a wealth of spiri-
tual beauty is shut out by this sensual
conception, we need not stop to say. It
is no wonder that, with such views, Mr.
Jarves, while he admires the enraptured
saints of Fra Angelico, cannot feel the
divine pathos and sublimity of Michael
Angelo*s *' Pieta." It is no wonder tliat
he believes that '* every religion in the
form of a creed restricts and narrows
art ;" that he hates the Roman Church
for its inculcadon of the virtue of self-
mortification ; denounces our worship
as rank idolatry of the most degrading
kind; and can hardly speak with de-
cent moderation his contempt for the
crucifix and his detestation of the un-
comfortable doctrine of eternal pun-
ishment To Catholics, indeed, almost
every page of his book conveys offencei
and the blasphemy of some passages is
too horrible for quotation.
The book is manufiictured with due
regard to magnificence of exterior, and
many typographical niceties appropriate
to a work on the fine arts. There is so
much care, in fitct, evident in its print
and binding that we have a right to
complain of there not being a little
more, and especially to protest against
the constant disfigurement of proper
names — partly through the fault of
the author, and partly through insuffi-
cient proof-reading. "Giusti," for in-
stance, is printed " Guisti," " Giuliano "
appears as " Guliano " and ^ Giulano,"
never, we believe, in its proper form.
We have also " Guliana," and " Lucca "
della Robbia uniformly, instead of
" Luca." St Simeon Stylites is called
sometimes '< St Stylus," (which is non-
sense,) and sometimes " St Simone ;''
and sometimes, we may add, "that
filthy fiinatic." The union of Italian
forms of common Christian names, like
Simone and Francesco, with the Eng-
718
New Publications.
llsh prefix <'St," is another common
&ult For the words ^ King Cawdaules,"
« Soi/briquet," and " Owtf" as the
Italian for " thing/' we must hold the
proof-readers alone to blame.
Among the Trees ; A Journal of
Walks in the Woods, and Flower-
Hunting through Field and by Brook.
By Mary Lorimer. Sq. 8vo, pp. 153.
New York : Hurd & Houghton.
This is a pleasant, readable, feminine
sort of book, written by an ardent and
intelligent lover of nature, and quite
equal to inspiring almost any body with
more or less enthusiasm for the pur-
suit to which it is devoted. The
writer catalogues minutely the botani-
cal charms of all the different seasons —
midwinter as well as the depth of sum-
mer ; describes the flowers of each
month, and tells where to look for them ;
and gives practical instructions for mak-
ing miniature conservatories of wild
flowers, and doing various other pretty
things such as young ladies delight in.
The book is written for the latitude of
New York. Excellent wood-cuts ac-
company the text, and the paper and
binding are suitable for the holiday
season.
Christ and the Church. Lectures
delivered during Advent, by the Rev.
Thomas S. Preston* New York:
The Catholic Publication Society,
126 Nassau Street 1870.
and s ac r amea ta which are distil
Catholic flow necessarily from the doc-
trines of original justice, die £dl, the
incarnation ax)d redemption. Tbcy
address, therefore, direcUy, and in the
most conclusive manner, those Protes-
tants who are called ordiodox or eran-
gelical, in common pariance. They can-
not be too strongly recommended to
those persona who believe in the tme
divinity of Jesus Christ and seek to
know his doctrine and law* Piovs Ca-
tholics, also, wtU derive great aastroe-
tion and edification from this toJubmi
It is puUiahed in the neatest «ad most
attractive form, and is esprcaally Id bt
welcomed at a moment when so nm^
glittering but counterieit coin ia in ca
culation.
Saduer's Catholic Directory, Al-
manac, AND Ordo, for the jrear of
our Lord, 1870. New York : D. & J.
Sadlier & Co. 1870.
We are pleased to see that our sog-
gestion of last year, with regard to the
binding of the AimatutCy has been acted
upon this year; and we now have a
work we can at least open wtthoat tear-
ing it to pieces. We would suggest
other improvements — in the matter o(
better paper, more margin on the page,
less advertisements, and a little mocc
correctness in names and places in
next year's issue — all of which wookl
be a great improvement on the present
volume, which is in some points superior
to former ones.
This volume is by far the most ori-
ginal and the best in every respect of
several excellent volumes by the rever-
end author. The style and method of
treating the subject remind us of Arch-
bishop Manning. The discourses here
published were preached to overflowing
congregations, on the Sunday evenings
daring the last Advent They devel^
a most important and interesting line of
argrmient, not frequently handled, hot
likely to be most useful to the best class
of Protestants. They are intended to
^ow how those doctjines of the church
History of the CHtmcR in ths
Eighteenth and Nixeteentb
Centuries. By K. K. H;^nbach,
D.D. Translated by the Rev. I. F.
Hurst, D.D. 2 vols. New York:
Scribnen
TMs author, who is a naodcntely fl>^
tbodoz Protestant^ is well acqumntcd
with German ProtestantisBV and his
work will therefote be nsefnl to diose
who wish to study the phases af that
rapidly dissolviag view of Christianity*
New Publications.
719
The Lifb^ Passion, Dsath, and Re-
surrection OF oua Lord Jesus
Christ. Being an Abridged Harmony
of the Four Gospels in the Words of
the Sacred Text Edited by the
Rev. Henry Formby. With an en-
tirely oew series of engravings on
woody from designs by C. Clasen» D.
Nokn, and others. New York : Ca-
thdic Publication Society. iS/a
Fr. Formby is well known as a writer
of great taste and remarkable skill in
preparing books for children and grown
people who require reading that is easily
understood. His pictorisd series has
long been popular in England, and will
now be republished, with the author's
permission, by the Catholic Publication
Society. The present volume is the first
of the series. It is a continuous narra-
tive taken from all the four Gospels, ac-
cording to the Rhemish version, judi-
ciously compiled according to the best
harmonies, and abridged in such a way
as to simplify without curtailing in any
important respect the history. The il-
lustrations are numerous and spirited,
and, with one or two exceptions, are
ple2Lsing. The book is a charming one,
as well as one most useful and impor-
tant for children. Nothing can be more
suitable, also, for good, plain Catholics,
who ought by all means to be familiar
with the Gospel history, and who will
find this arrangement of it much better
for their use than the Gospels them-
selves read separately. This book
ought to be in every Catholic femily,
day-school, and Sunday-school, and to
be circulated by the ten thousand.
The Library of Good Example.
In twelve volumes. New York: P.
O'Shea. 1870.
This series is mainly composed of
tales, etc, already before the public in
manifold guises. Hence an enumera-
tion of the titles of the several volumes,
or a review of their contents, would be
to our readers <* a thrice-told tale." We
will only say that, in our opinion, al-
tiiough they are admirably adapted for
the perusal of children, the temper, at
least of the juvenile reader, in search of
'Afresh fields and pastures new,*' will
not be improved by the discovery that,
in expending his pocket-nK>ney for the
Library of Qocd Example, he has, for
the third time, in some instances, pur-
chased the same book. In one respect,
however, this series is an improvement
on its predecessors — ^it is not illustrated.
CoNCiLiEN Geschichte. Hcfcle. VoL
vii. Part I. Council of Constance.
1869.
This part of the learned bishop's great
work is especially interesting at the
present moment, on account of the pre-
tence raised by a certain number of per-
sons that the Council of Constance was,
in all its sessions, oecumenical It is,
besides this temporary interest, of last-
ing and intrinsic importance, for reasons
well known to every scholar. Dr.
Hefele not only gives us a learned and
accurate historic^ work, but also a gra-
phic picture of the intensely exciting
and interesting events of the great
Council of Constance. We cite the au-
thor's concluding sentence on the au-
thority of the decrees of the council :
*< That (Eugenius IV.) intended to ex-
clude the decrees of Constance respect-
ing the superiority of general councils
over the pope from his approbation is
indubitable. In accordance with this,
and according to modem law, which de-
clares the papal approbation of general
councils necessary in order to make
them such, there can be no doubt that
{a) all the decrees of Constance, which
are not prejudicial to the papacy, are to
be considered oecumenical ; on the other
hand, that {p) all which infringe against
theyiiJ, the dignitas^ 2jA fratminentia
of the apostolic see, are to be consi-
dered as reprobated." This is in har-
mony with the sentiment of all the sound-
est canonists and theologians, namely,
that which excludes the Council of Con
stance from the number of the councils
strictly called oecumenical, and relegates
it to a second class of general councils
720
Nev) PuUicaiious.
some of whose decrees are rejected and
others approved.
The Status or the Catholic Cler-
gy IN thb United States. Bishop
McQuaid I — Father O'Flaherty I —
The Imbroglio in the Diocess of
Rochester.
This vile anonymous pamphlet, print*
ed without any publisher's name and
signed, <* Priests of the Diocese of
Rochester,** is a disgrace to its authors,
especially if they are really priests. A
publication of this kind, which is in it-
self a grievous offence, cannot claim
even a hearing iot any thing it may con-
tain. If any priests of the diocese of
Rochester have so face lost all sense of
sacerdotal \luty as to put forth this pam-
phlet, taking advantage of their bishop's
absence, it is evident that a little more
ai^lication of ecclesiastical discipline in
that diocese will prove salutary.
Great Mysteries and LrrrLB
Plagues. By John NeaL Boston:
Roberts Brothers. 187a
The audior proves that he has fofly
studied his subject, and that hil title-
page, thoi^ rather mysterious, is still
roost expressive and true. He shows
by neariy three hundred anecdotes tiiat
children are really great mysteries and
little plagues. His £Ury story of ** Goody
Gracious i and the Forget-me^BOt " is
the very model of a £ury story — plenty
of imagination without going into the
impossible and improbable.
Acta ex iis decerpta quae apud
Sanctam Sedem geruntur, etc
Baltimore : Kelly & Piet
This is a fiic-simile reprint of the
Roman edition. It is a work of the
greatest utility to ecclesiastics. We no-
ticed some errors of the press, which
suggests the remark that the prooft
should invariably be carefully revised by
a clergyman.
The Byrnes of GLENGOtxLAH. A
True Tale. By Alice Nolan. New
York : P. O'Shea.
Sally Cavanagh ; or, The Unten-
anted Graves. A Tale of Tippe-
rary. By Charles J. Kickham. Bos-
ton: Patrick Donahoe.
The foul wrongs to which the exist-
ing laws between landlord and tenant ex-
pose the peasantry of Ireland are made
the ground-work of both these stories
of Irish life. While these wrongs are
familiar to all, so also are their sad ef-
fects, as narrated in the volumes before
us. Of these, the former is undoubtedly
more racy of the soil ; though the latter,
we think, will leave a more pleasing
impression on the reader. The great
fault with Miss Nolan is a talent for ex-
aggeration ; her favorites are always
right ; their enemies are ever harsh in
word, cruel in act, and villainous in ap-
pearan(;e. The landlord's victims are
almost too ethereal for humanity— only
a little less than angels ; he and his
mynnidons too diabolical for fiends.
P. Donahoe, Boston, announces
for early publication, Ufi Pictmr$s
the Passion of Christy translated froa
the German of Dr. Veith, by Rev. Fa-
ther Noethen ; The Our Father^ trans-
lated from the German of the same au-
thor ; The Monks of the West, by the
Count Montalemberty and a Life of
Pius IX.
tVKD.
BOOKS
From P. 0*Shea, New York, Tbe K«7 of Hie>
▼en : or, A Manual of Prayer. With the a j j f e b t i ei
of the Most Rer. John McOoakey. D.D^ AichliAnp
of New York. R e v i ecd, corrM^ed, and i i ft e n A
1869. Pp. 53a.
ft C&, New Tedkt
From J. "> .
Scottish Unhreraity
lyle. Paper.
From E. CvMMisKXY, Philadelphia:
tioas upon Christian Troths and Chriaritn
digested nio MedkalioM fer ttwy <Ny in
By Rt. Rer. Richard ChaHooer. New
lamo. Ouuuovef sy between Rev. M
Brecki n ri dg e oa the anbiect, **Ia
Religion thaRd«ion«r Chmir
THE
CATHOLIC WORLD.
VOL. X., No. 6o,-i/lARCH^'\^ft>i 'OA
CIVIL AND POLITICAL LIBERTY.*
That evangelical romancer, M.
Merle d'Aubign^, not long since pub-
lished a discourse having for title,
y^an Cah'in, un des Fondateurs des
IJberth Modemes^ or " John Calvin,
one of the Founders of Modem Li-
berty." The discourse, as the Abb^
Martin says, is of no importance ; but
die title is significant. It claims for
the Genevan reformer the merit of be-
ing one of the founders of liberty in
modem society. Mr. Bancroft in his
History of the United States does the
same. A Lutheran might with equal
truth claim as much for Luther, a
Scottish Presbyterian as much for
Johi/Knox, and an Anglican as much
for Henry VIII. and the Virgin Queen
Elizabeth. Nearly all Protestant and
anti-Catholic writers assume, as an
indisputable maxim, that liberty was
bom of the Reformation. All your
Protestant and liberal joumals assert
it, and the ignorant multitude believe
it. Whoever contradicts it is denounc-
ed as an ultramontanist, a tool of the
clergy, or a Jesuit, and, of course, is
silenced. Protestant nations enjoy,
*D€VAvtmr dm PrcUHamtuim H dm CmihM-
€wm. Par M. I'AbM F. Martin. Paris: Tobra et
Haton. X869. 8vo, pp. 60&
VOL. X. — 46
even with many Catholics, the pres-
tige of being free nations ; and all Ca-
tholic nations are set down as despo-
tic, and, owing to the influence of
the church, as deadly hostile to every
kind of liberty, religious, political,
civil, and individual. Protestantism
and liberty, or Catholicity and des-
potism, is adopted as the formula of
the convictions of this enlightened age.
This alleged connection of Protes-
tantism and Uberty, and of Catholicity
and despotism, the Abb^ Martin main-
tains, is what gives to Protestant mis-
sions in old Catholic nations the prin-
cipal part of their success in unmaking
Catholics. The Protestant missiona-
ries, seconded by all the liberal jour-
nals, proclaim their Protestantism as
the liberator of nations, as that which
emancipates the people firom political
despotism, and the mind from spiri-
tual thraldom. The great argimient
used in this country agamst the church
is her alleged hostility to liberty, and
the certainty, if she once gamed the
ascendency here, she would destroy
our free institutions, and reduce the
nation to political and spiritual slave-
ry. Such is the allegation; such the
argument
Political Liberty,
any
re-
r - -Jfc^i s true.
_. ^._-^T, always
-,cEr^ ^^ 3« ^«r iace
- .ricuffidng or
.■E .^ urt^r iiTored
-. -*«=- Jdi iis always
^MSTT, the only
: r-'Cisscs in the
■^^.^ re rossion, ca-
.rtr^ ¥-X ^be has al-
that
1 supreme,
-..- ^:i n^^^i She has
^.■jiut\-i r:^ despotic au-
,.-, r-^ -ttTf^^ Approved it,
, . r *^ jic-daute; and
^^ E*:iik. rcciched before
the king is
* ii> whatever he
. - >i: Ix-^-^^^*^ aiiaign-
^ ;.-is: jLVtnae, and com-
' -«rcrtct a: puMicly from
ch he had
^* w* *w^
•ust -^ ^
.^*
■v
"V
I
,. ^ 3CC t*sjt liberty was
. I , . 1 3ic R;rMmuion, but
. V \iiucv^ :»3l was bom
. ,.v nottitr.^T. despotism, or
^ V 'o ^^ Jtad cvxinnned at
v^ A .> >rJi. Prior to the
ij^ « *.cak BDurked the tri-
•. V j?!^tr>aa ov<r feudaltsm,
Kv j^^i^c BMch barbarism
^ t sor-x^: b«t there was
\ ..>.». A KHunrscencc of
-.V .*K;.t ; '^'.xmalssm remained,
V •JBS chsfTsh^ by the d-
. ,^v .Y W-Tst^ mhose maxim
-^c i^jwic::^* new suc-
,5evv"^ stseit csublished
_ . . t .^-ivtces. especially the
.,. ^ H:n» Cjcwrisa in princi-
^^ »_ .2. ..t aduw?- attempted to
^..v^.xvn:. Fv^^tt was divided
• h •
V •
as veritable
republics under the guardianship,
nominal rather than real, of a suze-
rain. The royal power was limited
by the great vassals of the crown, and
the authority of these in turn was li-
mited by the lesser nobles, by the es-
tates, and by the laws, and usag^
which had the force of laws. What
characterizes the middle ages is the
spirit of Hberty. Few men in oar
time have better understood the mid-
dle ages, save as to the action of the
church, than Sir Walter Scott, who, if
a romancer, was also something more
and better. He says in his Anne oj
Geierstein :
" We may remind our readers that, in ill
feudalized coontries, (that is to say, in almost
all Europe during the middle ages,) an «r-
dent spirit of liberty pervaded the constita-
tion ; and the only (ault that could be food
was, that the privileges and freedom for
which the great vassals contended did M*
sufficiently descend to the lower orders of
society, or extend protection to those most
likely to need it The two first ranks in tk
state, the nobles and the clergy, enjo^
high and important privileges, and even Ik
third estate, or citizens, bad this immnnityin
peculiar, that no new duties, customs, or tax-
es of any kind could be exacted from thcs
save by their own consent."
The fault Sr Walter mentions wis
not peculiar to the middle ages, and is
not less in Eiu-opean countries to-day
than it was then. The representa-
tives or delegates of the cities and
communes constituted the thiid es-
tate, and sat in the assembly of the
estates as early as the reign of Philip
the Fair. If the rural population
were not represented in the estates,
they were not forgotten. The church
had received that population as either
slaves or serfs. She had succeeded
in completely abolishing slavery in
all continent^ Europe before the fif-
teenth century, and had made much
progress toward putting an end to
serfage. The enslaved populations
were emancipated in neariy all Ca-
tholic Europe before the Reformatioo,
Civil and Political Liberty.
723
and in Ae eariy part of the seven-
teenth century the French courts de-
cided that " a slave could not breathe
the air of France." The maxim of the
English courts was plagiarized from
the French judges. There may be a
question whether the European pea-
sant has gained much since the mid-
dle ages ; whether his increased wants
have not more than kept pace with
his increased means of supply ; and
as for protection, they who most need
it never find it under any political ri-
gime. The most cruel and heartless
landlords could not have been more
cruel and heartless than are your
cotton-mills and mammoth moneyed
corporations, especially when Mam-
mdn was not exclusively worshipped.
But be all this as it may, this much
is certain : that during the feudal ages
there was, under the influence and
untiring exertions of the pope and
the monastic orders, a constant social
amelioration of society going on, and
the whole tendency of those marvel-
lous ages, so little understood, and so
foully belied, was toward the estab-,
lishment in every nation of a well-or-
dered liberty, under the safeguard of
the church, and of Christian or Chris-
tianized traditions and manners. The
fifteenth century came, and brought
with it not only the revival of pagan
literature, but of pagan politics, which
gave to the secular order a predomi-
nance over tne spiritual, as we have
explained in previous articles. The
unhappy residence of the popes at
Avignon, that " Babylonian captivity,"
as it has been called, and the great
schism of the west, which followed it,
in the fourteenth century, had served
much to diminish the splendor and
to weaken the political power of the
papacy. This, coupled with the se-
cular development of the age, and the
pagan revival, gave a chance for Cae-
sarism to raise its head, and for the
sovereigns to declare themselves ab-
solute, and responsible to God alone
for their exercise of power. The feu-
dal constitution of Europe was crush-
ed, and the pagan empire took its
place. Not only the emperor and the
mightiest kings, but the pettiest sove-
reign duke or count became a Cae-
sar in his own dominions.
At this moment, just as Caesarism
was on the point of winning the victory,
the Reformation broke out, not in be-
half of the old liberties, but to help abo-
Ush them and secure to Caesar his
triumph. So far from founding or
even aiding liberty^ it interrupted its
progress, and gave the movement in
its fkvor, which had from the seventh
century been going on, a false and fa-
tal direction. The originators of the
Reformation may have been simply
heterodox theologians ; but they could
not sustain themselves without the aid
of the princes, and that aid could be
obtained only by ministering to their
love of power, and submitting to their
supremacy alike in spirituals and
temporals. The princes that favored
the Reformation became each in his
own principality absolute prince and
pontifex maximus. The prince pro-
tects the reformers, and uses his civil
and military power to crush their ene-
mies, and to extirpate the old religion
from his dominions. Dependent on
him, and sustained only as upheld by
him, the Reformation was impotent
to restrain his arbitrary power. The
reformed religion, like gentilism, of
which it was in fact only a revival,
assumed at once the character of a
national religion; and the reformed
church was absorbed by the state, and
became one of its functions, an instru-
ment of police, which must always be
the fate of a national religion.
But the Protestant nations not only
helped on Caesarism, which was the
spirit of the age, but they gave up or
were despoiled of their old liberties,
which they had long possessed and
724
Civil and Political Liberty.
enjoyed under the benign protection
of the church. England saw her par-
liament practically annulled, and the
prince governing, under Henry VIII.,
his daughter Ehzabeth, and the first
two Stuarts, as a Byzantine Basileus or
an oriental despot; and it cost her a
century of insurrections, revolutions,
and civil wars to recover some por-
tion of the political and civil fi*eedom
of which the Reformation had despoil-
ed her. Even the Abbd Martin seems
to forget that from 1639 to 1746
England was in a state as unsettied
as France has been since 1789. She
has not even yet recovered all her old
liberties. She has, indeed, depressed
the crown to exalt the aristocracy of
birth or wealth, and is now entering
upon a fearful struggle between aris-
tocracy and democracy, most likely
to end either in reviving the pagan
republic, or in establishing once more
the absolute authority of the crown.
The author very justiy maintains
that ProtesUntism has not created lib-
erty, and that it has arrested or falsi-
fied it He recalls tiiat,
••At the breaking out of Protestantism
slavery had entirely disappeared, and serf-
age or villenage, the transition state from
slavery to complete liberty, was gradually
disappearing, and giving place to free labor
and domestic servants. The third estate
was everywhere constituted, and nowhere
had it more life and vigor than in the neigh-
borhood of the churches and monasteries.
This emancipation was the work of the Ca-
tholic Church, and never had a more signal
service been rendered to liberty. The basis
of all liberties, I say not of modem but of
Christian liberties, was laid.
••Impartial history testifies that Protes-
tantism has not accelerated this movement
in behalf of liberty, but has arrested it. A
few facts, gathered at random from the im-
mense number that might be adduced, will
sufficiently prove this assertion.
•* • In Denmark,* says Berthold, * the pea-
sant was reduced to serfage as a dog.* The
nobility profited by the reform, not only to
appropriate to themselves the greater part
of the goods of the church, but also the free
goods of the peasant
** • The corvSes,^ says Allen, the best histori-
an of Denmark, ' were arbitrarily multiplied ;
the peasants were treated as serfs. It hap-
pened frequently that the Children of tbc
preachers and sacristans themselves were
reduced to serfage. In 1804 — ^mark the late
date — personal liberty was granted for the
first time to twenty thousand families of
serfs. Sweden and Norway fared no better*
In Mecklenburg, the oppression of the pct^
sants, who had no one to defend their rigbts
since they had lost the efTectiTe and vigilart
protection of the Catholic clergy, followed
immediately the triumph of the Reformatia^
At the diet of 1607, they were declared sim-
ple tenants at will — <ol0ns — who must yidd
up to the landlords, on their demand, even At
bmds which they had possessed from time
immemorial. Their personal liberty wu
suppressed by the ordinances of 1633, 16^
and 1654. They sought to escape from tkih
intolerable servitude by flight. The emi-
gration was large. But the severest pott^
ishments, the lash, the carcan, even deol^
could not arrest it, nor prevent the depopu-
lation of the fields. The lot of those mise-
rable creatures hardly differed from that of
negro slaves. The only difference was, thil
the masters were prohibited from separating
families, and selling the members to thehig:
est bidder at public auction ; but they elttd>
it by trading off their serfs as horses !*■.
cows. Serfage was abolished in Mccklf
burg only in 1820.
••The introduction of the Reform ir.'
Pomerania gave birth there to all ihe h<'
rors of slavery. The ordinance of 1616 il
creed that all peasants are serfs without ar
rights. . . . The ministers were requin-.
to denounce the fugitive serf from the pul-
pit. People are astonished to-day at tbe
emigration from Germany, which nearly
doubles that from Ireland. May not the cause
be found in that old state of things, which,
though recently abolished, has left but too
many traces of its existence ?
•• A single fact will enable us to judge
of the magnitude of the evil in Pnissa-
Under Frederick II., the contemporary and
friend of Voltaire, who labored so energeti-
cally to make of his infimt kingdom an im-
mense barrack, the soldiers themselves, the
support and instrument of his power, wh«
discharged, returned to the common lot of
serfs, after having fought his battles and wtm
his victories. They were subjected anew to
their landlords ; and not only they, but also
their wives, their widows, and their children,
even though bom in a state of freedom. . .
••Calvinism has not produced so sad re^
suits of the same kind. Less
■ T
community. The church was com-
posed of the saints alone; and hence,
in the colony of Massachusetts, only
church members could be selectmen,
or magistrates, or vote in elections.
Church members had equal rights in-
deed; but those who were not church
members bad no rights at all, politi-
cal, civil, or individual, and np social
standing. The church members them-
selves covenanted to watch over each
other, which meant, practically, that
every member was to act as a spy upon
every other member; and hence that
cautiousness in speech, that fear of a
motuhard in every neighbor, and that
obsequiousness to public opinion,
which marks not a few of the descen-
Political Liberty. 725
'ing dants of the New England Puritans
^ even to this day. The rights of man
„ j^ in relation to his brother man were un-
nnj dreamed of, and for individual liberty
ion. there was no respect whatever. The
^^ individual was subject to the congre-
^' gation, ruled by the pastor and elders
Ge, or deacons, themselves ruled by two
ohn or three venerable spmsteis. Calvin-
imi- ism sought, in fact, to govern society,
""^ minus celibacy, as a monastery, by
fore converting the evangelical counsels
feel into inflexible laws, and without the
ac- assistance of the grace of vocation.
'^' We shall never forget the odious ty-
^_ ranny to which Calvinism subjected
and our own boyhood. Life for us was
ider stem, gloomy, hedged round with ter-
J**'- ror. We did not dare listen to the joy-
^"^' ous song of a bird, nor to inhale the
b^ fragranceofan opening flower. What-
om- ever gave pleasure was to be eschew-
lore ed, and the most irmocent pleasures
*"^^ were to be accounted deadly sins.
We cannot even now, in our old age,
^d think of our own Calvinistic child-
'ar- hood, which was by no means excep-
tde tional, without a shudder,
^t Thus far the author has spoken of
Us. individual liberty, which is the most
essential of all, and without which
civil and political liberty is a vain
mockery. He asserts and proves, as
we have seen, that Protestantism has
not given to individual liberty a new
development, but has arrested it. Well,
was it more favorable to political lib-
erty ? We have answered this ques-
tion already, but we cannot forbear
citing the author's own reply :
" At the epoch of [he outbreak of Protes-
tinti^im, Christendom was advancing wllh
rapid strides toward Ihc praclice of the larg-
est lilwrty. For centuries the Italian re-
publics bad pushed liberty almost to license.
They were, no doubt, olien disorderly and
turbulent ; but they were full of sap, over-
flowing with life and activity, which availed
for Italy a power and ■ glory vhich she
seeks in vain from a factitious unity. Swil-
ECrland, by [be energy of her patriotism
the
«»i :ie
*e»Ca.'
Dot
^Hqs^
f^** It
^e i^y « tkat
..^^^w'^"' Won ID
*e*^
•**tt^*'«
J^ Xvi^Ss ^ .7«5» no,- '**
»>
^jeais f
'€«/
t«H}
'^ff/ed.
d.prch.'*
der.
or
*^ ^'^^ ^* Cr^
,^scb.
^ cfcco^^'^^^'JU a dere/o^^- ^t^'^^^o^ ^V^^S' ^4 '* *«
■«?Cfe(/
^reat
• of t>
*<s in fT^Stind
<• I^ .^^d »i O'Neal
and
th
«C
^>;
POfrp^'l"-^. for
■jaiid
th
Paved
^e
Civil and Political Liberty.
727
it^
the revival and triumph in their re-
spective countries of pagan Caesarism.
The Abb^ Martin's statements are
correct only in case we count Pro-
testantism, under its social and poli-
tical aspects, as the continuation and
development of the movement in be-
half of Caesarism, or the centralization
of power, and against the liberties se-
cured by feudalism.
We are no admirers of feudalism ;
but we hold it better than the Graeco-
Roman imperialism it supplanted, or
the absolute monarchy which succeed-
ed it in the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, of which Bossuet was a con-
spicuous defender. The Reforma-
tion aided the movement in behalf of
Caesarism, by bringing to its support
an open rebellion against the papal
authority and the faith of the church,
and secured it the victorv. Caesar-
ism followed it immediately, not only
in the nations that accepted the new
religion, but also, to a great extent, in
the nations that remained Catholia
On the first point the author asks :
" Who does not know that Lutheranism
depended solely on the princes and nobles to
overcome and despoil the church, and to
triumph over the resistance of the people ?
Through gratitude, and through necessity, it
surrendered itself and the people to the dis-
cretionary authority of the princes. In all
countries where it became predominant, ab-
solute power prevailed.
** As the result of the revolution in 1661,
Frederic III. of Denmark and his succes-
sors were declared absolute monarchs. The
royal law of 1665 attests that the king was
required to take no oath, was under no obli-
gation whatever ; but had plenary authority
to do whatever he pleased. In Sweden, the
violent and surreptitious establishment of
Protestantism was done in the interest of
royalty and nobility, and, moreover, raised
up an antagonism between these two pow-
ers which produced a series of revolutions
in that country unrivalled in any other
European state. But royalty finally tri-
umphed. The estates, in 1680, declared that
the king is bound to no form of government
In 1682, they declared it an absurdity to pre-
tend that he was bound by statutes and or-
dinances to consult, before acting, the es-
tates; whence it follows that the will of the
king was the supreme law. * After that,'
. says Geijer, the classic historian of Swe-
den, * all was interpreted to the advantage of
the omnipotence of one alone. The estates
^ were no longer called the estates of the
realm, but the estates of his majesty. la
1693, the unlimited absolutism of roydty be-
came the law ; the king wt« free to govern
according to his good pleasure, without any
responsibility.'
** It would be too long to follow the intro-
duction of the same rigime as the conse-
quence of the Reformation into the several
states and principalities of Germany, in
Mecklenburg, Pomerania, the duchies of
Hanover and Brunswick, Brandenburg and
Saxony. Everywhere the introduction of
the new religion was followed by an augmen-
tation of the power of the prince and nobles,
and everywhere the prince finally succeed-
ed in absorbing the power of the nobility.
Prussia affords us a striking example of this
result. Under the reign of the Elector
Frederick William, from 1640 to 1688, the
arbitrary and absolute power of the prince
was developed according to a regular plan.
The General Diet after 1665 ceased to be
convoked. Crushing taxes were imposed
without the consent and against the pro-
tests of the estates, and collected by the
mihtary ; and so heavy were they, that mul-
titudes of peasants, despoiled of their goods,
were driven to brigandage for a living. A
great number sought refuge in Poland, and
nobles even deserted a country that devour-
ed their children. Lands which were taxed
beyond the value of their produce were
abandoned, and suffered to run to waste.
The country was oppressed by an unprece-
dented tyranny. Prussia, according to the
expression of Stenzel, was in the way of
becoming one of those Asiatic countries in
which despotism stifles the growth of what-
ever is beautiful or noble." (Pp. 332-354.)
We have already spoken of the
effects of the introduction of Protes-
tantism into England and Scotland.
Calvinism, the author considers, caus-
ed less grave and less durable damage
to liberty; yet it was not less tyranni-
cal by nature, only it was less monar-
chical. "At Geneva it confiscated
all the ancient franchises to the profit
of the oligarchy it established, and it
was not owing to it that in Holland
the stadtholder did not become abso-
728
Civil and Political Liberty,
lute." Protestant historians are perfect- ^ «lt saw herself reduced to the necesuty of
\y well aware of these facts, and from * relying on them for support against the
time to time they concede them; and ' "^T,^ violence of the Reformation. She
^ , , ^ % ' 's- must purchase their protection, and could
yet the best of them contmue to as-^ do it only at the expense of her indepcn-
sert the impudent falsehood, that Pro-*^ dence. In various places she abandoned to
testantism has created and sustained »^ them the nomination of bishops and the
collation of benefices, giving by this sacn-
modem liberty, individual, civil, and
political — not, indeed, because it has
done so, but because they think it
would have been much in its favor if
it had.
The other point, that Protestantism
is in great measure responsible for
fice, rigorously exacted by circumstances,
and by this abandonment of her rights, whidi
afterward proved so fatal, a sufficient satis-
faction for the moment to the secret reason
which inclined them to Protestantism. She
loosened a prey to them, in order not to be
devoured herself. Their hunger thus ap-
peased, they consented to sustain her, but
the establishment or partial establish- . without having a common cause with her.
ment of the pagan monarchy, or Cae-
sarism, in Catholic nations, we have
shown in our previous articles on the
work before us ; yet we cite the fol-
lowing from the author :
«
It is not simply in countries in which
it triumphed that the Protestant Reforma-
tion has given to liberty a retrograde move-
ment ; it has reacted in a most fatal, though
generally in an imperceptible, manner on
Catholic governments themselves. It was,
at its 6rst appearance, a terrible temptation
to the princes and sovereigns of Europe. It
broke that firm independence of the Catholic
clergy which had for so many ages repress-
ed the tyrannical aspirations of secular gov-
ernments ; it gave up the rich spoils of the
church to them, reversed their parts, and
after having placed the priest, the represen-
tative of heaven, at the mercy of the powers
of earth, it constituted the prince the master
and director of consdenoes. What could be
more seductive ? An obstacle to overcome,
almost a yoke to break, independence to
conquer, vast riches to appropriate, the em-
pire of souls to place by the side of the em-
pire of bodies, the ideal of a power veritably
sovereign ; is it not the dream of every man
who feels himself at the head of a nation ?
Princes and sovereigns yielded to the temp-
tation. They were, besides, already pre-
pared for it, by the received theories of le-
gists or civil lawyers, inherited from the
pagan slate ; by the ideas propagated by the
Renaissance and by the Machiavelian lessons
then taught in all the courts of Europe ; and
if all did not accept Protestantism, it was far
less due to their personal repulsion than to
the decided opposition of their people. But
the new ideal of power germinated in their
minds. On the other hand, the church,
weakened and her very existence threaten*
" Profiting adroitly by their position, the
sovereigns passed rapidly from the port of
defenders of the church to that of guardians
and masters, and while respecting the es-
sence of the spiritual power, they labored to
subordinate the church and the exercise
of her authority to the surveillance of the
state. Not content with excluding all con-
trol of the church over their own acts, all
interventions of the spiritual authority ia
civil and political affairs, they sought, after
the example of the Protestant princes, to
penetrate the interior of the church, and
make themselves pontiffs ; and if we cannot
say that they completely succeeded, we can-
not any more say that they wholly failed.
What is certain is, that thenceforward they
ceased to find any serious obstacle in the
Catholic clergy or their chief to their de-
signs, and that the legists, imbued with the
maxims of the Roman law, and for a long
time hostile to the church, coming to their
aid, absolute royalty, without much difficul-
ty, prevailed. The indirect influence of
Protestantism was there.
** Even the Catholic clergy themselves
contributed to this fatal evolution. Whether
moved by gratitude, by a monarchical im-
pulse, or, in fine, by necessity, they accept-
ed, at least in the civil and }>olitical order,
the new pretensions, and acknowledged the
new rights of those sovereigns who, in es-
pousing the Catholic religion, had saved it
from the greatest danger it had as yet run.
Influenced by the tendency of the times.
Catholic theologians, especially in France,
deserted the highways of the political thco-
logy of the middle ages, and proclaimed not
only the divine origin of power, but the divine
right of the king, his dependence on God
alone, and the passive obedience of the peo-
ple. The idea of the Christian monarchy
was perverted, and in Catholic as in Pro-
testant countries it inclined to Cxsarism«
Civil and Political Liberty.
729
The chnrdi was the principal victim of this
political transformation ; she was all but
smothered in the cruel embraces of Catho-
lic monarchs, when God himself delivered
her by the blow which was intended to extin-
guish her — the French Revolution. "When
that revolution broke out, the work of the Re-
naissance and of the Reform seemed accom-
plished. Except in England, Holland, and
some microscopic Swiss republics, Catholic
for the most part, absolutism reigned every-
where. Is it not, then, the strangest falsi-
fication of history to attribute to Protestan-
tism the initiation of modern liberty ?" ( Pp.
339-341.)
Unhappily, Protestants will pay lit-
tle heed to the fact that the loss of
liberty in Catholic nations was due
either to Protestantism or to the move-
ment of which Protestantism was sim-
ply a development There can be no
reasonable doubt that but for Pro-
testantism the church would have
been able to check and roll back the
powerful movement for the revival of
Caesarism, which had commenced in
the fifteenth century, and have pre-
vented the growth of absolute monar-
chy in a single Catholic state. The
Protestant rebellion so weakened her
external power, and detached from
her so large a portion of the popu-
lations of Europe, that she was no
longer able to restrain the absolutist
tendencies of all European sovereigns.
The sovereigns themselves, almost
without exception, were inclined to
the movement — were, in fact, its chief
supporters; and if they did not kll
jom it, it was because they were held
back by their people, whose faith in
the old religion was too strong to be
given up at the pleasure of theu:
princes, not because they had per-
sonally any devotion or attachment
to her faith. The French court and
most of the higher French nobility
openly or secretly favored Protestan-
tism till the conversion of Henry IV.;
and even that monarch had formed
a league with the Protestant princes,
and was preparing for a war against
the Catholic powers of Europe, at the
very moment he was assassinated.
His policy was adopted and carried
out imder his successors by Cardinals
Richelieu and Mazarin, who repress-
ed Protestantism in the interior, but
supported it everywhere else. That
France remained Catholic, was owing
to the concessions made by the pope
to her sovereigns, and to the firmness
of the French people under the lead
of the noble Guises, so calumniated
by almost all modem French writers.
Yet the abb^ expresses himself too
strongly. The triumph of absolutism
was never so complete in Catholic as
in Protestant nations. In Protestant
nations, the sovereigns united both
the political and the spiritual powers,
as imder Greek and Roman gentil-
ism, absorbed the church, and made
religion a function of the state. In
CathoUc nations, although royalty in-
terfered beyond measure in ecclesias-
tical affairs, the two powers remained
distinct, and the church retained, at
least in principle, her autonomy, how-
ever circumscribed and circumvented
in its exercise. This is evident from
the concordats she conceded to the
sovereigns, and the diplomatic rela-
tions of Catholic powers with the holy
see. Throughout all her humiliations,
the church asserted and maintained,
in principle, her independence. In
all Protestant countries, the state le-
gislated for the Protestant church ; it
nowhere treated with it as a separate
power, and held, and could hold, no
diplomatic relations with it. In all
Protestant nations, the church became
national and local; but in all Catholic
nations she continued to be Catholic,
and was always and everywhere some
restraint on the absolute power of
the sovereign, as both Louis XIV.
and Napoleon I. learned by experi-
ence, and hence their discreditable
quarrels with the holy see, and the
imprisonment of the holy father by
730
Civil and Political Liberty.
the latter. Lord Molesworth remarked
in 1792, as cited by the author from
Dollinger's Church and Churches^ that,
" in the Roman Catholic religion, with
the supreme head of the church at
Rome, there is a principle of opposi-
tion to unlimited political power. It
is not the same with the Lutheran
[he might have added the Anglican]
clergy, who depehd on the crown as
their spiritual and temporal superior."
This principle opposes the unlimited
power of the people no less than of
the monarch, and hence the sects all
agree, now that the age tends to de-
mocratic absolutism, in opposing the
church in the name of the people ;
for Protestantism has the same abso-
lutist instincts always and everywhere.
The author, we think, exaggerates
the adoption by the Catholic clergy,
even in France, of absolutism in poli-
tics. Bossuet, who was a French cour-
tier as well as a Catholic bishop, as
tutor to the dauphin, went, no doubt,
as far in asserting the divine right of
kings, and passive obedience, as the
Anglican divines under the Stuarts;
and some of the clerg}% yielding to
court influence and the spirit of the
age, followed him; but the noble
F^ndlon, in no respect his inferior as
a theologian, differed from him, held,
with the great body of Catholic theo-
logians in all ages, that power is a
trust for the public good, and that
kings are responsible to the nation
for their exercise of it It was his
anti-absolutist doctrine, not his few
inaccurate expressions on the doctrine
of pure love, in his Maxims of the
Saints, that caused him to be stripped
of his charges at court, and exiled to
his diocese of Cambray. Nor is it true,
as the abb^ insinuates, that the pope
sanctioned the absolutist doctrines
which prevailed in France or else-
where in the seventeenth century.
The four articles, dictated by the go-
vernment, slightly modified by Bossuet,
and accepted by a small minority
of the French bishops, which contain
the very essence of absolutism, were
no soon^ published by order of the
king, and commanded to be taught
in all the theological seminaries, and
to be conformed to by all the profes-
sors and clergy of the realm, than
the pope condemned them, annulled
the order of the king, and finaUj
compelled him to withdraw it, or at
least to pledge himself that he would
do so. The pope never failed to as-
sert, and, as far as he could, to cause
to be respected, the rights of the
church — that is to say, the rights of
God, which are the only solid basis
of the rights of man.
Every theologian knows that, prior
to the rise of Protestantism, and even
for a considerable time afterward, Ca-
tholic polirical theology bears no trace
of the absolutism taught by Bossuet,
and which he had borrowed fix)m con-
temporary Protestantism. It is wor-
thy of remark that nowhere were the
first acts of the French Revolution
hailed with mdre joy than at Rome
with the pope and cardinals, and it
found no warmer, firmer, or more dis-
interested supporters than the French
clergy as a body, whose representa-
tives were the first to join the 7Un-
Etats, Afterward, when the revolu-
rion run into horrible excesses, pat
forth doctrines subversive of all re-
ligion, and even of society itself, as-
sumed the right to legislate on spiri-
tual niatters, and showed that it only
transferred absolutism from the king
to the mob, there was undoubtedly t
reaction against it in the minds of the
pope and clergy, as there was in the
minds of all men not incapable ^
profiting by experience, and who
could not prefer license to orderiy li-
berty. The salvation of religion and
society made it the duty of the church
to sustain with all her power the ^^^
reigns in their eff(Uts to repress the
Civil and Political Liberty,
731
revolutionary spirit, and to restore and
maintain social i)eace and order.
It is this fact, stripped of its reasons,
and its real nature misunderstood or
misrepresented, that has given rise to
the pretence that the church opposes,
while Protestantism, which is leagued,
if not identical, with the revolution,
favors liberty. Protestants never, that
we are aware, put forth any pre-
tence of the sort prior to 1 792. Up to
the moment of this reaction against
the French revolution, the contrary
charge had been made, and the church
condemned for being hostile to the
rights of sovereigns, and it was in re-
ply to the speech of Cardinal Duper-
ron, in the states- general in France
in 16 14, in favor of the rights of the
nation and the church against the ir-
responsibility of the crown, that James
I. of England wrote his Remonstrance
for the Divine Right of Kings. His-
tory as written by Protestants is com-
posed of disjointed facts, misplaced
and misrepresented, whenever it is not
pure invention.
The author is not quite exact in
saying absolutism reigned everywhere
at the breaking out of the French
revolution, except in England, Hol-
land, and the Swiss cantons. The
United States had won their inde-
pendence and adopted their federal
constitution before that event, and
certainly the American republic was
not founded on the principle of the
omnipotence of the state or of the
people. It revived neither pagan
imperialism nor pagan republicanism,
and was in its fundamental principles
more nearly a Christian republic than
the world had hitherto seen.
It would seem, as the great mass of
the American people were Protestants,
and the more influential portion of
them intensely Protestant, of the Cal-
vtnistic type, that the American re-
pubUc should be held as an excep-
tion to the assertion that Protestantism
resulted everywhere in the establish-
ment of absolutism. But it is in re-
ality no exception. It had no exis-
tence at the epoch of the Reforma-
tion, and Protestantism had no hand
in founding it It was founded by
Providence, and the principles which
form its basis were derived by the
English colonists, not from Protes-
tantism, but from the old constitution
of England in CathoUc times, and
which, though suppressed by the rul-
ing classes, never ceased to live in
the traditions of the English people.
The revolution in the seventeenth
centuxy in England was the struggle
of the English people to recover their
old rights, of which Protestant royalty
and nobility had deprived them. Roy-
alty and nobility did not emigrate;
they remained at home, and there
were in the Anglo-American colonies
no materials from which either could
be constructed. The great principle
of the Puritans, that the church is in-
dependent of the state and superior
to it, or that the state has no authori-
ty to legislate in religious matters, not
even in non-essentials, was a Catho-
lic principle, for which the popes, in
their long struggles with the secular
power, had uniformly contended. It
is the vital principle of liberty; for it
interposes the rights of God, repre-
sented by the church, as the limits of
the rights of the state. The Puritans
had asserted this principle in their
own defence against the Protestant
king and parliament of England, which
assumed plenary authority in spiri-
tuals as well as in temporals. It was
not Protestantism that developed this
great principle of all just liberty, and
opposed to all absolutism ; it was the
old Catholic principle, always and
everywhere asserted by the Catholic
Church.
But taking the Bible, especially the
Old Testament, inteqireted by a falli-
ble authority, as their criterion of the
732
Civil and Political Liberty.
rights of God, as represented by their
Puiitan church, the Puritans failed
not in asserting, but in applying the
principle, and established, in practice,
as we have seen, a most odious tyran-
ny. They misapptied the principle,
which can be rightly applied only by
the Catholic Church. Their Protes-
tantism misled them, and perverted
the truth they retained, as was univer-
sally the case with Calvimsts. It is
easy to see now why Protestantism
deserves no credit for founding Ame-
rican liberty. It was not of Protes-
tant origin, and we may add Protes-
tantism is busy at work to destroy it,
or at least shows itsdf impotent to
sustain it
The true basis of American liberty
IS in the assertion of the rights of
God, represented by the church, or by
religion, as bounding or hmiting the
power of the state, whether imperial
or popular. But under Protestant in-
fluences, the rights of God are resolv-
ed into the rights of man, and the
Christian republic becomes simply a
humanitarian republic, which can of-
fer no sohd foundation for hberty of
any sort The rights of man are no
more sacred and inviolable than the
rights of the prince or the state. It
is only when the rights of man are
resolved into the rights of God in
and over man, that they are sacred
and inviolable, or inahenable. But
the American people have ceased so
to resolve them, if, indeed, they ever
did it, and recognize no more ultimate
basis for liberty than humanity itself
If, as many of them do, they insist
on religion as necessary to the main-
tenance of hberty, it is only as an
external prop or support, not as its
logical basis, or root, out of which it
grows, and from which it derives all
its sap and vigor.
No humanitarian republic is or can
be a free republic, because, though it
recognizes the people as the sUte, and
establi^es universal suffrage and cfi-
gibility, it has nothing but humanity,
nothing above the people, to limit or
restrict their power as the state. The
people are humanity in the coDoete,
and a humanitarian republic therefore
simply transfers the absolutism from
the monarch to the people, and sub-
stitutes democratic Caesarism for mo-
narchical Oesarism, the pagan repub-
he for the pagan empire. Absolu-
tism is absolutism, whether predicat-
ed of the one or of the many. We in
the United States are rapidly losing
sight of the Catholic principle retain-
ed by the Puritans, and rushing into
democratic absolutism ; we assert tbe
omnipotence of the will of the peo-
ple, and treat constitutions as simply
self-imposed restrictions, which bind
no longer than the people will D^
magogues, politicians, and statesmen
tell the people that their will is su-
preme; and vainly would he seek theff
suffrages who should deny it The
oppossition to the extension of tbe
church in this country groin's pre-
cisely out of the well-known fact, that
she does not emanate from the peo-
ple, is not subject to the will of the
people, and would restrict their omni-
potence — an oppK)sition that proves
that she, not Protestantism, is the de-
fender of hberty. Certainly, if she were
to become predominant here, she
would soon put an end to the abso-
lutism of the state, sustained by all
our leading journals, and reestabiisli
the Christian republic, in place of the
humanitarian or [>agan republic, to
which we are pushed by the Protes-
tant spirit of the age, the veritable
We it Gas t, or prince of this worid,
as all Protestant movements amply
prove.
The abb^ shows a strict alliance
between contemporary ProtestantisD
and the revolution, or revolutionary
movements in all European nations.
With these revolutionary movements
Civil and Political Liberty,
733
we have the authority of the chief *
magistrate of the Union for saying the
American people generally sympa-
thize. We lend, at least, all our moral
support to these movements wherev-
er we see them. They owe their ori-
gin, in fact, to Protestantism; and, so
far at least as they are confined to
Catholic nations, are fomented and
encouraged by Protestant emissaries
and Protestant associations and con-
tributions; yet these movements are,
under the name of liberty, purely hu-
manitarian, and their success would
simply substitute the absolutism of
the people for the absolutism of the
monarch — democratic Caesarism, or
rather, demagogic Caesarism, for im-
perial Csesarism. In the sixteenth
century, the sovereigns embraced or
inclined to the Reformation, because
it removed the restraints that the
church imposed on their absolute pow-
er and arbitrary will; demagogues
and revolutionists in the nineteenth
century glorify it, because it removes
all restrictions on the will of the peo-
ple as the state. In each case the
church is opposed to it, and for the
same reason, because she asserts the
rights of God as the basis of the rights
of man; and, as their divinely con-
stituted guardian and representative,
interposes them as a limit to the ab-
solute power of the state, whether
monarchical or democratic, the only
security possible for the reign of jus-
tice, of just laws, and therefore of real
liberty, individual, civil, and political.
There is no doubt that Protestan-
tism, since the culmination of monar-
chical absolutism in the seventeenth
century, has agitated for the revival
of what it calls liberty, but what we
call the humanitarian or pagan repub-
lic The people moved by it have,
no doubt, supposed they were march-
ing toward real liberty ; but they have
nowhere gained it, and have only
removed the day of its acquisition.
Under its influence we have smother-
ed the principle of liberty, and lost
most of the guarantees which Provi-
dence gave us in the outset. We
have lost not only the principle of
liberty, but also its correlative, the
principle of authority ; and have no
basis for either freedom or govern-
ment, for the basis of neither can be
found in humanity. Great Britain, to
a certain extent, has popularized her
administration; but through all her
changes of dynasties and constitu-
tions, she has never ceased to assert
the omnipotence of the state as the
state, supreme in spirituals as in tem-
porals. On the continent, the revo-
lution, attempted in the name of hu-
manity, has nowhere founded liber-
ty. Its momentary success in France
from 1792 to i79S> inclusive, is uni-
versally recognized as the Reign of
Terror, when religion was suppressed
and virtue was punished as a crime.
France, after a centiuy of revolutions,
is not as free to-day as she was even
under her old monarchical institutions.
The French are just now trying anew
the experiment of parliamentary gov-
ernment which the Anglo-maniacs
consider only as another name for
liberty; but whether the experiment
succeeds or fails, liberty will gain no-
thing; for the parliamentary govern-
ment is as absolute as the personal
government of Napoleon III., and
most likely will have even less regard
for the rights of God. The one no
more than the other will recognize the
spiritual power as a restriction on the
power of the temporal.
In the fifteenth and sixteenth cen-
turies, the spirit of the age was for the
revival of pagan imperialism ; the spi-
rit of the age is now, and has been
since the middle of the last century,
the pagan republic ; but there is just
as litde liberty imder the one as un-
der the other, or, if any difference,
there is less under pagan republican-
7J4
Civil and Political Liberty,
ism than under pagan imperialism;
for the Roman empire was really an
improvement on the Roman republic.
Under the one the monarch is the
state; under the other the people or
the ruling classes are the state ; and
under both the state is alike supreme,
and acknowledges no limit to its
power. The republican party is now,
here and in all Europe, as hostile to
the church as were the sovereigns in
the sixteenth century, and for the
same reason. The party knows per-
fectly well that it is impossible for her
to approve any form of absolutism in
the state. Having decided that the
humanitarian republic it seeks to
establish, and to which the spirit of
the age tends, is liberty, it holds, and
public opinion sustains it, that its suc-
cess depends on sweeping her away,
and destroying all religion that does
not emanate icom the people, or that
claims to be a power independent of
the state, and authorized to declare
the law for the people instead of re-
ceiving it from them. Because she
resists the madmen of this party, and
seeks to save herself and society, they
denounce her as opposed to liberty,
as the upholder of despots and des-
potism, as at war with the spirit of
the age, and the bitter enemy of mo-
dem civilization. " If," said the ac-
cusers of our Lord to the Roman pro-
curator, "thou lettest this man go,
thou art not Caesar's friend." "If,"
said the reformers in the sixteenth
century, "thou sparest the pope or
the church, thou art no friend, but a
traitor to the king;" "if," say their
children in this nineteenth century,
" thou upholdest the church, thou art
no friend, but a traitor to the sove-
reign people, and false to liberty;"
and the nineteenth century believeth
them. We disbelieve them, and be-
lieve the Lord, who hath bought us
with his own precious blood and made
us free.
These madmen are admated and
carried away by the spirit of the age,
and suppose all the time that they are
battling for liberty against its most
dangerous enemies. They cany the
people with them, and induce them
to crucify their God as a malefactor.
What is to restrain them ? The strong
arm of power ? That were only td
establish the reign of force. Reason ?
What can reason do with madmen, or
against the multitude blinded by £idse
lights and moved onward by an tin-
reasoning passion ? The intelligence
of the age ? Are they not carried
away by the age, and is it not from
the very madness of the age that they
need to be saved ? When the very
light in the age is darkness, how gitai
must be its darkness i It is only a
power that draws its light from a
source of light above the light of the
age, and acts with a wisdom and
strength that is above the people,
above the world, that can rcstram
them and convert them into freemcB.
If there is any truth in history, of
any reliance to be pdaced on the m-
ductions of reason, the author has am-
ply proved, in opposition to the [)^^
tensions of Protestants aiKl revoluticm-
ists, that society imder the directioft
and influences of the Catholic Churdi
marches steadily toward a true and
regular liberty^-a liberty which ii
grounded in the rights of God, and
therefore secures the rights of roan.
He has also proved condusivdy, as ex-
perience itself proves, that just in pro-
portion as the influence of the church in
society is weakened, liberty disappeais,
and absolutism, either of king or peo-
ple, advances. He has shown that
the Reformation, instead of foundin|
or aiding liberty, has inteiruptcd it,
and prevented the development of die
germs of free institutions deposited
in society during the much-malign-
ed and little-understood middle ages.
Protestantism, even when, as to oar
Untying Gordian Knots.
735
own time, professing to labor for liber-
ty, only falsifies it, and interposes in-
surmountable obstacles to its reafiza-
tion. Protestantism — and we have
studied it both as a Protestant and as
a Catholic — ^is made up of false pre-
tences; is, as Carlyle would say, an
unveracity, and loses not only the
eternal world, but also this present
world. The Divine Thought after
which the imiverse is created and
governed b one and catholic, and
the law by which we gain our final
end is one and holy; and without
obedience to it there is no good pos-
sible, here or hereafter, either for so-
ciety or for the individual. The pre-
sent can have its fulfilment only in
the future, and the temporal has its
origin, medium, and end only in the
spiritual, and finds its true support as
its true law only in the one eternal
law of God, the universal Lawgiver,
declared and applied by the one
Holy Catholic Church, which he
himself has instituted for that pur-
pose, and which is his body, which he
animates, and in which he dwells,
teaches, and governs.
It remains for us to consider the
respective relations of Protestantism
and Catholicity to religious liberty,
or the fireedom of conscience.
UNTYING GORDIAN KNOTS.
VI.
George Holston was wandering
thoughtfully back and forward in his
writing-room, in a listless way, un-
usual in a man of his active tempera-
ment An ardent sight-seer, a student
of the politics of all countries, a visi-
tor of every kind of institution for the
amelioration of every kind of diffi-
culty he gave little time to loung-
ing. Pausing at last before one of
the windows looking out on the gar-
den, his attention became fixed, and
an expression at once of displeasure
and of amusement came over his face.
Under the tree sat Lady Sackvil,
half reclining on a garden-chair ; be-
fore her stood Vane, answering her
indifferent words with eager interest,
his expressive face full of enthusiasm.
Whatever his arguments were, they
took effect, to judge by the change
which gradually mastered her; rous-
ing her firom the careless posture to
one of attention, drawing her eyes
fi-om the flower she had been idly
pulling to pieces, to meet his earnest
gaze. Whatever the question might
be, he had conquered, and was gaz-
ing at her beautiful upturned face
with a look of enchantment.
" Confound it I" muttered George.
"What would I give to banish her
to the coast of Guinea this very mo-
ment! Enough to evangelize the
natives, if money would do it" He
resumed his desultory walk and his
meditations. " That idiot is going to
destruction for the lack of something
to do. No more in love with her
than I am ; just idleness and a love
of excitement"
Going to his desk, he took out a
letter written in copying-ink, and bear-
ing date of three weeks back.
" I've scotched the snake, at least,
with this," he said aloud, and sat
down to a re-perusal of the epistle. It
was as follows :
734 Civil and Political Liberty.
ism than under pagan imperialism; These madmen are animr otafce
for the Roniaa empire was really an canied away by the spirit r ^ase, he
improvement on the Roman republic, and suppose all the time •' le truest,
Under the one the monarch is the battling for liberty agf lanied an
state; under the other the people or dangerous enemies. '
the ruling classes are the state; and people with them, t it well »j
under both the state is alike supreme, to crucify their Go not been the
and acknowiedgas no limit to its What is to restrair lervicw in the
power. The republican party is now, arm of power ? le day of Mrs.
here and in all Europe, as hostile to establish the rtr the prima piam
the church as were Uie sovereigns in What can rear she had come in t
the sixteenth century, and for the against the i" i'^Ti bringing little
same reason. The party knows per- lights and • christening dress to
fccdy well that it is impossible for her reasoning i " ■ter. While Mis. Hd-
to approve any form of absolutism in of the af -"ng the baby, May
the state. Having decided that the away by window, playing wiih *
humanitarian republic it seeks to the very i and watching her hiH-
establish, and to which the spirit of need t Lady Sackvil. Sie saw
the age tends, is liberty, it holds, and Ught i Amelia the oleander she
public opinion sustains it, that its sue- must pieces, saw her grow eager
cess depends on sweeping her away, pow ^rested as he talked to her,
and destroying all religion that does sou- jansfixed to see the intensity
not emanate from the people, or that ag< ■''hich he followed up his jdvln-
claims to be a power independent of sf ; ^"t* then, suddenly recollecting
the state, and authorized to declare t iclf, turned away, thinking bitterij,
the law for the people instead of re- ' • wi" "ot spy upon him."
ceiving it from them. Because she "What is the matter, dear?" asked
resists the madmen of this party, and Mrs. Holston anxiously. " You were
seeks to save herself and society,' they looking so well when you came in,
denounce her as opposed to liberty ^^^ "o* yo" ^^ ^ ""hite as a band-
as the upholder of despots and de^ .• kerchief. Are you faint ? Debl^,
potism, as at war with the spirit t ^'"8 ^^^ beU,and I will send forsome
the age, and the bitter enemy of n- » wine."
dcm civilization. " If," said the :, "Oh\ please not," said Maiy, p«-
cusers of our Lord to the Roman t ting her hand to her head. " I'm
curator, " thou lettest this man well enough, only so very tired. This
thou art not Csesar' ^isit.youknow," sheadded,
said the reformers Faintly, "and the excite-
century, "thou spai oo much for me. I ^
the church, thou an baby with you, and nuise
traitor to the king her to me when you «e
children in this nit t. No, don't come, Deb-
" thou upholdest the be better for resting a little
no friend, but a tra
^ign people, and I ng quiefly on the couch m
^d the nineteenth oom, the bitter conviction
Uiem. vve disbelie- ler, that what she had se«i
'*^^ Jhe Lord, who stung her so deeply only
^"n^his own preciou; confirmed doubts crushed
It Doubts? Certainty il
us free.
^<i«tf Knots.
737
-5r
*i
4
■**r>«'Z' */;>-?)*.
r
*^^% y.^iiir '^'
3U
-^^^*
■^
''^'^,
i •
--'4
-^J^i
•-r
/^U^
•^v.
t
af-
A a
She
jn or
.en an
ofs she
Now
withhold
i between
-•ly stunned,
I, to look be-
k, to question
her situation,
ig an ivory cru-
i. Nicholas had
uriosity-shop near
jrought it to her.
n and looked at it,
ently but curiously,
se agony it had sooth-
ay one had pressed it
) wronged and tortured
* .t were yellowed by the
ipon it, as well as by age.
be yellow as gold before
lave cried themselves out,"
ght, and longed for the relief
Her thoughts were so thick,
elessly thick and inextricable I
. of revealing her sufferings if
aould go to dinner, she went to
with a furious headache. The
>y, sharing its mother's discompo-
se, wept and wailed, as babies al-
VOL. X.— 47
vvhen quiet is most desirable.
5 dined alone, spent an hour
ife's room in the kindest man-
atting cold water on her head,
ze to her heart at the same mo-
t. At last, believing her to be
,ep, he went down to spend the
ening with the Holstons; leaving
er to be regaled with distant sounds
jf playing and singing, and to be
racked by the conviction that a trial
had fallen upon her with which she
was utterly incapable of coping.
A night-light burned in the comer
of the room, giving a faint suggestion
of surrounding objects. Through the
half-open nursery-door came the
soimd of Deborah lulling the baby to
sleep with old songs and moral axioms.
There was something soothing in the
half-light and subdued tones which
tended to restore the quivering nerves
to their balance. Mary sat up in bed
and tried to collect her ideas. What
was the first thing to be done ? The
exact reverse of what she had done
that evening, at all events. She had
made the baby firetful, and driven
Nicholas into the very temptation
she most dreaded for him.
The first and immediate step to be
taken was to conquer the nervous
prostration which bound her. All
was now quiet in the nursery. She
rang her hand-bell softly, bringing
Deborah to the nursery-door with the
inseparable roll of violet-perfumed
flannel in her arms.
" Put baby down by me, nurse, and
give me some valerian ; there's a good
soul."
Then she lay down to contemplate
the babv and let the sedative work.
Her thoughts turned to a few words
of fatherly advice from her old fiiend.
Padre Giulio, when she had mention-
ed with bitter self- upbraiding in con-
fession, two months before, her mo-
mentary paroxysm of jealousy. ** In
five cases out of ten," he had sfti^
73^
Untying Gordian Knots.
" Dear Evans : I see by the newspa-
pers that three officers of the U. S. A.
have been appointed to visit the Crimea,
and study the position and progress of
affairs in the French and English ar-
mies. You will oblige me extremely
by going to General Scott, on receipt
of this, and asking him, in my name,
to obtain a fourth appointment in the
person of Captain Vane, of the — th
Cavahy, U. S. A., subject to Vane's ap-
proval. For several reasons, too long
to explain, I do not mention this plan
to him before writing ; but I have no
doubt that he will jump at the pro-
posal when it comes. The general
and the secretary of war will need no
explanations. They know that Vane
has been on the sick-list for wounds
received in frontier service, and they
are much interested in him and his
family; therefore no apologies are
necessary for making the proposal.
" Vane is a constant and serious stu-
dent of military matters, and no man
is more likely than he to make a
good use of such an opportunity.
"If objections are made on the
grounds of extra pay, you may say
that no such increase is necessary, as
Captain Vane has a large private for-
tune.
" Hoping soon to have a chance to
reciprocate the kindness I ask of you,
my dear Evans, I am
" Yours always truly,
" George Holston."
George put away the letter and
went to the window.
" If I had asked his leave before
doing this, he would have been too
weak to grant it, hampered as he is
by this renewal of old associations.
By the time the appointment gets
here, he will be thankful to find some
way of escape from his own folly
open to him. A fool he is — a traitor
he is not."
Then, casting a glance out of the
window, as he passed before it to take
down a volume from a bookcase, he
said softly, " Poor Mary ! the truest,
noblest woman that ever married an
idiot I"
George Holston might well say
" poor Mary I" He had not been the
only witness of the interview in the
garden. This was the day of Mrs.
Vanrt firsffvisit to the prime piano
since her illness. She had come in a
young mother's glory, bringing little
Georgina in her christening dress to
see her godmother. While Mrs, Hol-
ston was tending the baby, Mary
stood at the window, playing with a
curtain-tassel and watching her hus-
band and Lady Sackvil. She saw
him give Amelia the oleander she
pulled to pieces, saw her grow eager
and interested as he talked to her,
stood transfixed to see the intensity
with which he followed up his advan-
tage ; and then, suddenly recollecting
herself, turned away, thinking bitteriy,
" I will not spy upon him."
" What is the matter, dear ?" asked
Mrs. Holston anxiously. " You were
looking so well when you came va^
and now you are as white as a hand-
kerchief. Are you faint ? Debby,
ring the bell, and I will send for some
wme.
" Oh I please not," said Mary, put-
ting her hand to her head. " I'm
well enough, only so very tired. This
is my first visit, you know," she added,
laughing faintly, "and the excite-
ment is too much for me. I will
leave the baby with you, and nurse
can bring her to me when you are
tired of her. No, don't come, Deb-
by ; I shall be better for resting a little
while."
And lying quietly on the couoh in
her own room, the bitter conviction
came to her, that what she had seen
that day stung her so deeply only
because it confirmed doubts crushed
out of sight Doubts ? Certainty it
Untying Gordian Knots.
737
was now, that she was no longer her
husband's chosen companion. Star-
tled by his anger when her first
groundless jealousy betrayed itself on
the day of Lady Sackvil's arrival, she
had smothered every succeeding pang.
Her uneasiness had come from no
lack of kindness on her husband's
part He had been, if possible, more
attentive during her illness than she
had expected. But to her, who had
been his exclusive confidant, the one
chosen sympathizer in all hopes and
projects, the charm had gone. It
was evident that he needed more ex-
citement than her companionship af-
forded, that he came to her firom a
sense of duty, not for pleasure. She
had been too loyal to question or
doubt until this afternoon, when an
accident had given the proofe she
would have refused to seek. Now
she was too clear-sighted to withhold
belief. Lady Sackvil stood between
her and her husband.
She was too completely stunned,
too grieved and wounded, to look be-
yond the present shock, to question
the hopelessness of her situation.
Above the couch hung an ivory cru-
cifix yellow with age. Nicholas had
found it in some curiosity-shop near
the Rialto, and brought it to her.
She took it down and looked at it,
not only reverendy but curiously,
wondering whose agony it had sooth-
ed; if ever any one had pressed it
to a heart so wronged and tortured
as hers; if it were yellowed by the
tears shed upon it, as well as by age.
**You will be yellow as gold before
my eyes have cried themselves out,"
she thought, and longed for the relief
of tears. Her thoughts were so thick,
so hopelessly thick and inextricable I
Afraid of revealing her sufierings if
she should go to dinner, she went to
bed with a furious headache. The
baby, sharing its mother's discompo-
sure, wept and wailed, as babies al-
VOL. X. — ^47
ways do when quiet is most desiirable.
Nicholas dined alone, spent an hour
in his wife's room in tiie kindest man-
ner, putting cold water on her head,
and ice to her heart at the same mo-
ment. At last, believing her to be
asleep, he went down to spend the
evening with the Holstons; leaving
her to be regaled with distant sounds
of playing and singing, and to be
racked by the conviction that a trial
had fallen upon her with which she
was utterly incapable of coping.
A night-light burned in the comer
of the room, giving a faint suggestion
of surrounding objects. Through the
half-open nursery-door came the
sound of Deborah lulling the baby to
sleep with old songs and moral axioms.
There was something soothing in the
half-light and subdued tones which
tended to restore the quivering nerves
to their balance. Mary sat up in bed
and tried to collect her ideas. What
was the first thing to be done ? The
exact reverse of what she had done
that evening, at all events. She had
made the baby firetfiil, and driven
Nicholas into the very temptation
she most dreaded for him.
The first and immediate step to be
taken was to conquer the nervous
prostration which bound her. All
was now quiet in the nursery. She
rang her hand-bell softly, bringing
Deborah to the nursery-door with the
inseparable roll of violet-perfumed
flannel in her arms.
" Put baby down by me, nurse, and
give me some valerian ; there's a good
soul."
Then she lay down to contemplate
the babv and let the sedative work.
Her thoughts turned to a few words
of fatherly advice from her old fiiend, "
Padre Giulio, when she had mention-
ed with bitter self- upbraiding in con-,
fession, two months before, her mo-
mentary paroxysm of jealousy. " In
five cases out of ten," he had sfti^
r*8
Untying Gardian Knots.
^ in iihffcd wife holds her &te in her
o«3 h.iR\isL She must prove to her
h'.2>ivinvl that she is better worth lov-
ir^ thjta anr other woman in the
v.-rii. She should speak of her
*r. -*^ to no one if she can possibly
Se-JLT them in silence. Each confidant
ci these deiicate matters may become
jine w obstacle to reconciliation. Loy-
j.!:y k m-ost important between mar-
h^'i persons^ So much for jealous
w{\-«^ mr daughter; and God grant
tl^at vou nuv never have occasion to
remember what I have said!** And
ROW the occasion had come !
*^ O God T she prayed, " make me
\-erv lovelr in his eves. I don't ask
it far vanity's sake, but for his honor
and mine. I thank you, from the
depths of my heart, that it b best for
him and for me, and for your divine
glory, that he should love me more
than any other creature. But accom-
plish this, dear Lord, by making him
love you best of all" Then she fell
asleep, lulled by the soft breathing of
the sleeping infant
She was waked by hearing Nicho-
las come gently into the room.
" I am sorry I roused you,** he said.
" But I longed to know if you were re-
lieved."
" I am much better," she answered
cordially. "Thank you for coming
to inquire. Have you had a pleasant
evening ?*'
"Quite pleasant," he replied ab-
sently. "Did the piano disturb
you ?"
" Only just at first I got through
the evening very comfortably, and ex-
pect to be bright and well by to-mor-
row. Kiss me, darling."
"Good night, Mary. God bless
you!"
When he had left her, she took the
ancient crucifix again in her hands, and
kissed the five wounds silently. There
is no better prayer. It is the prayer
of oonqoered self; the acceptance of
our sufferings in union with those of
Christ
" I must get well and be his second
guardian angel,** she said.
Vane spent half the night in study-
ing and read'mg. Once he said out
loud, " God help me through it !"
Then came the thought, " How dare
I ask for help, when I myself have
sought temptation? Oh! if Mary
would only get well and be my better
self once more. What did she say
once about the inefficacy of vicarious
goodness ?*'
VII.
" May I come in ?" asked Mary at
the door of Lady Sackvil's music-
room.
"By all means. I am going to
play something for George and Flos-
sy that will fascinate your maternal
fhncy." And with the httle boy and
girt on either side, she played the
Sccrusfrom Childhood^ with little para-
phrases of explanation full of merri-
ment or pathos, as the case might be.
The children were bewitched. Mary
looked at her lovely fece, her taste-
ful dress, her graceful though rather
large hands, moving on the piano as
in a native element ; she listened to
her exquisitely sympathetic playing,
to her charming talk with the chil-
dren, and a sense of despair came
over her.
" How can I win him back ?" she
thought " O God ! it is so hard to
bear, just because I am not handsome
or clever. Surely my love, my fideli-
ty must be more beautiful than her
beauty, if he could only see clearly.
It is useless for me to compete with
this exquisite creature on any natural
grounds. And yet, how strange it all
is ! I don't suppose he is the most
attractive man in existence ; and yet,
it would no more occur to me to
measure him with other men than if
he were an archangd."
Untying Gordian Knots.
739
Lady Sackvil was singing now —
Kttle songs for children, by Taubert,
cradle songs, and Volkslieder, George
and Flossy were twins, and this was
their birthday. " Aunt Milly" was as
much bent on fascinating her juve-
nile audience as any prima donna in
a royal theatre. She had not much
voice; but her singing had the same
sympathetic quality which made her
playing delight every one, learned or
unlearned. Those who were incapa-
ble of appreciating her sound musical
training, her clever interpretation of
the best compositions, her freedom
from mannerism, whether pedantry or
sentimentality, could derive pleasure
from her delicious touch and the in-
definable grace of her playing.
After a while Mrs. Holston and
Captain Vane joined the audience.
Mary glanced involuntarily at Lady
Sackvil, and saw a rosy flush suffuse
cheek and brow and neck. She pass-
ed on from song to song without
leaving the piano \ but she was sing-
ing for grown people now, and the
children felt it. Mary made a sign
to them to come to her, and gave
them the presents she had prepared
for the great day so long anticipated.
Mere trifles they were — a suit of doll's
furs for Flossy, a box of colored cray-
ons for George— but it was quite
enough to restore the birthday equa-
nimity.
Vane had noticed the little scene,
and Mary saw his eyes rest upon
her with a tenderness she had missed
for many weeks. When Lady Sackvil
stopped singing, he rose rather ab-
ruptlo and retbmed her greeting with
a certain coldness Then tuming to
his wife, he said, " I have been look-
ing for you everywhere. Can you
come up-stairs with me now ?"
Mary was nearer happiness than she
had thought to be again. At least
he was trying to do right
VIII.
LADY SACKVIL'S JOURNAL.
I wonder what sin is ? Some peo-
ple wbuld say I ought to know ; but I
do not. We are bora with inclina-
tions, affections, passions which dis-
appear or develop according to cir-
cumstances. We are not to be prais-
ed if they disappear; we are not to be
blamed if they develop. Religion-
ists make sins and virtues to suit
themselves, and form thereon a moral
code. If they really believe in a mer-
ciful, thoughtful Creator, a tender Re-
deemer, who has lived to exemplify
these virtues and died to atone for
these sins, of course they do right to
bow to his will. I do not believe
there is a God who interests himself
in our virtues or vices, so-called. I
know that I myself am the creature of
necessity, and I mean to prove this
for my own satisfaction by a review
of my career.
I was educated by my poor Aunt
Louisa, who taught me to call myself
a Catholic and behave like a pagan.
Was that my fault ? She never, to my
knowledge, acted from a disinterested
motive. She never taught me to obey
any thing but my own will— except
hers, when our wills crossed. This was
very seldom ; for we, both of us, wanted
simply the greatest amount of world-
ly enjoyment that was to be had, for
asking, in my case, and scheming, in
hers. Was that my fault ? I loved
Nicholas Vane, who was a tyrant.
Just when his tyranny weighed too
heavily to be borne. Lord Sackvil ap-
peared. He suited me. His posi-
tion corresponded to the dreams my
aunt had nursed in me from child-
hood. Circumstances conquered me.
Vane accused me of flirting, and broke
off" our private engagement Aunt
Louisa besought me to accept an of-
fer which would realize her fondest
7AP
Untying Gardian Knots.
hopes for me. I yielded, and married
Sack\Tl, and never dreamed of regret-
ting the step. He was the kindest
and most indulgent of husbands, and
S}*mpathi2ed with all my tastes. But
here again any religious tendencies I
might have had remained unnoiuish-
ed. Educated a Catholic, he never
practised his religion. People think
me obstinate; on the contrary, I am
led completely by others — wh^n it
suits nf, WTiat of that ? How could
it be otheniTse, with my training ? I
am the \-ictim of circumstances. As
I hat! no children, Sackvil House pass-
ed to a tlistant relation of my husband.
I w.is left singularly alone in the
world. My one near relative living in
Venice, I naturally came to her, after
leadin*; a wandering life in Germany
for two \-ears. Who should be living
in the same house and on terms
of closest intimacy with my sister's
family but Caption Vane? Was
that my fault ? I did not know the
fact Flora knows nothing of our
enga-;oment ; indeed, no one knew
of it ext^pt Aunt Louisa, and, proba-
bly, Gei^rge Holston. I fully intend-
eil to cultivate Mrs. Vane intimately.
In the first place, however, she is not
inclineil to intimacy. Though very
younj:. she has a reserve and indepen-
dence of charactCT which would make
friendship a matter of slow growth
with her. In the second place, she
has been ill or ailing ever since I
came here. Is that my fault ? Is it
my fluilt that at thirty I am prettier
than ever before in my life ; that I
have a trek of fascinating people;
that I play and sing Uke — ^like — ^like
a fallen angel ? This is conceit, or
pride, or vanity, I suppose. No, it is
not It is a recognition of facts. If
I were ugly or unattractive, I should
recognize the fact and poison myself
Is it my fault that Vane is morally
weak, as the term goes? That is
to say, that his personal wishes wei^
more heavily upon him Aan the force
of tradition ? Is it my fault that, with
the energy, the ambition, and the in-
tellectual tastes of a man, I am bound
by worldly maxims within Uniits
which restrict all growth except ^iii-
tual growth?
I wonder what would make i
Christian of me ? This one expCTi-
ence — hypK)thetical, of course: the
sight, the dose, intimate perception of
a purely disinterested soul ; of one who,
tested in the sorest manner, should act
according to principles formed in i
time of peace and security. I am
a pagan from having seen people
behave like pagans, no matter what
they professed. The antidote must
be adapted to the poison. Is a cure
to be desired? I imagine not A
Chriistian life would entail great dis-
comfort ; for be it known that if ever
I am a Christian I will be a genuine
one. My difficulties are not meta-
physical. I could just as easily b^
lieve one thing as another; indeed,
the more the better, if there is any
believing to be done. I am inclined
to suppose that the Catholic Church
will have the honor to reclaim me, if
ever.I am reclaimed. It is thcoldr
est, widest, strongest, and it demands
more of its adherents than any other
church. Besides, if ever I find »f
disinterested Christian, it will proba-
bly be in the Catholic Church— a soul
bred upon works of supererogation
and a thirst after perfection.
IX.
Mary was reading in her moming
room when Lady Sacjcvil was announc-
ed. " Ask her to come in here," she
said with her lips; and in her heart
prayed, " Help me to do and say the
right thing."
Lady Sackvil came in very softly,
seeing the little basket-cradle with
drawn curtains beside the mother^
Untying Gordian Knots.
741
chair, and said in a low tone, " Thank
you very much for admitting me to
your own room."
" We need not speak low," Mary
said ; " poor little Georgina has had
to leam to sleep under aU circum-
stances. I knew it was useless to try
to make Captain Vane whisper, and
I wanted him to come here freely
when the child was with me; so I
have made her a philosopher early in
life, superior to outward influences."
" She will be the first person that
ever was superior to circumstances, I
fancy," remarked Lady Sackvil ; and
added after a moment's pause, " my
belief is, that our characters are com-
pletely controlled by outward influ-
ences. They have regulated mine, I
know."
Mary took up a stole she was em-
broidering in bullion, and arranged
the sewing materials accurately be-
fore answering. Amelia's mere pre-
sence irritated her, and the off-hand
manner in which her ladyship settled
questions aroused in her a spirit of
opposition. It was in an unruffled
tone, however, that she answered,
** Of course they have a great deal to
do with the formation of character;
but not every thing. I used to hear
a good deal of talk on the subject
in my father's library. An intimate
friend of his was a necessitarian —
that's the term, is it not ? — and used
to bring forward many clever argu-
ments in support of his theory."
" And convinced you ?" asked Ame-
lia with interest.
" Not at all. He worried me a
good deal at first. I remember that
he generally chose Sunday evenings
for the discussion, and Sunday eve-
ning has ever since been tmcomforta-
bly associated in my mind with ne-
cessity and firee-will."
" I cannot fancy on what grotmds
his opinion could be combated," said
Lady SackviL
" Neither did I at first It is easier
to argue in favor of necessity than of
fi-ee-will. The theory rests upon tan-
gible facts, evident even to superficial
observers. The truth rests largely
upon supernatural facts, too subtle to
be fully appreciated except through
personal experience."
" May I ask how you satisfied
yourself?" asked Amelia with the
faintest shade of contempt in her
voice. She was feeling " out of sorts,"
and controversy suited the mood of
the moment better than ordinary con-
versation.
Mary renewed the gold thread in
her needle and the patience in her
soul, and then answered, " By read-
ing the lives of the saints, and espe-
cially of holy penitents. I became
satisfied that even if ordinary souls are
controlled by circumstances, (though
even that point I did not concede,)
the development of the saints has
often been not only independent of
circumstances, but inconsistent with
them. Women, enslaved by vanity
or passion, breaking through every
bond and trampling on temptation to
embrace a life of penance at which
flesh trembles ! Men, enthralled by
false philosophy, becoming little chil-
dren in faith and simplicity ! I knew
that this could not be the result of
circumstances. Then carrying the
investigation into my own moral ex-
perience, I found that even I could
be noble under the same circumstan-
ces where I had been petty. I do not
attempt to speak philosophically. I
argue from practical facts."
" If I placed much faith <n the
lives of saints, perhaps we might
think alike," answered Amelia ; " but
most of them are quite mythical, no
doubt."
"The lives of St. Augustine, St.
Jerome, and many more are as well
authenticated as the Norman con-
quest," Mary said ; " and those whose
7A2
Untying Gordian Knots.
careers are most my^erioos experi-
enced nothing which is incompre-
hensible to any one who studies inte-
rior life, and knows the capacities of
his own soul for receiving supernatu-
ral graces,"
" The capacities of my soul are ex-
tremely limited, I think," replied Lady
SackvU. " Like you, I found my im-
pressions on practical facts, not on
metaphysics ; so that our argument is
at an end, I suppose."
" Apparently," said Mary good-hu-
moredly, " I've not heard the piano
lately. Why is that ?"
" I am tired to death of playing,"
said Lady Sackvil ; '^ at times it is an
unutterable bore. For a composer it
is, of course, different The exercise
of the creative faculty must be simply
rapture ; but mere interpretation palls
frightfully at times."
" Is there no new music to interest
you ?"
" Very seldom. I am familiar with
the whole range of musical literature.
Don't look at me as if I were a won-
der. It's no great thing for a well-
trained musician to say. Musical hte-
ratiu'e, as compared with the world
of books, is very limited. The pre-
sent age is idle and improductive ; and
so there come times when I shut the
piano and feel that my ' occupation's
gone.' "
She rose, and going gendy to the
cradle, knelt down beside it to watch
the sleeping child A tenderness
came over her face, before so full of
weariness and pain.
** I would have been a different wo-
man if I had been a mother," she
said, looking up at Mary with tears
in her eyes. " Love of children and
vanity are the only traits I have," she
added, smiling sadly.
Mary made no answer, but looked
at the tossed, selfish, whimsical being
before her with an interest she had not
fdt hitherto.
" Isn't it heavenly sweet to have a
child ?" asked Amelia ; " to hold that
creature close to you, and feel that it
is your own as your heart is your
own?"
" Yes, it is heavenly sweet," an-
swered Mary, bending over the baby,
who just then opened her violet eyes.
The mother took the litde creature
into her arms and kissed her sofdy.
" It is heavenly sweet," she repeated.
Lady Sackvil drew down her veil
and rose to go. " Good-by," she said
huskily. " Don't think that I usually
make such eccentric morning calls."
And was gone before Mary could ring
for a servant to open the door.
TO as CONTINUXO.
Church Music.
743
CHURCH MUSIC.
III.
We have one question to ask of
such of our readers who have taken
the trouble to read our former articles
on the subject of church music. Is
it not a false tradition that the music
in our churches exhibits the character
of a musical concert performed dur-
ing Mass, or replacing the office of
Vespers ? One thing is certain — it is
a Protestant tradition, an Anglo-Sax-
on Protestant tradition. Although
we owe the " classical masses " chief-
ly to German and Italian composers,
the style of the performance, the ma-
Uriel of the choir, and the choir-gal-
lery are the oflfepring of the " chapel "
and the " conventicle." It has doubt-
less been observed that we have been
arguing for a two-fold reform in this
matter : firstly, in the music, and se-
condly, in its performance. We use
the word reform in its proper sense,
and desire by our remarks to call our
brethren back to the old paths of the
Holy Church, not to introduce some
new fashion in doctrine or devotion.
We would renovate, not innovate.
We have been too long deprived of
that spiritual food which is so abun-
dantly supplied by the sacred offices
of the Church. Protestantism has
given us nothing but husks to eat,
and we confess to being hungry. By
the defection of England and the
greater part of Germany, we were rob-
bed of our holy sanctuaries, and in
our poverty have been forced to con-
tent ourselves with buildings to which,
indeed, we give the name of churches,
but which are nothing better than
convenient shelters for an altar crowd-
ed to its very steps by the people.
The new-fangled doctrine drove out
our monks, and perverted the devout
clerics who once filled the stalls of
real choirs^ and whose duty and glory
it was to sing the divine office. When
the novel worship that replaced the
Holy Sacrifice built new tabernacles
for its meagre and unmeaning rites, it
invented the singing-gallery and the
modem choiry all-sufficing, we ac-
knowledge, for the Anglican " com-
mon prayer," and "worship" after
the Presb)rterian, Methodist, Baptist,
and other such modes, but wholly out
of place in a Catholic church, and to-
tally inadequate for the holy offices
of our religion.
Surely there is no one who will not
heartily agree with us that we need a
thorough reform, in this respect, in
our church architecture. We build
chapels, but not churches. The place
for the altar is in the Choir, an in-
closure sp>ecially set apart for the sa-
cred ministers and the singers, who at
the public functions form one officiat-
ing body. We have followed the ex-
ample of Protestants, and made use
of the pencil of the Protestant archi-
tect ; and the result is, that if the gates
of hell ever incited another " glori-
ous reformation," like that of the six-
teenth century, the new reformers
would have the advantage over the
first in finding churches not only rea-
dy made, but admirably adapted to
their requirements, the change of altar
into pulpit, should the new doctrine
need such an appurtenance in its
meeting-houses, being a matter of
small expense. They would not be
put to their wits to know what to do
with our choirs " of mysterious depth,"
as of yore, but would find an appro-
744
Church Music.
priate gallery for their hired singers,
already fitted up, with its abomi-
nable rood-screen of green curtains
over the doorways. We have heard
our holy rites and ceremonies nick-
named as the "rags of popery."
What has Protestantism done but to
rend the " rags " into tatters ?
Nor are we ready to admit the
poverty of our resources as a full jus-
tification of our imitation of Protes-
tant service in the style of our sacred
music and its performance. Through-
out the continent of Europe, where
Protestant influences have not been
at woric, there are countless country
churches of small size, but not one is
without its sanctuary choir ; and the
people would as soon think of putting
their robed priests into dress-coat and
pantaloons as of banishing their sur-
pliced chanters firom the sanctuary,
and erecting a choir-gallery behind
their backs. We bring no railing ac-
cusation. We deprecate that style of
argument which is successful only in
provoking opposition; but are endea-
voring, with no end in view save the
glory of God and the honor of reli-
gion, to put in a plain light the caus-
es of our departure from the common
authorized usages of the church ; usa-
ges to which the want of conformity
will alwajrs be the measure of the loss
of faith and devotion.
Our controversialists have been ar-
guing against the false doctrines of
Protestantism, and have done their
work in a masterly and effective man-
ner. If ever there was a dead doc-
trine awaiting burial, it is Protestan-
tism. Now let us turn our attention
to its false traditions, possessing more
vitality because they have obtained a
sort of parasitical subsistence through
our partial admission of their en-
croachments. We mean that the
" choir-gallery " is, both in its entity
and object, a parasite of Protestant
tradition dinging to our holy temples,
disfiguring their lair proportions and
spiritually cramping the growth of li-
turgical devotion, destroying its charm,
and stifling its inspirations.
We proix>se to get rid of this piece
of uncatholic tradition ; to locate the
singers in the place prescribed by the
ritual, and abolish Uie musical con-
cert. We desire to see the distinct
decrees of the Church carried out to
the letter, which require the di\Tnc
office to be sung, as well as the Mass
to be said, in the sanctuary, before the
people, and not behind them. We
have ahready alluded to the efforts
made in England to bring this matter
into perfect conformity with the ritu-
al. His Grace the Archbishop of
Westminster has forbidden any new
church to be opened unless there is
provbion made for a sanctuary choir;
and the cardinal vicar, in his instruc-
tion of November 1 8th, 1856, after ad-
ministering a severe reprimand for the
want of observance of regulations
made in former instructions, prescnbcs,
among other things, that galleries for
singers shall not be placed over the
doors of churches. Evidently the
good cardinal has not only studied
rubrics, but the science of acoustics
as well. An elevated gallery near the
ceiling is a wretched place for sing-
ers, and not much better for an or-
gan. Ask any organ-builder wb^er
he would not much prefer placing his
instrument on the floor of the church,
to hiding it away in some lofk or s^
cond-story alcove in a tower. The
impropriety is so glaring, and the ar-
rangement is at once so incongruous
and unartisric, that we deem further
discussion on this point useless. The
able writer in The Dublin Revitv,
whom we have already quoted, very
pertinently remarks :
«* In thb respect we hare been equ»Dy
out of harmony with ecclesiastiad tradiUoo
and practice ; and if we are to save ourselTtf
from disappointment with our choristers,
Church Music.
745
we must make up our minds to give them
the advantage of all the sacred associations
-which that system provides. In other
words, we must substitute a proper choral
arrangement in connection with the sanctua-
ry for that now prevaihng, and with which
so many abuses are unhappily connected.
There need, we think, be no practical diffi-
culty about this, and we would suggest it as
a matter worthy of serious consideration by
our clergy and Catholic architects who are
about to build or restore churches. The
time is surely gone by for^the stereotyped
plan of an east end with an altar under a
large window, flanked by a smaller altar on
either side, involving, besides other incon-
veniences, the impossibility of making any
provision for the proper choral arrange-
ments. Several instances might be adduc-
ed of churches recently erected in which the
beautiful and convenient feature of side al-
tars has been introduced, thus allowing the
choir to occupy their proper place — the or-
gan, of course, being placed at the side, and
ample space being still left for the sanctua-
ry proper. We should say that, even in
cases where boys cannot be at once procur-
ed for the choir, it is very unadvisable to
plan a building in such a way as to preclude
a proper arrangement afterward."
Have we any objections to urge
against coming into harmony with
ecclesiastical tradition and practice in
this matter? A friend at our side
urges one, doubtless in the mind of
many of our readers : Then you
would banish all female voices fi^om
our choirs ?
We will allow a much better autho-
rity than ourselves to answer for us.
The following extract is from a decree
of the Provincial Synod of Holland,
held at Utrecht, and highly commend-
ed by the Holy Father :
'* In the same way as the object of church
music is quite frustrated when it is of such a
character as only to gratify the ears with vain
pleasures, so, too, the dignity of divine wor-
ship is not preserved unless the singers also
are such as to beseem the church. Women's
voices are not admitted by ecclesiastical
usage into the choir of singers, since the
rules of divine worship and the dignity of
ecclesiastical music evidently require their
exclusion. For in the same way as they ^re
withheld from all share in the ministry of
the holy liturgy, so also every thing effemi-
nate ought to be quite excluded from church
singing ; and hence the presence of women
in an ecclesiastical choir is opposed to the
very sense of the faithfuL Therefore, we
decree and order that women be altogether
excluded from the choir of singers, imless
in the churches or chapels of nuns. And if
hereafter, in violation of this injunction of
this Provincial Synod, women be employed
in any church as singers or organists, let the
rectors of those churches be aware that they
will have to render a most strict account
to the ordinary for such an infraction of the
law." (Syn. Prov. Ultrajectan., tit 5, cap. 6.)
And again :
" The tradition of the church in excluding
women from choirs is so universal and in-
flexible that it is not easy to understand how
it should have been so widely forgotten in
this country. I can only conceive that the
confusion of all things under the penal laws,
the shattered and informal state of the church
in England after its emancipation, our pover-
ty, not only of money, but of culture to do
better ; and, finally, the force of custom in
rendering us insensible to many anomalies,
have been the real causes of our ever ad-
mitting, and of our so long passively tolerat-
ing, so visible a deviation from the tradition
and mind of the Church. It is strange that
you should have to argue a case which the
Church has decided." (Letter of Archbi-
shop Manning to Canon Oakeley. )
The argument of the very reve-
rend canon, to which his grace al-
ludes, contains mucli that would inte-
rest our readers, but our space does
not permit us to give it entire. We
cannot refrain, however, from making
a short quotation :
"That a choir of male voices is actually
that provision for the solemn celebration of
divine worship which the Church contem-
plates, to the exclusion of every other, is, I
think, a fact which cannot reasonably be dis-
puted. The Church no more recognizes
female choristers than female sacristans,
though she may tolerate either in case of ne-
cessity. The single exception to the rule is
in convents, for obvious reasons. According
to the ancient arrangement of churches, the
choir is immediately connected with the
sanctuary ; and those who take part in it are
most appropriately habited as clerics. The
circumstances of modem times have led to
some deviation from this practice, so far as
it depends upon the architectural arrange-
746
Church Music.
ments of our churches ; but even where the
choir is detached from the sanctuary, the
ancient and universal rule of the Church
which excludes females (probably in accor-
ance with apostolical tradition) from taking,
any active and ministerial part in divine wor-
ship, is still rigidly observed. Not only in
Rome, but m countries which retain certam
national peculiarities in the sacred administra-
tion of the Church, such as France and Bel-
gium, the practice of employing females in the
musical department of divine worship is, I be-
lieve, unknown. It is almost entirely confin-
ed to those countries, such as Great Britain,
parts of Germany, and thp United Sutes
of America, in which Protestantism prevails
and produces a certain impression on the out-
ward aspect even of the Church herself. In
our ovrn country the type of the ancient
worship, which has been innovated on among
ourselves, is preserved in the national cathe-
drals, in which the large endowments deriv-
ed from Catholic munificence enable the pre-
sent usurpers to represent the true ecclesi-
astical form of the choral service with a fa-
cility which is denied to those to whom it
belongs by undisputed inheritance. Mean-
while, this type had till recently suffered' con-
siderable decay among ourselves. Dethron-
ed from our rightful position, we had in this,
as in other far more important respects, fall-
en in with the ways of the sects around us.
But the revival of the ecclesiastical spirit
which has come in with the evenU of the
last few years, has brought home to us some
of the anomalies which had grown up in the
day of our depression, while increased com-
munication with the continent has tended to
bring our external worship into more and
more of union with general practice. It is
hardly necessary to observe that the admis-
sion of females into the church choir is abso-
lutely fatal to the retention of the proper
cathedral type of worship, while in parish
churches it is sometimes productive of obvi-
ous evils, and even in the best regulated ad-
ministrations is adverse to the spirit which
should animate every part of divine worship,
and especially one so intimately connected
with its dignified celebration as that of the
choir."
It wUl be observed that our judgment
about the influences of Protestant tra-
dition upon our church music has not
been made unadvisedly.
In Germany, female singers were
introduced into the churches for no
better reason, that we can disco\'€r,
than to exhibit the musical talent of
its great masters. These compositions
were not written to supply any want
for such music felt in the churches, but
at the instance and under the patroa-
age of nobles and princes, who vied
with each other in' giving grand sa-
cred musical feasts in their private
chapels, as gourmands pride them-
selves on giving costly and rcchtrchi
dinners to show off the science of their
chef de cuisine. If we imagine that
these musical masses were gotten up
to excite greater devotion in the gay
and worldly courtiers, we are much
mistaken. It was, in fact, a nice little
bit of cheap luxury, it being less
expensive to keep a private chapd
and entertain a private chaplain, than
to support an opera-house with its
company of artists, scene-shifters, and
hangers-on.
Composers themselves have sought
to obtain at least a general permis-
sion for the singing of their masses
from the ecclesiastical authorities, but
have invariably been met with a po-
lite expression of regret that such
application had been presented, as it
was entirely out of the power, etc, etc
Rossini petitioned the present pope
for permission to include females in
chiurch choirs, but of course without
success. The report of his own fune-
ral obsequies shows that more thought
was given to enjoy a rare musical en-
tertainment than to pray for his soul :
"The church bore the appearance of a
concert-room or theatre. People came in
with their hats on, talking and laughing.
After each piece of music was sung, their
hravos were barely restrained, and more than
once applauding cries seemed about to break
forth. The majority of the congregation,
forgetting both the altar and the corp^ of
the deceased, turned their faces toward ibe
tribune of the singers, talking m a load
voice, and using their opera-glasses; and
this at the very moment of the einKttitm^ when
the soldiers who served as a guard of honor,
at the command of their oflficer, were felling
on their knees. This scandal was deplor-
ed not only by rdigious persons, bnt even
Church Music.
747
by the true friends of art, because it served
once more to prove that such musical so-
lemnities, in this age and in this country,
are incompatible with the respect due to the
sanctity of churches."
If we might venture to offer a word
in justification of the wisdom of the
Church in thus wholly excluding wo-
men firom the ritual offices of religion,
we would say that she " knows what
is in man ;" she perfecUy well under-
stands all the effects of exterior in-
fluences upon the human mind and
heart; that the female voice, when
highly cultivated or sweet-toned, is
alliuing and sensual, (we do not mean
in a bad sense,) and when naturally
poor ox passi, is equally repelling and
disagreeable. The first cannot be said
of the voices of men ; nor the second,
unless it be in attempts to execute mu-
sic beyond their compass, or when
they distort its sense or expression by
vanity or affectation.
Canon Oakeley shall sum up for us
what we have to say on this head :
"Together with the name of 'chapels,*
which it may be hoped we are in the way to
renounce once for sill, let us divest ourselves
of all that smacks of the chapel and dissent-
ing system — the pews, the pew-openers, the
female sacristans, and the female choristers.
One of the principal lessons taught us by our
great cardinal was the duty of asserting in
aU judicious ways the dignity of our true po-
sition ; and this we can do only by ridding
ourselves of sectarian habits, down even to
the very fringes of our garment, and asso-
ciating ourselves in spirit, and in that which
forms so especial a test of the ecclesiastical
spirit, the external worship of the Church,
with the most approved practice of Catholic
countries."
Having made up our minds to tear
down oiu: Protestant singing-gallery,
and to make use only of male voices
in the singing of Mass and Vespers,
we shall not fear for the decision of
the question. What kind of music
is to be selected? The Gregorian
chant, that "grave, sweet, majestic,
intellectual music of the Church," will
defy all competition. When half the
labor and expense has been bestowed
upon the true music of the sanctuary
as is now lavished on our florid con-
cert music, then will be said to-day
what Pope Benedict XIV. said so
long ago, " The titillation of figured
music is held very cheaply by men of
religious mind, in comparison with the
sweetness of the church chant."
But the other question, and a very
practical one, yet remains : How shall
we procure and hold proper singers
for such music as is proposed, and for
such a- place as the sacred inclosure
about the altar ? We answer, in the
first place, we have already some men
singers with voices of good compass
and power, who at present sing up-
stairs beside the organ.
" What !" exclaims the friend at
our elbow ; " bring our present choir
down into the sanctuary ? How many
priests, do you think, would do that ?"
We reply to him, that, if the present
choir-singers are fit and proper per-
sons to be associated with the sacred
ministers in the celebration of the di-
vine mysteries, they are just as worthy
at one end of the church as at the
other; and if they are unworthy for
any reason, they ought not to be al-
lowed to take that part, or exercise
that office of dignity in any nook or
comer of our sacred temples. This
capital point, the personal worthiness
as well as the vocal capabilities of
our choir-singers, has, it must be con-
fessed, not been so rigidly insisted on
in general as it might have been. No-
thing appears to our minds more
shockingly incongruous than a mixed
chorus of Catholics, Protestants, and
Jews singing the Credo. We remem-
ber hearing a fine Tantum Ergo simg
as a solo at benediction by a Jewess.
Think of it, a Jewess singing,
*' Et antiquum documentum
Novo cedat ritui " 1
and, in the presence of what she be-
748
Church Music.
lieved to be only a piece of bread,
adding,
" Pnestet fidet Sttn>lemeatum
Sensuum defectui '* I
We like the language of the Bishop
of Langres. In a late pastoral on this
subject, he says,
** The function of which we speak (singer)
is one that deserves respect for its sanctity.
For many centuries it was reserved to cle-
rics ; and when, afterward, laymen were ad-
mitted to assist, it was required that they
should, from their good conduct, be worthy
to represent the congregation of God*s peo-
ple, and take the lead in this part of Uieir
worship; and, above all, it was Required
that they should understand the dignity of
the trust committed to them, and should
neglect no preparation necessary to acquit
themselves respectably. These laymen hold
in the Lord's house the first place after its
consecrated ministers ; and they should not
be allowed to continue in it unless they
showed themselves the zealous auxiliaries
of the priest who takes the lead in the name
of the Church."
If we adhered to the character of
the music desired by the Church, we
should never be obliged to look else-
where than to Catholics — to those
who will sing from the heart as well
as with the lips — ^for worthy auxiliaries
of the priest in this devout and sacred
office.
This leads us to consider the selec-
tion and the training of competent
and worthy singers. We are aware
that the destruction of the Protestant
singing-gallery, the restoration of the
choir, and adoption of the Gregorian
music is not so simple a matter of
choice with the pastors of churches
that it can be effected at once by an
order issued to the organist, and the
provision of cassocks and surplices
for as many men as can be paid to
wear them and sing the music which
befits such clerically-habited chanters.
Such singers as we ought to have for
our holy offices are not to be had to-
morrow, even for money. Nor, even
supposing such worthy persons, pos-
sessing [^oper vocal acquirements,
were to be had by paying for diem,
would they be able to sing our sacred
music in a style that would be even
tolerable. Gregorian chant is not
easy of execution, as some imagine.
It needs not only good vocal culture
to render its musical phrases with pre-
cision, but also no small amotmt of
intellectual and moral trai^g to give
its true expression.
We say, good vocal cultiu^ By
which we must not be understood to
mean that finished vocalization which
distinguishes the professional opera-
singer, or those few amateurs whose
voices of natural sweetness and power
have received first-class cultivati<m.
All Gregorian music is included with-
in an octave and a half, with rare ex-
ceptions. Great compass is therefore
not required. The first requisite is
the ability to modulate the difierent
phrases with distinctness and facility.
There are few men or boys who couki
not be taught in a short time to ac-
quire this primary qualification of the
choir-singer. On this head there is
little or no difficulty. But as every
one who can read English is not able
to give a proper reading of Shake-
speare, so not every one who can sing
the gamut or its intervals is able to
sing the phrases of Gregorian chant
The reader of Shakespeare needs
practice in tone, in inflection, in the
art of speaking with sublimity, with
pathos, with joy, etc Then he most
study the works of the great poet,
must master his style, and with mudi
painstaking and ofr-repeated rehear-
sals learn to imitate the various cha-
racters, their mode of behavior, and
peculiarity of utterance. The holy
melodies of the Church possess aa
admirable variety of rdigious expres-
sion, and share with all hor rites and
ceremonies in that sacred dramatic
form which clothes them with such le*
markable spiritual power and beau-
Church Music.
749
ty. It IS plain, therefore, that the
singer must not only understand what
he is singing, but must make a study
of the different phrases, in order to
discover their true expression.
But besides all this intellectual at-
tention to and appreciation of the
chant, the slightest reflection will
show one that a certain degree of
moral training is equally requisite.
The capital point always to be kept
in mind is that the music of the
Church is her divine prayer. The de-
vout soul, though endowed with a
voice of only medium capacity, will
render these prayerful melodies with
far greater effect than a first-class ar-
tist who sings only firom the lips, while
his heart remains unmoved by the
words and the song. We are all con-
scious of the different effect produced
upon us by the chanting of the />r-
face and the Ihter by different priests.
As a few simple words preached to
us by a priest of an interior and de-
vout life will go deeper into our souls,
and bring forth greater spiritual fruit,
than the most brilliant oratory from
one of less religious mind, so a de-
vout singer will give to his song a
nameless charm, and edify those who
listen to him far more than one who
is his superior in musical attainments,
but inferior to hiin in piety. It is
Father Lallemant, we think, who said,
**An interior man will make more
impression on hearts by a single word
animated by the Spirit of God, than
another by a whole discourse which
has cost him much labor, and in
which he has exhausted all his powers
of reasoning."
Our argument, therefore, for the
restoration of the church music, and
the banishment of concert music,
implies the restoration, as well, of
the church singer, and the close of
our engagement with the concert
artists, or the more wretched substi-
tute of concert amateurs. We are
sure that in every congregation in this
country it would be possible to find
a sufficient number of men and boys,
possessing all the necessary qualifica-
tions, intellectual, moral, and vocal,
for the decent and edifying singing
of the church offices, who might be
prepared after a few weeks' instruction
for the duties of the chorister. We
may be permitted to add, that our
opinion is not mere theory, but based
upon the observation and experience
of many years in the practical duties
of the ministry, during which the di-
rection of the music has generally
fallen to our care. If we are not
able to refer our readers to a practi-
cal illustration of what we assert, it
is simply because we also, as we said
before, have been straitened and ham-
pered by this incubus of Protestant
tradition. Until we can get rid of
this, we can do nothing. Until the
people, at present profoundly ignorant
on this head, learn what constitutes a
Catholic choir and where it ought to
be located in the church, we shall
never be able to get any thing but
concert music. They must learn that
the present order of things prevalent
among us is abnormal, unrecognized
by the ritual, and quite as foreign
to the Catholic standard as would be
the preaching of a priest from the
pulpit in a citizen's dress. We may
be obedient to the strict law of the
Church which forbids female singers
in choir, and find a sufficient number
of men and boys to take their places,
who will scramble into the organ-gal-
lery, and, under cover of the curtains,
talk, laugh, chew tobacco, eat candy,
draw caricatures on the walls and on
the covers of the singing-books, and
sit with crossed legs and chairs tilted
backward even during the elevation
and benediction — all this we will get
as of old ; but, until the gallery comes
down, until the singers are properly
vested, and marched with proper ec*
7SO
Church Music.
clesiastical decorum into the sanctua-
ry, or to such a place as near to it as
the present inconvenient arrangement
of our modern churches will permit,
we shall never get a church choir.
This is our first point: let us have
male singers who will understand firom
the dress and deportment they as-
sume, for the time being, as well as
from the position they occupy in the
church, that their office as a church
singer is a sacred one, of high cha-
racter, and worthy of special respect
as being associated officially with the
priesdy celebrations at the altar. No
sooner shall we have succeeded in
teaching the people this true Catholic
tradjtion,Hhan our youth will at once
look upon the function of choir-sing-
er as an enviable position, and the
eflfort to make themselves worthy to
be thus associated with the clergy in
the divine offices will necessarily do
much toward elevating their moral
tone, and inspiring a devout Catholic
spirit. We shall, very probably, not
obtain all we desire at a first trial.
Many of those whom we may select
will likely disappoint us. This is in
the nature of things. It is not every
one who is selected as a student for
the priesthood that proves to have a
vocation. For ourselves, we appre-
hend litde difficulty if our own pur-
pose be well determined, and we give
to the whole subject of church music
a little serious study and reflection.
As to the source firom which our
churches are to obtain a regular sup-
ply of choristers, we fi-ankly speak
our mind, and say that the Catholic
choir system would appear to involve
necessarily the formation of what is
known in France as the maitrisc^ or
choir-school, in which are admitted
boys of good moral character pos-
sessing sufficient vocal capability, and
of a grade of intelligence to render
it worth while to bestow upon them
a more refined education than they
might obtain in the ordinary school
This special education given in the
choir-school tends not only to im-
prove and elevate the character of
the boys, but fits them as well to at-
tain a better position in life than they
could have hoped for without it But
this is a subject we can afiford to defer
to future consideration.
Supposing that we have come to
the determination to conform oar
church music at once to the true stan-
dard, how shall we procure the neces-
sary choristers ? Let us see what we
need. For large churches, or what
are large churches to us, there should
be at least four trained voices of men
— two tenors and two baritones ; and
not less than twelve boys. The^
equally divided on either side of the
sanctuary, would make a better dou-
ble chorus than might at first be sup-
posed. The boys can be had for the
asking; but the four men will not easi-
ly be obtained without a reasonable
salary. The advertisement for thctn
should, of course, conclude with the
warning, " None but practical Ca-
tholics need apply." We do not pro-
pose to put the cassock and surj^icc
upon persons whose very appearance
in that garb would disedify the peo-
ple.
For this choir we need a compe-
tent teacher. Advertise for him, and
it is not unlikely we shall find sudi
a one, or one who will quickly fit
himself for that office, in one of the
four hired singers. We do not hesi-
tate to say that, even in this great city
of New York, there are at present
very few music teacheos who are fiiUy
competent to teach the proper me-
thod of chanting the Vesper psalms
alone, not to speak of those other im-
portant portions of the divine offices
whose expression is more difficult to
render. But there is no want that is
not quickly met with the supply. If
we want such a teacher, and are will-
Church Music.
751
ing to pay him, then the subject of
the church chant will at once engage
the attention and study of professors
of music whose business it is to teach.
At this moment it is generally under-
stood (and not without reason) by all
organists and directors of choirs that
our Catholic churches need perform-
ers and teachers who can come re-
commended as well versed in " the
masses," as they are called.
As a consequence, these gentlemen
devote all their energies to the study
and practice of such compositions,
and to the science of directing a mix-
cfd chorus. We do the musical pro-
fession the justice of believing its
taste to be quite at variance with the
taste of the public it serves ; and, al-
though we are prepared to see our
choir-director shrug his shoulders and
return us a wondering look when we
propose our reformation to him, still,
when we shall have given him to un-
derstand that we ourselves know what
we want, and are prepared to count
the cost, we feel assured that he will
readily come into our views, and en-
ter upon this new field of musical
culture with more zest than he has
hitherto shown in the conduct of mu-
sic, for the most part, despicable even
in his own eyes. We will engage him
to produce church music in first-class
church style. We will aid him by
causing an organ of sufficient size to
be erected near the choristers in the
vicinity of the sanctuary. Should he
crave for a larger chorus, we will seek
out a number of young men, firom
eighteen to twenty-five years of age,
whom we have in our eye, whose in-
terest will not fail of being excited in
this subject to which we give our pas-
toral solicitude, and whose social and
moral character we feel assured will
be benefited by being associated with
our regular choir as volunteers. If
we might be permitted the use of an
expressive vulgarism, we would say
that our young men, as a class, are
"spoiling" for some church work.
How many would not feel both hon-
ored and gratified by an invitation
to labor with us in renovating and
restoring the grand offices of the
Church to their pristine order and
sublime harmony I We manage to
associate together a few of our young
men in various confraternities and
associations, and drive a few more
into the ranks of the society of St.
Vincent de Paul ; but the greater num-
ber, upon whom depend the future
espit of our church in this coun-
try, and upon whose attachment to
all that concerns the dignity and de-
vout character of our religious ser-
vices hang the fortunes of our faith,
are left unnoticed and imemployed.
We propose this subject of the refor-
mation of chiurch music to them as a
labor of love and true Catholic devo-
tion,worthy of theu* hearty cooperation,
and tending to their own intellectual
refinement and moral elevation. We
are not wholly unacquainted with the
souls of this class of our brethren in
the faith, and will answer for the re-
sponse that will be made to our sen-
timents by any Catholic young man
whose eye may chance to fall on
these lines.
Now as to the matter of proper
church music-books. Speaking as
one who has been made wise through
suffering, we rejoice at the prospect
of seeing all our " Catholic choir-
books," " Morning and Evening ser-
vices," and such trash, bundled up
and sent to the paper-makers. We
are at liberty to state that, while the
present QEcumenical Council may al-
lude only incidentally to the subject
of church music, by confirming the
ancient canons made in regard to it,
the Congregation of Rites is already
preparing an authorized version of
the Roman Gradual and Vesperal, and
that his Holiness will issue a brief in
752
Church Music.
which he will strongly exhort all the
bishops to adopt it. As soon as this
desire of the head of the Church shall
have been brought home to us in the
proper way, those whose hands are
waiting direction will lose no time in
preparing an edition of this work in
musical notation, and harmonized for
the use of organists, an imperative
need for the great majority of our
players and singers, to whom the
learning of the plain chant scale and
clefe would be a labor equal to that
of acquiring the knowledge of a fo-
reign language. Our choir-boys, and
the generation of choristers who shall
succeed them, can be taught the plain
chant notation from the first, and will
find it much simpler, and more ex-
pressive in typography, than the mo-
dem musical scale, with its varied
keys in flats and sharps.
A word as to the comparative cost
of the authorized church music and
the concert music which now repla-
ces it. It will be seen that we have
advised the engagement of four pro-
fessional singers, and the services of a
special teacher both for them and the
chorus of boys. This teacher, in
most cases, would be one of the four
salaried choristers or the organist.
It will be seen at once, by those in-
terested, that even in the beginning
we shall not be put to any greater
expense than we are already at for
our music. In the matter of music-
books there will be an immense sav-
ing for those churches which possess
a large chorus. We ourselves own a
musical library which has cost us se-
veral thousands of dollars ; and to tell
the honest truth, not one half of it is
of the least practical use even with
the present liberty we enjoy (?) of
singing what we please. A set of
Gradual^ and Vesperals, with a suitably
harmonized version for the use of the
organist, will suffice under our new
and better rigiwu.
We cannot dose this portion of oar
remarks without calling attention to
the great boon which this wholesome
musical reform will prove to country
churches. In our large dties, we
have been able to perform in our
churches music which is a tolerable
imitation of the same style of harmo-
ny as given at the opera and on the
boards of the concert-hall to paying
audiences. As a rule, we have not
charged any price of admission to
our ecclesiastical concert offices, and
our second-rate performances have
therefore been justly treated with
great leniency by the critics. But
as you leave the city and enter
churches in our small towns and coon-
try villages, you hear an imitation of
the city fashion which is no longer
tolerable. One must have advanced
far into the spiritual ways of devout
contemplation to endure the hwrible
cacophony without suffering indescri-
bable tortures of soul. Then again,J
there are numberless village chuithes
where never a sound of music, pro-
fane or religious, is heard. Yet, if
these muse-abandoned people weft
disabused of their ignorant belief that
our popular florid music is the only
music possible or fit for the Calhobc
Church, and learned that, even if too
I>oor to purchase an organ, they couM
have with a little study and practice
all the music for the divine offices
executed in a devout and decent style,
it would not be long until the inva-
riable low Mass on all Sundays and
festivals, and the recitation of the Ro-
sary in lieu of Vespers, would be a
rare exception, instead of being, as it
is now, not far from the rule. As an
example, we confess extraordinary, of
the gross ignorance of our country
people concerning church music, we
remember being told by a Catholic
woman who had never been out of
her own litde village, that one reasoQ
why she was certain of the fialsehood
Church Music.
753
of the Protestant rdigion was because
they had music and singing in their
churches I
We do not expect to see our sug-
gestions or opinions accepted without
question or criticism. We are fully
aware that we have been arguing in
the face of inexperience and deep-
seated prejudice. We console our-
selves, however, with the thought that
what we have decried as abnormal,
irregular, and inadequate for the mu-
sic of the Church, is in itself so incon-
sistent, incomplete, and disordered,
that it does not deserve even the
name of a system. Based upon a
false principle, the amusement of an
audience, it will ever fail of recogni-
tion or encouragement at the hands
of the holy Church, whose sole object
proposed in all her divine functions is
prayer. The faithful come to church
to pray. A church ought by its very
form and interior dispositions sur-
round the worshippers with an atmo-
^here of prayer. It ought to feel like
a holy place; and nothing about it
^ould smack of the theatre, or the
halls of assembly for secular purposes.
All that is presented to the gaze of
the faithful in these sanctuaries of
God, whether it be the ceremonies
associated with the Holy Sacrifice and
other offices, cm: the statues, pictures,
and decorations which meet the eye,
ought to be of such a character as
to excite the spirit of prayer. All this
we understand full well. Why, then,
are we so dull of hearing that we can-
not also distinguish the accents of
prayer from the sounds which speak
of war, of love, of the dance, of jocu-
larity, and, for those who have ears to
hear, of the grossest sensuality ? Let
us disabuse ourselves of the notion
that our people wish to hear what
is popularly styled "fine music" in
churdi. It is a very great mistake.
They not only fi^uent the church
services in the special intention to
VOL. X. — ^48
pass the time there in prayer, but also
heartily desire to have their weary,
world-tossed souls helped by deco-
rously performed ceremonies, by good,
earnest preaching, and by devout,
prayerful music, in awakening in their
hearts true religious emotion and
thoughts of heavenly things.
This is our sole plea for reform in
our music, it being, without doubt,
also the " mind " of the Church. She
is in no sense opposed to secular mu-
sic, any more than she is to secular
painting, sculpture, and architecture,
unless they be debased and made to
minister to base passions. She who
sanctifies all that is true and noble in
human nature is far from discom^g-
ing or condemning the legitimate ex-
pression of those arts which can exert
so much power in the instruction, ele-
vation, and refinement of the intellect
and heart. But none so wise as she
to detect their weakness, and warn
society against the moral evils which
result from their prostitution to the
service of the devil. One of the de-
structive faults justly charged against
modem art, and notably of music, is
its misapplication. A want of har-
mony in the relation of an art to the
nature and object of the thing to be
expressed or illustrated by it, is the
signal for its own enervation and the
corruption of what it should purify
and strengthen ; which is the teaching
aHke of philosophy and experience.
" A tale out of time," says the wise
man, "is like music in mourning;"
and the converse of the proverb is
equally true —
*' The sweetest strains of music
Do but jar upon the soul, and set
The Tery teeth on edge, if bat the heart
Hath not a mind to hear it*'
Whence our conclusion. In the
house of God, whose " house shall be
called the house of prayer," no other
song must be hpard but the song of
prayer, that melody consecrated to all
754
Tke Iron Mask.
that we have that is highest and holi- into the regions of the heavenly, and
est, which lifts the soul above the fri- before the throne of the majcstj of
volities and sensualities of this world the Eternal,
and of time, and transports it in spirit
THE IRON MASK,
This subject, so inexhaustible, so
interestmg on account of the \m-
fathomable mystery that surrounds
it, has again been brought to our
notice by some recent discoveries.
Whether they amount to any thing
or not, remains to be seen ; but they
are at least singular, and may stimu-
late the curiosity of the erudite, and
even that of simple amateurs.
A young writer, M. Maurice To-
pin, so says a contemporary French
paper, who has obtained a prize of
six hundred dollars from the French
Academy for his beautiful book, enti-
tled, L Europe et Us Bourbons sous
Louis XIV.j has been diving into old
papers among the public archives, and
says he has at last found out the true
name of the unfortimate prisoner of
the Iron Mask.
Following the advice of his uncle,
M. Mignet, he has addressed a letter
to the President of the Academy of
Moral and Political Science, in which
he incloses his secret — sealed, how-
ever — and says it must not be unseal-
ed without his order.
So some day soon, perhaps, we
shall solve the enigma that has per-
plexed the world for over two centu-
ries.
A monk has lately died, too, some-
where in a French monastery, leaving
psq>ers testifying that he was the true
Iron Mask. Some say he was derang-
ed. Poiis^ so; and peiiiaps we
would rather such might have been
the case. A real Aww Jide, two-hun-
dred-year-dd mystery must not suc-
cumb to this practical age of would-
be common sense. We could nercr
find such another, so we must content
ourselves with reviving old fkts and
eliciting further researches.
He who was caUed, imder the reign
of Louis XIV., TkeManwUhthelm
Maskj was not permitted to wear so
pretty a covering as that which pre-
served the complexion of the Empress
Popple ; and the painters who hive
represented him with a sort of lower-
ed visor, a rampart of iron on his face*
have made a great mistake.
The unknown prisoner, to whom
nobody approached, and nobody
spoke, wore a mask of velvet
The question is not decided upon
what he wore on his way from the
Isle Ste. Marguerite to the Bastflk.
Some say his chin was inclosed in »
net-work of steel, to permit him to
eat, while the uppar part of his fece
was concealed in the mask of iron.
But tliis is a mystery, and his eariy
training no less sa
He had been incarcerated a 1«^
time at Pignerd, the chiteau of which
had served for a prison of state, and
since 1632 had belonged to France.
The inhabitants still show a large dis-
mantled tower that overlooks the
town, and give the tradition coDcein-
The Iron Mask.
755
ing the Iron Made and Fouquet, who
were here confined
They showed the chamber in 1818
that these poor victims inhabited.
After the taking of the Bastille,
indications of the Iron Mask were
sought for among the registers of this
place of detention; but the largest
book of records was sadly torn, and
the folio numbered one himdred and
twenty, coinciding with the year 1698,
the epoch of the incarceration of die
prisoner, had been taken away.
I^ter, a leaf was discovered among
the papers of a former governor, and
here it is, as historians have given it
to us:
Names aad qualities of prisoners.
•Former prisoner of Pignerol,
'obliged to wear a velvet mask;
Jits name or quality never known.
Date of their en-
trsnce;
Book. Page.
Motire of their
detention.
1 8th of Septem-lDu Junca, vol. 37.
ber, 1698, at ^
o'clock in the af-
ternoon.
Never known.
The date of the entrance of the Iron
Mask into the Bastille is preserved at
present in the library of the arsenal ;
and we read :
«* Thursday, the i8th of September, 1698,
at three o'clock in the afternoon, Monsieur
de SL Mars, governor of the Bastille, arriv-
ed for the first time from the Isles of Ste.
Marguerite and Honorat, bringing with him,
in his own litter, an old prisoner he had
gnaided at Pignerol. His name was not
given ; he wore a velvet mask ; and was first
placed in the tower of the Bayim^re to await
the night, when I was to conduct him my-
self, at nine P.M., into the tower of the Ber-
tandi^re, to the third-story room which, by
order of M. St. Mars, I haul completely fur-
nished for his reception. In conducting
him to the said room, I was accompanied
by M. Rosarges, who was to serve and
guard the prisoner at the government ex-
pense."
Here let me state that Du Junca
was not a surname given to the pri-
soner, but the name of the lieutenant
of the king at the Bastille. The pri-
soner was called Marchiali.
The young historian who pretends
to have discovered the true name of
the Iron Mask has, without doubt, stu-
died all the evidences up to the time
of Voltaire, who also knew more than
he was willing to impart.
He knew the story of the silver plate
connected with the Isle Ste. Mar-
guerite, whose governor was charged
by Louis XIV. in person not to per-
mit the prisoner to communicate with
any one.
St. Mars waited on him himself,
and took the dishes from the cooks at
the door of the apartment, so that no
one ever saw the face of the captive.
One day the Iron Mask threw a
silver plate out of the window into the
water-course beneath. A fisherman
picked it up and brought it back to
the governor.
" Have you read what is written
on the bottom of this silver plate ?"
asked the governor.
" No, sir," replied the fisherman ;
" I cannot read."
This reply saved the poor man,
who doubtiess would have paid with
his liberty, and even his life, for the
possession of the terrible secret, if he
had been sufficientiy educated to have
discovered it
Another historian, the Abb^ Papon,
does not believe that the governor
said to the fisherman, " Go ; you are
happy in not being able to read!"
He states that, instead of a silver
plate, the mysterious prisoner used a
white shirt, covered from one end to
the other with the written history of
his life.
7S6
The Iron Mask.
" I had," said he, " the curiosity to
enter the chamber of the unfortunate
man. It was lighted only by a win-
dow to the north, inclosed in a thick
wall and cased by three gratings of
iron placed at equal distances. This
window overlooked the sea. I found
in the citadel an officer of the French
company, about sixty-nine years old.
He told me that his father had often
told him in secret that a watchman
one day perceived under the window
of the prisoner something white float-
ing on the water. ... It was a
very fine shirt, plaited with negligence,
and upon which the prisoner had
written from one end to the other.
" The watchman took means to re-
cover it, and carried it to M. de St.
Mars, the governor of the Isle Ste.
Marguerite.
" He protested that he had read no-
thing ; but two days afterward he was
found dead in his bed."
It is said that the Regent of Orieans
left the secret of the name of the Iron
Mask with his daughter. We give
what he related to her, this authority
being a pretended governor of the in-
teresting captive. His account may
be found in the archives of the Eng-
lish govenmient :
"The unfortunate prince that I raised
and guarded/' said he, "until the end of
my days, was bom the 6th of September,
1638, at eight o'clock in the evening, during
the supper of the king, Louis XIII. H!s
brother, now reigning, Louis XIV., had
been bom in the morning at twelve o'clock,
during the dinner hour of his father ; but as
the birth of the first child was splendid and
brilliant, that of his brother was most sad
and caremlly concealed ; for the king, advis-
ed by the midwife that the queen would
bring forth a second child, caused to remain
in her chamber the chancellor of France,
the midwife, the first almoner, the confessor
of the queen, and myself, to be witnesses
of what might happen, and of what he would
do, if this child should be bora alive."
Actors have for many years stu-
died carefully the costume of The Mm
with the Iron Mask and he who play-
ed in the drama by this name, M.
Lockroy, is still alive. He peisoiuit-
ed the prisoner, and was clothed in
black velvet, with black stockings and
buckled shoes. He wore the double
mask of velvet with steel springs over
his lips.
In this piece, that all Paris went to
see, Chilly represented Louis XIIL;
Delaistre^ M. de St Mars; and Ligier,
who was afterward the Duke of Glou-
cester and the Louis XI. of Casimir
Delavigne, took the part of the pro-
tector of the unfortunate recluse.
Again, under another name — Vu
Prisoner of the Bastille — the same sto-
ry has been dramatized, and fresh in-
terest added by an imaginary conver-
sation between the captive and Lous
XIV.
It is easily seen that the most gene-
ral opinion of the Iron Mask consider-
ed him the twin-brother of Louis
XIV., kept out of the way for fear of
futiu'e trouble and collision in the
government of France.
Some authors affirm, too, that he
must have been deformed, his £u:e
distorted, or with some physical in-
firmity that it was necessary to con-
ceal.
Others have thought that die bro-
ther of Louis XIV., being bom the
last, was the elder by right, if the
opinion of physicians and legislators
is to be consulted ; and that the ten-
derness inspired by the first bom of
the two brothers occasioned the act
of ostracism, which history has sou^t
in vain for a htmdred years to dud-
date.
In 1837, there appeared a remarka-
ble dissertation on the Iron Mask, by
M. Paul Lacroix. He says that he
who bore the name of Marchiali dur-
ing his lifetime was not the twin-bro-
On a Picture of Nazareth.
7S7
ther of Louis XIV., and not even a
son bom clandestinely of the queen,
but the superintendent, Fouquet him-
self.
But the Iron Mask has in turn been
believed to be Fouquet, Marchiali,
Arwediks, and other people who dis-
appeared about that time.
He, however, who was called Mar-
chiali, and who entered the Bastille
the 1 8th of September, 1698, died
there suddenly the <9th of November,
1703-
Very singular precautions were ta-
ken after his decease.
The body and face were mutilated,
and every thing composing his fumi-
tm-e was burned ; even the doors and
windows of his bedroom. The silver
he used was melted. The walls of
his apartment were scraped and re-
whitened.
He was buried the 20th of Novem-
ber, 1703, in the Church of St. Paul,
imder the name of Marchiali.
Time has not given the answer to
this lugubrious enigma, and we fear M.
Maurice Topin has £uled to solve it
But let us give him his meed of
praise for having consecrated his nights
to seeking for documents, comparing
dates, and confronting the evidence
of the most celebrated writers on the
subject
Honor to the teive historian whom
the night of time does not intimidate,
and who is willing to grope among
the shades of the past for what is hid-
den, and above all a secret of the
state!
Among all the victims of the old
rigimes, The Man with the Iron Mask
was the most interesting.
This popular story was in every
mouth the day of the taking of the
Bastille.
If he had lived until 1789, would
it have been a pretender to the crown,
or simply a suspected prisoner, that
the people would have delivered ?
We wait for M. Topin to answer.
ON A PICTURE OF NAZARETH.
In dreams no longer, but revealed to sight,
Comes o'er us, like a vision after death.
That shrine of tenderest worship — that delight
Of loftiest contemplation — Nazareth.
Fair-throned as when creation's King and Queen
Abode within its walls, it looks around
As scorning time and change ; though these have been
The ruthless masters of its hallowed ground.
Still smiling as of old, it catches still
As fresh a morning ; basks in such a noon ;
Hears evening's voice as sweetly softly thrill ;
In glory sleeps beneath a gushing moon.
758
The Greek Schism,
StiH looms the Mountain of Precipitation
In sadness o'er a vale serene and bright,
As when the Saviour foiled his frenzied nation,
Who fain had cast him headlong from the height
And see upon the slope the very gate
Where — spot to kiss ! — a lowly footstep fell,
As daily passed the Maid Immaculate
To fill her pitcher yonder at the welL
That well I where mirrored shone the lovdiest face
That ever woman wore ! Tis there — the same I
Though hating Christ and Juda's banished race,
The Moslems honor there the Virgin's name.
Give thanks, my soul ! give thanks that diou hast seen.
Make Nazareth all a well of grace; and pray
To keep its taste within thee — ^which has been
The strength of saints. Drink deep, and go thy way.
B.D. H.
THE GREEK SCHISM.
The Eastern Church has for the Ca-
tholic an attraction which centuries
of separation have not been able to
overcome. We look on its glories as
our own, and we deplore its misfor-
tunes as of our own household. We
have a common faith, the same sa-
craments, the same sacrifice, essen-
tially the same devotional practices.
Between us stands the barrier of a
schism which has lasted for centuries.
It is of this schism, its origin, its his-
tory, that we propose to treat in this
article.
To understand clearly the causes
that precipitated so large and flou-
rishing a portion of the church into a
deadly schism, it is necessary to con-
sider the relations of the bishops
of Constantinople to Rome and the
other great patriarchal sees, from the
time when Constantine the Great plac-
ed the capital of his empire on the
shores of the Bosphorus. The Bi-
shop of Byzantium was then a suf-
fragan of the Metropolitan of Hera-
clea. But when, with the presence of
the emperor, the splendor and the
reality of the capital had been trans-
ferred to the new Rome, the bishops
of Byzantium became very important
personages. They were, in fact, the
ordinary medium of communicatioQ
between the emperor and the other
prelates of the Eastern Church. Not
content with the great influence na-
turally arising from their vicinity to
the court, they desired a style and
tide suitable, as they thought, to the
dignity of the city of their residence.
The second general council (a.d. 381)
gratified their wishes by a canon
which decreed that the bishops of
Constantinople, because it was the ntm
Rome^ should have precedence over
all other prelates, after the Bishop of
The Greek Schism.
759
Rome. But this council has been
held to be general only in its dogma-
tic definitions, since, as St Gregory the
Great* says, "The Roman Church
neither has received nor accepted of
its decrees or acts, with the exception
of its definitions against Macedonius.''
In point of fact, it was a local synod,
neither convoked nor presided over
by the holy see, and has been called
oecumenical only on account of the
subsequent approbation of its dog-
matic decrees by the same supreme
authority. Its canon about the dig-
nity of the Bishop of Constantinople
thus fell to the ground. Pope Boni-
face I. (a.d. 418-422) insisted on the
observance of the order of dignity
between the great sees established
by the Council of Nice, according to
which Alexandria held the second,
and Antioch the third place. The
same rule was adopted by Xystus III.
and other pontiffe. However, the
powerful prelates of the imperial city
did not relinquish their ambitious
views. The general council of Chal-
cedon (a.d. 451) passed two canons,
by which it permitted any cleric who
felt himself aggrieved to appeal to
the see of " the imperial city, Con-
stantinople ;" and besides, enacted the
celebrated twenty-eighth canon in
which the unfortunate principle that
afterward led to schism was more
openly avowed. Having cited the ca-
non of the first council of Constan-
tinople, it reaffirms it. " Since the fa-
thers have jusdy granted privileges
to the see of ancient Rome, because
it was the imperial city, for the same
reason the fiithers of the second ge-
neral council granted equal privileges
to the episcopal throne of new Rome,
righdy judging that the city which is
honored by the imperial presence and
the senate, and enjoys equal privileges
with old Rome, should in ecclesi-
astical matters also be equally distin-
* Epist 34, lib. 7.
guished, retaining^ however, the se-
cond place;" and then confers ec-
clesiastical jurisdiction on the Bishop
of Constantinople over the dioceses
in Pontus, Asia Minor, and Thrace,
and those that might afterward be
" erected among the barbarians." The
fathers, however, petitioned St. Leo
the Great for the api»oval of this re-
gulation, alleging the good of religion
as their motive. But that great pon-
tiff promptly " annulled their action
by the authority of St Peter," as con-
trary to the canon of Nice, remark-
ing at the same time that ecclesiasti-
cal questions were not regulated on
the same plan as secular affairs, and
that the Bishop of Constantinople
ought to be satisfied with the impe-
rial privileges of hb city, without dis-
turbing church discipline, and mvad-
ing the long-acknowledged rights of
others. The obnoxious canon is not
to be found in the most ancient and
best collections, though, in practice,
the bishops of Constantmople always
availed themselves of the privileges
it attempted to grant them.
This uncanonical usurpation gave
rise to a serious controversy toward
the end of the century. Acacius,
Bishop of Constantinople, relying on
the twenty-eighth canon of Chalce-
don, interfered in the election and
consecration of the patriarchs of Al-
exandria and Antioch. He was also
accused and convicted of favoring the
Eutychian heretics. For these causes
he was condemned and deposed
by Pope Felix III. (a.d. 484.) The
oriental bishops continued, however,
to retain his name in the commemo-
ration at mass, (sacris diptychis^ and
the popes, on this account, refused tu
commimicate with them, until the
pontificate of Hormisdas, when they
submitted to the holy see, erased the
obnoxious name from the sacred re-
cords, and subscribed a fcnmula of
iaith, in which they professed their
76o
The Greek Schism.
agreemait with the synods of Ephesus
and Chalcedon, condemned Acacius
*and others by name, acknowledged
all the dogmatic epistles of St Leo,
and declared that in the apostolic see
is to be found '' the true and entire
fulness of the Christian religion," and
that those " who did not agree with
the apostolic see were separated
from the communion of the Catholic
Church."
After this happy termination, with
one exception, no serious difficulty
on disciplinary questions occurred be-
tween the two sees until the time of
Photius. Heresies, indeed, arose in
the Eastern Church; but both parties
appealed to Rome, and the Catholic
prelates and people always accepted
her judgment as final The exception
to which we allude occurred under
the pontificate of Pelagius II. and St
Gregory the Great, and affords a strik-
ing instance of the different spirit that
animated old and new Rome. In the
year of our Lord 583, John, sumamed
77i€ Faster^ was called to the see of
Constantinople. Gregory, patriarch
of Antioch, being accused of grave
crimes, the Bishop of Constantinople
convoked a synod of the whole east,
and in his letters of convocation as-
sumed the title of oecumenical^ or uni-
versal, patriarch. Pope Pelagius II.
promptly condemned both the usur-
pation of jurisdiction over the see of
Antioch and the newly-assumed ti-
tle, especially as John pretended to
convoke a general council, thus trench-
ing upon the rights of the q>ostolic
see. The controversy continued un-
der St Gregory the Great, who ex-
horted the bishops of Alexandria and
Antioch to resist this invasion of the
rightfiil dignity of their sees. He re-
fiised for himself the high-sounding
tide, though it had been given to his
predecessors by the great council of
Chalcedon, choosing the humbler de-
signation of servant of the servants
of God^ which has ever since been
used by the Roman pontiff in thdr
official documents. Cyriacus, the im-
mediate successor of The Faster, con-
tinued to claim the obnoxious titk,
until he was prohibited to do so by
the Emperor Phocas. But, as all
Phocas's decrees were annulled Inr
Heraclius, the bishops of Constanti-
nople resumed the of^nsive usage. It
is to be remarked, howevor, that they
always gave an explanation of the
tide, which showed that they did not
intend to infringe on the primatial
rights of the Roman see. They dis-
claimed any really universal jurisdic-
tion, claiming, at most, authority over
the whole east Insufficient as such
an explanation was justly held to be
by the popes, it shows that even the
ambitious prelates of Constantinople,
greedy as they were of high titles
and extended jurisdiction, never, in
the early ages, dared to place them-
selves on an equality with the bishops
of old Rome, the successors of St
Peter in the government of the uni-
versal church.
From these facts, it is also evident
that the real cause of dissensions be-
tween Rome and Constantinople was
not, as alleged by Protestant histo-
rians, following the lead of Moshom,
the ambition of the pontic of Rome,
who were striving for mastoy over
the whole church, while the bishc^
of Constantinople were contexnling
for the rightful independence of the
eastern portion thereof. The supre-
macy of the Roman see was recog-
nized by every gena:al council before
the election of Photius, and all of
them were held in the east, compos-
ed of eastern bishops, and guided by
eastern ideas and influence. The
very canons which attempted to give
high dignity to Constantinople, ac-
knowledged the primacy of Rome,
and asked only the second place for
the capital of the eastern empire
The Greek Schism.
761
wh3e that of Chalcedon was formally
submitted to St Leo, and his appro-
bation asked for it: When the most
illustrious prelate that ever govern-
ed New Rome, St John Chrysostom,
was unjustly treated, he appealed as
a matter of right to Pope Innocent I.,
and his appeal was sustained. When
heresy arose in the east, the orthodox
bishops of Constantinople always sub-
mitted to the judgment of the holy
see, and sat in councils over which
its legates presided. The history of
the Nestorian, Eutychian, Monothe-
lite, and Iconoclast heresies affords
the most indubitable proofs that the
Eastern Church, including that of Con-
stantinople, always admitted the su-
preme teaching and governing au-
thority of the see of St. Peter.
At the same time, it is plain that a
spirit was growing up which a bold,
ambitious man might easily use to
divide the unity of the church. The
second general council affirmed a fa-
tal principle when it wished to give
Constantinople the second place
among the great sees, because it was
the new Rome. This principle was
more fully and offensively developed
in the twenty-eighth canon of Chal-
cedon. It appeared to imply that
the secular dignity of Rome was the
cause of its ecclesiastical primacy,
which should, consequently, follow
thei mperial court. Not, indeed, that
the fathers of either council would
have admitted ^ch a consequence.
They recognized the divinely estab-
lished primacy of the Roman see;
but they wished to gratify the empe-
ror of the day, and to second the de-
sires of the powerful prelates of the
imperial city, to whom many of them
were doubUess indebted for substan-
tial favors. But, unwittingly, they
planted the germ of schism, which at
the appointed time produced its terri-
ble fhiit. This is the reason why the
pontifi^ always opposed the uncano-
nical pretensions of the prelates of
Constantinople; they defended not
their own, for they were not attacked,
but the rights of the sees of Alex-
andria and Antioch, and jealously
gtiarded against encroachments, which
. they saw too well were only the fore-
runners of greater and more fatal
usurpations. The result, deplorable
as it has been, only confirms the ac-
curacy of their foresight, and justifies
their honest, fearless, incorruptible re-
sistance.
The responsibility of the fatal step
to formal schism rests upon the cele-
brated Photius. In the year 857, St
Ignatius had been Patriarch of Con-
stantinople for a litde more than a
decade. Of austere virtue and firm
character, he detested vice, and fear-
ed not to denounce it even in high
places. The then reigning emperor,
Michael III., is compared by Gibbon
to Nero and Heliogabalus. " Like
Nero, he delighted in the amusements
of the theatre, and sighed to be sur-
passed in the accomplishments in
which he should have blushed to ex-
cel. • • • The most skilful chario-
teers obtained the first place in his
confidence and esteem; their merit
was profusely rewarded ; the emperor
feasted in their houses, and presented
their children at the baptismal font ;
and, while he applauded his own
popularity, he affected to blame the
cold and stately reserve of his prede-
cessors." After saying that he was
intemperate, licentious, and sanguina-
ry, the historian adds: '< But the most
extraordinary feature in the character
of Michael is the profane mockery
of the religion of his country. • • .
A buffoon of the court was invested
in the robes of the patriarch; his
twelve metropolitans, among whom
the emperor was ranked, assumed
their ecdesiastical garments; they used
or abused the sacred vessels of the
altar; and, in their bacchanalian feasts,
762
The Greek Schism.
the holy communion was administer-
ed in a nauseous compound of vine-
gar and mustard. Nor were these
impious spectacles concealed from the
city. On the day of a solemn festi-
val, the emperor, with his bishops or
buffoons, rode on asses through the*
streets, encountered the true patriarch
at the head of his clergy, and, by their
licentious shouts and obscene gestures,
disordered the gravity of the Chris-
tian procession." While this promis-
ing youth was thus enjoying himself
with sumptuous banquets, fast horses,
and degrading shows, his uncle, the
Caesar Bardas, was the real emperor.
He, too, though a man of talents and
application to business, was of deprav-
ed morals, and was at length excom-
municated by St. Ignatius, because he
had dismissed his wife, and attempt-
ed to marry his own daughter-in-law.
From that moment die licentious Qe-
sar determined on the ruin of the pa-
triarch. Toward the end of the year
857, the holy man was sent into exile
and imprisoned in a monastery, where
he positively refused to resign his
episcopal dignity. A synod of bi-
shops was held, who, through either
fear or favor, deposed Ignatius, and
elected Photius in his stead.*
If unhallowed ambition had not in-
duced Photius to usurp high ecclesi-
astical dignity, his abilities, industry,
learning, and hitherto blameless life
might have obtained for him one of
the most honorable places in the his-
tory of the Byzantine empire. But
from the day when, disregarding all
idea of right and of canonical restric-
tions, he forced himself into the sanc-
tuary, his whole career was one of
chicanery, fraud, ii^ustice, and finally
open schism. Even had the see of
Constantinople been vacant, hb elec-
tion was null, because he was a lay-
man, and it was stricdy prohibited by
the canons to elect laymen to the
* Dcdiiic and FaB, du xlviiL
q)iscopal dignity. He himself reen-
acted these very canons, thereby prac-
tically condemning his own election.
He held a high position in the impe-
rial court, was captain of the guajds,
and principal seoetaiy of the emper-
or, and his energy and acknowledged
abilities might have obtained for him
still higher honors. But he was dai-
zled by the splendor of the patriarchal
throne, and ascended it by an irregular
ordination. Within six days he re-
ceived all the orders of the church,
being consecrated bishop on Christ-
mas day, A.D. 85 7. This hasty confer-
ring of sacred oiders was also against
the canons. His consecrator was
Gregory, Bishop of Syracuse, who had
been tned by St Ignatius, found guil-
ty of various grave crimes, and regular-
ly deposed in a legitimate synod. It
would be difficult to find an episcc^ial
election and ordination marred by
greater or more numerous irregulari-
ties.
Almost the first act of Photius was
to recognize the primacy of the holy
see. He sent legates to Pope Nicho-
las I., who were charged to inform
the ponti£f that Ignadus, worn out by
age and disease, had voluntarily re-
nounced the episcopal dignity, and
retired to a monastery ; and that Pho-
tius had been elected by all the me-
tropolitans and the entire clergy, and
forced by the emperor to accept the
dignity; he also sent an orthodox
profession of faith, hoping thus to de-
ceive the pontiff. The emperor, too,
sent his representative with a letter
requesting the pope to send legates
to Constantinople to restore disci-
pline, and finally root out the Icono-
clasts. But St. Nicholas was too
clear-sighted to be caught by the
wiles of the crafly Greek. He did,
indeed, send legates; but charged
them merely to exfunine into the case
of Ignatius, report fully thereon to the
apostolic see, and meanwhile to admit
The Greek Schism,
763
Photius to only lay communion. His
objections to the proceedings at Con-
stantinople were, first, that the depo-
sition of St. Ignatius was one of the
greater causes, which could not be
determined unless by the supreme
judgment of the holy see; and, se-
condly, that, at all events, the elec-
tion of Photius, he having been at the
time a mere layman, was uncanoni-
cal, and his consecration irregular.
On both points he was fully sustain-
ed by ancient canons admitted in
the eastern as well as in, the western
church. But lie did not give a final
judgment ; he merely ordered his le-
gates to make thorough inquiry into
the facts, and report thereon to him-
self.
They, however, proved unfaithful to
their high trust. As soon as they
arrived at their destination, they were
kept in honorable imprisonment for
the space of one hundred days, dur-
ing which they were allowed to see
no one but the friends of Photius.
Influenced partly by threats, partly
by gifts, they at last consented to
favor the cause of the usurper. He
then called together a synod, (a.d.
861,) at which the legates presided.
Photius read what he called the let-
ters of the pope, but which were really
documents mutilated and interpolat-
ed by his crafty hand. St. Ignatius
was then brought before the synod,
clad in the garb of a monk. He re-
fused to be judged by men all in the
interest of Photius, declared that he
appealed to the pope, and quoted in
his favor the fourth canon of the
Council of Sardica, which especially
recognizes the right of such appeal,
and the precedent of St. John Chry-
sostom. But appeals to justice and
law are lost on a packed synod as
well as on a packed jury. False wit-
nesses were introduced, who swore
that he had not been legitimately
elected, but owed his elevation to in-
trusion by the secular power ; and on
this charge, true enough as against
Photius, he- was deposed. One pre-
late spoke in his behalf, Theodulus
of Anc)rra, who was immediately
wounded by a ruffian, and thus ena-
bled with his blood to give testimo-
ny to the right. The ceremony of
degradation then ensued ; the venera-
ble patriarch was clothed with the in-
signia of his order and dignity, and
one by one these were taken off him
by a deposed subdeacon who, at each
act, exclaimed aloud, Indignus^ (un-
worthy,) a word reechoed by all pre-
sent, even the legates of the apostolic
see. He was then thrown into the
sepulchral vault of Constantine Co-
pronymus, tormented tl\ere in a most
terrible manner, nearly starved to
death, till, after two weeks, when he
was more dead than alive, a minion
of Photius, seizing his hand, forced
him to scratch a cross on a sheet of
paper. Over this cross the usurper
i/iTote a formal acknowledgment of
the justice of the sentence of the sy-
nod, and sent it to the emperor as
the voluntary act of his victim. One
result of this fraud was the liberation
of the holy man, leave having been
accorded to him to retire to his mo-
ther's property; but as he had reason
to fear more violence, he left Con-
stantinople in disguise, and took re
fuge in the islands of the Propontis,
where he succeeded in baffling the
pursuit of his heartless and unscrupu-
lous enemies.
Meanwhile, he sent a trustworthy
messenger to Rome to inform the
supreme pontiff of the terrible injus-
tice and indignities to which he had
been subjected in the presence and
widi the approval of the legates of
the holy see. These worthies return-
ed, and informed the pope that Ig-
natius had been canonically depos-
ed and Photius canonically installed.
Photius also wrote a letter remarka-
764
The Greek Schism.
ble both for craftiness and elegance.
It contained neithei an offence against
good style nor a word of truth. He
regretted his elevation, deplored the
burden imposed on his weak shoul-
ders, expressed his desire to conform
to the Roman discipline, and to go-
x-em with ecclesiastical firmness, and
blended not unskilfully the arts of
flattery and sophistry. But Nicho-
las was not to be deceived. He ex-
amined the acts of the false synod,
found the fraud that had been com-
mitted, and, calling a council at Rome,
restored Ignatius, deposed Photius,
and one of the traitor legates, who
publicly acknowledged his crime. As
the othtf was absent, his case was
put off until he could be heard in his
defence. The pontiff wrote also to
the emperor and Photius, announcing
his action in the premises, addressing
the latter merely as a layman. In a
later synod, (a.d. 863,) having heard
irom the representative of St. Ignatius
a full and well-authenticated account
of all the iniquity of Photius, the
pope deposed him firom every grade
of the sacred ministry, and interdict-
ed him, under anathema, from which
he was not to be absolved unless at
the moment of death, firom ever exer-
cising any act of the same, or fix)m in
any way disturbing the legitimate pa-
triarch, Ignatius. He also deposed
all those who had been promoted by
the usurper, as well as the second le-
gate, who, by not appearing when
cited, had added to his other crimes
that of contumacy. «
On hearing this news, Photius pro-
ceeded to the dire act of formal schism.
He called a council, and formally ex-
communicated Pope Nicholas. Only
one-and-twenty bishops followed him
in his impious course. The rest
cried out, *' It is not just to pronounce
sentence against the supreme and
first pontiff, e^)edally when it is an
inferior who pronounces it" To sup*
port his action, he published a drca-
lar letter to the patriarchs and bishops
of the East, in which he accused the
Roman see and the Western Church
of the following crimes : i. that they
abstained fi-om flesh on Saturday ; 2.
that, during the first week of Lent,
they used milk and cheese; 3. that
the clergy in sacred orders observed
celibacy; 4. that they reserved the
right of conferring confirmation to bi-
shops ; 5. that, by a change in the
symbol, they pretended that the Holy
Ghost proceeded firom the Son as
well as fi-om the Father. No sensi-
ble reader but will smile at the 6rst
four charges ; in relation to the fifUi,
we shall only observe here that, as
first made by Photius, it did not allege
a mere breach of discipline, it involv-
ed the crime of heresy. As thus prof-
fered it cannot be, as it is not, now-
sustained by any orthodox Christian.
But the vices of the Emperor Mi-
chael brought upon him that punish-
ment which has so often visited licen-
tious sovereigns. A conspiracy was
formed against him, and he was as-
sassinated in his own palace, ( a.d. S67.)
The chief of the conspirators, Basil
the Macedonian, ascended the vacant
throne. No one can defend the crime
of assassination ; but the character of
the new emperor has been painted in
bright colors by the historian. Of
course, Photius fell with his patron,
and St. Ignatius was restored to his
see. Both the emperor and patriarch
hastened to notify St Nicholas of this
happy event But that great and
courageous pontiff had already been
called to his reward. The messen-
gers from Constantinople found Adri-
an II. in the chair of Peter. He con-
gratulated them on the turn events
had taken, and, in order fully to heal
the schism of Photius, thought wdl
to have a general council held at
Constantinople. The emperor con-
sented and made the necessary dt^Kh
The Greek Schism.
765
sitions. The council was opened in
the church of St. Sophia, on Oct. sth,
869, held ten sessions, and ended on
the last day of February following. The
legates of the pope, Donatus, Bishop
of Ostia, Stephen, Bishop of Nepfe,
and Marinus, deacon of the Roman
Church, presided Their names and
legatine authority are always mention-
ed first in the acts. A high place of
honor was given to the emperor, as
protector of the church. The action
of the council was in entire conformi-
ty with the instruction of the pope to
his legates. Ignatius was declared
legitimate patriarch, and Photius for
ever deposed from any clerical order.
He was, Jiowever, offered lay com-
munion, on condition that he should
retract and condemn, in writing, all
the iniquitous acts of his usurpation.
Proper measures were taken to reme-
dy Uie confusion created by his long
intrusion, and a profession of faith
was published, as well as twenty-seven
disciplinary canons. Photius was in-
vited to appear in person ; but he re-
fused, denying the competency of the
synod to try him. To say the least,
it was as competent to try him as the
one he had called to tiy Ignatius.
The acts of the synod were subse-
quently confirmed by Pope Adrian,
and it has alwa3rs been admitted as
universal by the church.
Thus, for the seventh time in the
history of the church had a general
council been held in the East, com-
posed of eastern bishops, presided
over by the legates of the apostolic
see. At the first audience given by
the emperor to the legates of Adrian
II., the former said, " In the name
of God, we beg that the work be
strenuously carried on, that the scan-
dals caused by the wickedness of Pho-
tius be dispelled, so that the long-
wished-for unity and tranquillity be
restored according to the decree of
the most holy Pope Nicholas.^' To
which they made answer, " For this
have we come hither ; for this purpose
have we been s'ent hither; but we
cannot receive any one of your eas-
tern bishops into our council unless
we shall have received from them a
writing, according to a formula which
we have taken from the archives of
the apostolic see." And in the first
session their demands were complied
with. So that at the very time when
we are told by Protestant writers that
Photius was fighting for the rightful
independence of the see of Constan-
tinople, the supremacy of the see of
Rome was admitted in a general sy-
nod by every eastern bishop that was
not a creature of Photius.
The attempted schism had thus
been vigorously repressed, and Pho-
tius lived ten years in exile. But he
succeeded in gaining the esteem and
the favor of the monarch by an ex-
pedient which has often before and
since met with the same reward. Ba-
sil was of ignoble descent ; Photius
made out a genealogy by which he
showed the family of the emperor to
be an oflfehoot of the Arsacides, " the
rivals of Rome, who had possessed
the sceptre of the east for four hun-
dred years." The acknowledged eru-
dition of the author lent probability
to the forgery ; the pride of the mon-
arch was flattered, and his gratitude
awakened. On the death of St Ig-
natius, (a.d. 877,) Photius was recall-
ed to the see of Constantinople, and
the emperor immediately sent ambas-
sadors to Rome, begging the pontiff
to acquiesce in the election. He
declared that Photius had seen the
error of his ways, that his present ele-
vation would restore peace to the
church, and that all the bishops, even
those who had adhered to Ignatius,
petitioned for his confirmation. John
VIII., who then occupied the Roman
see, judged it expedient to gratify this
universal desire. He required, how-
766
The Greek Schism.
ever, that Photius shouki in a public
synod acknowledge the decrees of
Popes Nicholas and Adrian, and the
general council, beg pardon for the
faults he had committed and the
scandals he had given, be absolved
from censure, and then, and not till
then, be acknowledged as Bishop of
Constantinople. He sent legates to
execute this decree of mercy. But
the pride of Photius would not brook
submission, and he resorted to his old
arts. Again the apostolic legates were
corrupted or intimidated ; again Pho-
tius mutilated the pope's letters ; re-
ceived in a numerous synod, from the
legates themselves, the insignia of the
patriarchal dignity ; and without any
opposition from them, if not with their
consent, the eighth-council was abro-
gated, and the acts of Popes Nicho-
las and Adrian condemned.
On their return to Rome, the le-
gates, of course, reported that the
injunctions of the pontiff had been
strictly observed; but the pride of
Photius betrayed them. In his letter
he said he had fulfilled all the condi-
tions save that of begging pardon, be-
cause he had done nothing to require
pardon. This led John to an investi-
gation which revealed to him how
shamefully he had been disobeyed.
He accordingly sent to Constantino-
ple the same Marinus, who had been
one of the legates to the general
council, ordering him to rescind eve-
ry thing that had been done against
his mandate. This brave and intelli-
gent man fully and faithfully perform-
ed his duty, and was imprisoned for
thirty days; but as his constancy
could not be ovCTCome, he was allow-
ed to return to Rome. Whereupon
Pope John, •* ascending the pulpit,
taking the Gospel in his hands» in
the hearing of the whole coogrega-
tion, thus spake. * Whoever doth not
hold Photiws cwnlemncd by the sea-
tence of God» « l)ie My IN^ms Ni«
cholas and Adrian, my predecessois,
left him, let him be anathema.* " Pho-
tius, however, remained in possession
as long as Basil lived His son and
successor, Leo the Philosopher, albdt
educated by Photius, caused the sen-
tence of the pontifis to be executed
As the newly-elected prelate, Stephan,
had been ordained deacon by Pho-
tius, a circumstance which render-
ed him irregular, a dispensation was
prayed for from Rome. This was
granted by Pope Formosus, with a
saving clause that it should not be in-
terpreted against the condemnatioD
of Photius. Thus the schism was
healed for a time. Photius died in a
monastery, a.d. 891.
We have entered into these details
to show on what grounds the origin
of the Greek schism rests. It was
not, we repeat it, a contest for supre*
macy. New Rome had never e\eD
claimed equality with the see of Peter.
Its bishops had never asked but the
second place. Could Photius have
obtained the confirmation of his elec-
tion from the pope, it is probable he
never would have rushed into schism.
It has been said that St Nicholas was
too harsh with him. But had the
pontiff neglected to do justice to St
Ignatius, the very writers who now
criticise him for severity, would have
blamed him with culpable weakness.
Indeed, John VIII. has met with
such censure. But how did Photius
repay his kindness? By fraud, bf
the grossest insult to his predecessors,
and to an oecumenical council. It is
useless to speak of the erudition of
the usurper, or of his services to lite-
rature. These, great though they be,
cannot palliate hB crimes. The popes
defended oppressed virtue and the
canons of the church; Photius, hav-
ing ^ed to deceive, seduce, or inti-
midate them, was driven to the d^
sperate resort (^ schism. A scq)tic
tike Giblxm may indeed scofif at the
The Greek Schism,
767
whole dilute; but he who believes
that Christ established a church and
appointed a certain form of govern-
ment, must shudder as he reads of
the fatal action of one man, who, to
gratify his unhallowed ambition, be-
gan a schism which has ended in the
ruin of some of the fairest portipns of
Christendom. It is all very well in
the nineteenth century to talk of in-
dependent national churches ; the idea
was unheard of in the ninth. Else
why did Photius so persistendy en-
deavor to obtain the confirmation
of his election from the pope ? His
own action condemns him ; the whole
history of the Greek Church condemns
him; and the modem Greeks, who
are such sticklers for antiquity, stand
equally condemned.
The question of jurisdiction over
Bulgaria has been magnified by some
writers into a cause of the sphism.
But the fact that Ignatius is revered
as a saint by the church, though up
to the time of his death he defended
the supposed rights of his see in this
regard, shows that, important though
the controversy doubtless was, it could
not have caused a separation. The
popes would, at most, have content-
ed themselves with protesting against
the usurpation, as they had done in
other cases. The ancient Illyricum,
of which Bulgaria is a part-, undoubt-
edly belonged to the Roman patri-
archate. So did Achaia. Both were
transferred to that of Constantinople
by a decree of the Iconoclast em-
peror, Leo the Isaurian, in revenge
for the condemnation of his heresy
by the holy see. And these histori-
cal facts have been alleged by the
schismatic bishops of modem Greece
to justify their forming themselves in-
to a national church, independent of
the patriarch of Constantinople. Sa)rs
one of their defenders, " An heretical
emperor took away these dioceses
from an orthodox pope to give them
to a patriarch who was a heretic like
himself."* The Bulgarian monarch
sent, almost at the same time, ambas-
sadors to the pope and to the By-
zantine emperor, asking for missiona-
ries to instruct himself and his people
in the Christian faith. Those sent
from Rome arrived first on the ground ;
but the secular influence of Constan-
tinople was too great for them, and
they were sent back. Of course, the
popes protested against this outrage
against — ^be it carefully observed —
not their primatial, but their patri-
archal rights ; but there is no reason
to suppose the controversy could
have given rise to schism. The
moderation of the pontiffs on such
questions, recorded on every page of
their history, is our warrant for this
assertion. It was only when some
primary law of the church was violat-
ed, some gross injustice against inno-
cent persons ccnnmitted, or their own
supremacy defied, that they felt them-
selves obliged to resort to measures
of the last severity.
Photius was finally deposed in the
year 866. Froov'that event for more
than a century there was peace be-
tween old and new Rome. At length
one of the family of the usurper, Ser-
gius, was elevated to the see of Con-
stantinople, (a.d. 988.) He held a
council, excommunicated the popes,
and erased their names firom the sa-
cred records. This outrage must ne-
ver have reached the ears of the holy
see. At least, we find no vestige of
any action taken by the popes con-
ceming it Sergius was succeeded, in
1018, by Eustachius, who applied to
Pope John XIX. for permission to
adopt the tide of cuumenkal patri-
arch. The request being refused by
the pontiff, his name was omitted
fit>m the dipfychs by the indignant
*See VEgtiu OruntaU. Par Jacques Pittt-
l»io«. Rome : Piopananda Pma. i8s5. Part ri. p.
13. A work which gives most useful and interesting
infMrnution on the state of tbt modern Gresk Clrareh
768
The Greek Schism.
prelate. He was succeeded by Alex-
ius, about whose attitude to the holy
see we can discover nothing in the
records of the age. In the year 1034,
Michael Cerularius was made bishop
of New Rome. Profane as well as
sacred historians represent him as a
proud, ambitious, and turbulent per-
son. He determmed formally to re-
vive the schism inaugurated by Pho-
tius. His principal accomplices were
Leo of Acrida, Metropolitan of Bul-
garia, and one Nicholas, a monk.
They issued a letter directed to John,
Bishop of Trani, in southern Italy,
giving their reasons why they no lon-
ger wished to hold communion with
the Western Church, and addressed a
letter of similar import to the patri-
archs of the east. Most of these rea-
sons are so puerile that in reading
them one would be tempted to smile,
were it not for the thought that they
were used to create a deadly schism.
Such were the charges : that the Latins
used unleavened bread in the holy
sacrifice; that they did not abstain
from "strangled things and blood;"
that their monks ate swine flesh ; that
their priests shaved off" their beards;
that thev did not sing Alleluia during
Lent ; that they gave the pax before
the conmiunion at mass; that their
bishops wore a ring. In the long ar-
raignment there is but one accusation
that the most prejudiced enemy of
the holy see can call serious, namely,
that of the addition of the fiUoque to
the symbol. As to this, we shall con-
tent ourselves by relating afterward
how it was met, and the controversy
about it settled, in the Council of Flo-
rence.
St Leo IX., who then occupied the
holy see, having been made acquaint-
ed with the contents of the letter of
Cerularius, wrote a long and able an-
swer, in which he ofiered peace to
all who were really lovers of peace,
based, however, on the unity of the
church and the primacy of the Ro-
man see. Cerularius asked him to
send legates to Constantinople to set-
tle the pending difficulties. The pope
acquiesced, and sent two cardinals,
Humbert and Frederic, and the Arch-
bishop of Amalfl. Cerularius not
only refused to meet them, but en-
deavored to prevent them from cele-
brating the sacred mysteries in any of
the churches of Constantinople. The
legates having repeatedly warned him,
were obliged to excommunicate him
in the church of St Sophia. He, in
turn, excommunicated the Roman
pontiff, and wrote letters to the patri-
archs of the great eastern sees with
the object of drawing them into the
schism. The answer of the Patriarch
of Antioch alone has been preserved.
He defends the Latins from many of
the charges raised by Cerularius, while
he admits some to be true; but he re-
fuses to join the wrong-headed bi^iop
of New Rome in his schism.
Most historians date from this pe-
riod the definitive separation of the
Greek Church from that of Rome.
It would be easy, however, to show
that communication was occasionaBy
kept up during the rest of the eleventh
and a portion of the twelfth centuries.
Practically, however, it may be said
that Cerularius separated new and
old Rome, especially as the Greeks
ever after held to two points he had
raised against the Western Church —
the addition oifilwque to the symbol,
and the use of unleavened bread in
the holy sacrifice.
There were, doubtless, other causes
than these which rendered this great
schism so easy of accomplishment
The ambition of the bishops of Con-
stantinople led them to be always on
the lookout for a plausible pretext
for a quarrel with Rome. Then the
Greeks felt deeply two great changes
in Europe — the loss of their dominion
in Italy, and the reestaUishment, as it
The Greek Schism.
769
is called, of the empire of the west,
for both of which they chiefly blamed
the popes. This feeling made them
support without any very close exami-
nation the cause of the bishops of the
imperial city. Then the memory of
Photius was revered as one of the
great names of New Rome. We
must add, in conclusion, the universal
effeminacy and corruption which has
left an indelible stain upon the im-
worthy successors of Constantine and
Theodosius, and given to their gov-
ernment the opprobrious but empha-
tic name of the Low Empire.
But no honest man, much less no
churchman, can find in these causes
any excuse or palliation for schism.
Nor can such cause be found in the
personal relations of either Photius or
Cerularius with the holy see, much
less in the earlier history of the church
of Constantinople, as the facts col-
lected from authentic documents re-
lated in these pages, we think, suffi-
ciently show.
The popular hatred of the Greeks
against the Latins was doubtless ag-
gravated by the establishment of the
Latin empire of Constantinople. Yet
it was the first sovereign of the re-
stored Greek empire that opened ne-
gotiations for a reunion of the church-
es. It is not for us to decide whether
Michael Palaeologus was influenced
by motives of interest or of religion ;
probably both had the'r weight with
him. In answer to his application.
Pope Clement IV. sent a profession
of faith according to the ancient for-
mula, promising to call a general
council to cement the union, provided
the Greeks would consent beforehand
to accept and sign this profession.
Gregory X. did call the council, (a.d.
1272) for the triple piurpose of the
union of the churches, aid to the
Christians struggling in the Holy
Land, and the reformation of discipline.
He sent nuncios to the Greek empe-
voL. X. — ^49
ror and the Patriarch of Constantino-
ple, inviting them to the synod, and
received a favorable answer from the
former. The council was opened at
Lyons on May 7th, 1274. There
were five hundred bishops present;
the pontiff presided in person. It
lasted three months, and six sessions
were held. At the third, the Greek re-
presentatives appeared. Solemn high
mass was celebrated by the pope,
at which the Credo was sung in La-
tin and Greek, the Greeks repeating
thrice the words, "Who proceedeth
from the Father and the Son." At
the next session were read the letters
of the Greek emperor and prelates.
Both contained most satisfactory state-
ments of their faith in the primacy of
the holy see by divine right over the
whole church. The prelates, more-
over, informed his holiness that, as
the Patriarch Joseph had opposed
the union, they had requested him to
withdraw into a monastery, to await
the result of the council, and that, if
he should refuse to accept it, they
would depose him and elect another
patriarch. Then the representatives
of the emperor, and those of the pre-
lates, in the name of their principals,
solemnly abjured the schism, acknow-
ledged the supremacy of the Ro-
man see, and took an oath never
again to infringe on it. A synodical
decree was passed defining the Ca-
tholic doctrine on the procession of
the Holy Ghost, condemning those
who deny that he proceeds from the
Father and the Son, as well as those
who assert that he proceeds from
them as fi-om two principles, not one
principle. The Greeks were then dis-
missed with great honor, carrying
with them congratulatory letters to
the emperor and the prelates.
But this union did not last long.
Palaeologus did indeed cause Joseph
to be deposed, and John Veccus to
be elected to the see of Constantino-
770
The Gregk Schistn,
pie. He also endeavored to enforce
the decree of union by severe penal-
ties against the recusants, and a synod
was celebrated by the patriarch, in
which the union was accepted. But
the clergy and the people obstinately
opposed any communiom with the La-
tins; the same feelmg prevailed in
the emperor's household; and at last
he abandoned indiat he appears to
have considered a hopeless task. He
was excommunicated in 1281, by
Pope Martin IV., for favoring heresy
and schism. He, however, protested
his sincerity, and on his death was re-
fused Christian burial by his son and
successor, Andronicus, for the part he
had taken in the imion of the church-
es. The schism was thus reopened,
and the work of the Council of Lyons
produced no fiirther fruit
But when the Turks had reduced
the domain of the empire almost to
the walls of Constantinople, the wily
and faithless Greeks again turned
their eyes westward, and offered re-
union in the hope of obtaining succor.
It were foreign to our purpose to
trace the history of the controversy
between Pope Eugenius IV. and the
Council of B&le. Suffice it to say,
that, to facilitate the coming of the
Greeks, who wished to meet in a city
near the Adriatic, he transferred the
council to Ferrara. On February 7th,
1438, the eastern fleet arrived at Ve-
nice, bearing the Emperor John Pa-
teologus, Joseph, Patriarch of Con-
stantinople, the proctors of the other
eastern patriarchs, the Metropolitan of
Russia, and a great number of metro-
politans, bishops, abbots, and other dig-
nitaries of the Greek Church. They
were received with extraordinary
pomp and splendor. Thence they
went to Ferrara, where they arrived
in the beginning of March. The
council opened on April 9th. A de-
lay of four months was agreed on, to
enable the bish<^ of the Western
Church to take part in the proceed-
ings. Meanwhile, informal conferen-
ces were held on the questions of
purgatory, and the beatitude of the
saints before the final day of judgment
It was easily shown that the di£^aences
between the two churches were meit^
ly verbal, and did not affect the dog-
ma. The first solemn session was
held on October 8th, which was fol-
lowed by fifteen others in regular or-
der. In December, the coimdl was
transferred to Florence, on accooot
of the appearance of the plague at
Ferrara, Nine sessions were held a:
Florence, at the end of which the act
of union was solemnly adopted and
promulgated.
There is scarcely any thing more
interesting in the history of general
councils than the records of the discus-
sions so long and so ably carried en
in this synod. It is a common sup-
position that the Latins resorted to
bribery and threats, the Greeks to
chicanery and bad faith, and thus an
understanding was arrived at. No-
thing could be fiirther firom the tmtfa,
as the acts of the synod prove. Point
after point was discussed with mark-
ed ability on both sides, and with pe-
culiar skill and pertinacity on the part
of the Greeks. At last, all, with
the exception of Mark, ArchbiAop <rf
Ephesus, yielded either to unanswera-
ble arguments or to clear explana-
tions, and then, all difficulties being
removed, the union was agreed ta
It is, of course, impossible in the brief
space of an article to relate these <&-
cussions in detail We shall briefir
refer to the principal point in dispute.
This was the addition oi filioqtu in
the creed. The Latins insisted «i
separating fi-om the beginning tbe
two distinct points of dogma and dis-
cipline. They asked the Greeks, first,
if they believed that the Holy Ghos
proceeded firom the Father and the
Son, as from one principle of sfira-
The Greek Schism.
771
tian. They showed them that the fa-
thers of the Greek, as well as those
of the Latin church, had always
taught this doctrine. There was a
great deal of finessing on the part of
the Greeks ; they examined their own
copies of the fathers, and found that
they had been correctly quoted by
the other side ; and, at last, confessed
that they had been wrong in accusing
the Western Church of error. The
disciplinary question was argued with
a great deal of vigor. The Greeks,
of course, alleged the celebrated ca-
non of the Council of Ephesus, pro-
hibiting any addition to the symbol.
The Latin answer may be sunmied
up thus : This canon prohibits any
addition by private authority. But
Jilioque was added by the authority
of the head of the church. Again,
the canon prohibits any addition con*
trary to the doctrine of the symbol ;
but this addition is an explanation
and a complement of the doctrine of
Nice, and the very words {atid from
the Son) have been taken from or-
thodox fathers. Lastly, the addition
was not made lighdy or without cause;
but a real necessity existed for it
Finally, all the Greeks, but Mark of
Ephesus, returned this answer : " We
consent that you recite the b.6^*
tion to the symbol, and that it has
been taken from the holy fathers \ and
we approve it, and are united with
you ; and we say that the Holy Ghost
proceeds from the Father and the
Son, as from one principle and cause."
This point being satisfactorily set-
tled, the other mooted questions were
soon adjusted, and on July 6th, 1439,
the act of union was read in solemn
session, in Latin by Cardinal Julian,
and in Greek by Bessarion, Archbi-
shop of Nice, who had been the lead-
ers on either side in the discussion.
It is in the name of " Eugenius, bishop,
servant of the servants of God, with
the consent of the most serene empe-
ror, and of the other patriarchs." The
pope, " with the approbation of the
sacred universal Council of Florence,"
defines, first, the dogma of the eter-
nal procession of the Holy Ghost
from Father and Son, as from one
principle, and by one spiration; se-
condly, " that the explanatory words,
and jfrom the Son, were lawfully and
reasonably added to the symbol, for
the sake of declaring the truth, and
by reason of imminent necessity;"
thirdly, that both leavened and im-
leavened bread is lawful matter
for the eucharist, and that priests
must follow the rite of their own
church — ^those of the western, that of
the western; those of the eastern, that
of the eastern; fourthly, the question
of the different states of souls afler
death was setded according to the
received doctrine which is now pro-
fessed in the Catholic Church. We
give the fifth section entire: "That
the holy apostolic see and the Roman
pontiff doth hold primacy over the
whole earth, and that he is the suc-
cessor of the blessed Peter, prince of
the apostles, and true vicar of Christ, 1
and head of the whole church, and
is the father and teacher of all Chris-
tians ; and that to him, in the person
of the blessed Peter, hath been de-
ivered, by our Lord Jesus Christ, the
full power of feeding, ruling, and go-
verning the imiveisal church, as is
contained in the acts of oecumenical
councils .and in the sacred canons."
Lastly, the decree reorganizing the
canonical order of patriarchs assigns
the second place, after the Roman
pontiff, to the patriarch of Constanti-
nople, the third to the patriarch of
Alexandria, the foiurth to the patriarch
of Antioch. A few more questions
of minor importance were then pro-
posed to the Greeks, to most of which
they gave satisfactory replies, and soon
afterward the emperor and his prelates
returned home by way of Venice.
772
The Greek Schisiiu
The difficulty about filioque has
JQSt been renewed by Mr. Ffoulkes,
of England, in defence of some no-
tion of his aboat a hybrid united^ not
.-V church. We scarcely think he will
socceed in making good an objection
which Bessarion and Mark of Ephe-
sus billed to sustain. Any how, his
ihess appears to be, not that any one
- branch*' of the church is entirely in
tbe rcht, bu: that they are all partiy in
the wTor^. Pohaps he thinks that to
I: jn, nx to F. Hvacinthe,has the Lord
iT^TSi these sdcks, to warm in his
iv>=o:n, purify, and finally reunite. We
n::25t wrave them to settle the question
l^ftween themseiv^es. But they ought
t:> naaesnber, widi Sl Jerome, that he
who gatfcereth not with the pope,
scaroiedu
dei: h?oes were entertained that
:h? dioa perfected after such long
ar>d Me discussions would be lasting.
E^t these were all disappointed. Of
aH the chscure questions connected
»::h the Greek schism, the most ob-
sc-Jie B how and when the compact
cf Florence was first violated in the
ejst It is certain that Metrophanes,
elected Patriarch of Constantinople
ott the return of the Greek prelates,
is the Patriarch Joseph had died at
FlcKCce,) solenmly published the act
vi* uuK>n.* His successor, Gregory,
was equally de>oted to the council,
aci before his ele\-ation, defended its
actkxi a^.unst the attacks of Mark of
Fj^hesus, This proud and turbulent
did not remain quiet under his
at, but ad».kessed most inflamma-
toffY letters to the orientals, making
t^ \ilest aiKi most unfounded accu-
sjinoos. not only against the pope and
the Latin bishops, but against his own
cvxlea^rucs^ Tliough these were re-
ni:e\i by Gregory before mentioned,
jAd by Joseph, Bishop of Mothon,
;!wy no doubt made a great impres*
• S*» ?^*x >*», iP*rt V. |K 4T,) who fives a copy
«' JO* Hi «^ on^Wte kcicn d the patriarch.
sion on the prejudiced, nay, jaun^c-
ed oriental mind. Mark, however,
did not dare to publish his attacks
until after the death of John Palaeo-
logus, (a.d, 1448.) • A most extra-
ordinary and shameful political in-
trigue appears to have come to the
aid of the schismatical party. The
Turk at this period was making his
arrangements for the final attack oo
Constantinople. The only hope for
the doomed city was in aid from the
west To prevent the sending of
this seasonable aid, it was the obvious
policy of the Mussulman to rezukr
void the imion of Floreifte. Hence,
in 1443, just ten years before the £;dl
of New Rome, a synod was held at
Jerusalem, composed entirely of bi-
shops of sees undo* Turkish domina-
tion, among whom are numbered the
patriarchs of Alexandria, Antioch, and
Jerusalem, in which the act of union
was declared impious. Metrophan^
was adjudged to be an intruder into
the see of Constantinople, and all
ecclesiastics ordained by him were
deposed, fiill power being given to
the Metropolitan of Cxsarea to en-
force this sentence in all dioceses un-
der the jurisdiction of the councD —
that is, wherever the crescent had sup-
planted the cross.! Is it any wonder
that, ten years after, the Turia were
masters of the city of Constantine ?
No one, not even a modem Greek,
would attempt to maintain that the
assemblage at Jerusalem was a legiti-
mate council. The schismatics, how-
ever, allege a council said to have
been held at Constantinople a ^rar
and a half after the Council of Eo-
rence, and after the death of John
Palxologus, in which Metrophanes
was deposed and the union rescinded.
But there are two unfortunate ana-
chronisms in this account Metro-
phanes was certainly patriarch ibr
• Piteh»«» Part il pp. 55. 36^ 57-
t Ibid^ L c pp. 59, 6a
Tlu Greek Schism.
771
three years after the council, and John
Palaeologusdidnot die until 1448, nine
years after the act of union. One of
the last acts of the expiring Greek
empire was to send an ambassador
to Pope Nicholas V. promising the
exact and speedy fuMhnent of the
agreement entered into at Florence.
We do not pretend to say that the
greater portion of the clergy and peo-
ple of Constantinople were not schis-
matics at heart; but this we can aver,
that they were bound by the action
of their bishops, in the free, open
Council of Florence, and that this ac-
tion has never been formally retract-
ed by any legitimate council held
in the East And we commend this
consideration to those Anglicans who
sometimes, in their desire for a false
union, seek to associate with Greek
schismatics. These are condemned
by the action of their fathers, an ac-
tion never formally retracted, but
merely opposed with a sullenness and
hardness of heart not imlike that with
which God visited Jerusalem before
its destruction. While the Greeks
were calling the Latins Asymites, and
other opprobrious names, the minister
of God's vengeance was approaching
their gates ; New Rome fell into infi-
del hands; and from the turret of St.
Sophia, whose dome had so often re-
sounded with excommunications of
the vicar of Christ, the muezzin now
invites the Moslem to prayer in the
name of the false prophet. Photius
and Cerularius aimed at making New
Rome the spiritual superior of the
city of Peter ; instead, it has become
the chief city of the deadly enemy of
the Christian name.
This is a sad, sad story, and it is
not in exultation or triumph that we
pen these lines. While Mohammed II.
was advancing his last lines. Pope
Nicholas V. was making most strenu-
ous efforts to succor the "fair but
false " Greeks, and his successors ne-
ver gave up their efforts to regain the
city of Constantine imtU it was evi-
dent that there was no possibility of
success.
The policy of Mohammed II. led
him to spare a remnant of the inha-
bitants of the conquered city, and to
permit to them the free exercise of
their religion. But even in religious
matters, he claimed the prerogatives
of the sovereigns whom he had dis-
placed.
" In the election and investiture of a
patriarch, the ceremonial of the Byzantine
court was revived and imitated. With a
mixture of satisfaction and horror, the Greeks
behdd the sultan on his throne ; who deliv-
ered into the hands of Gennadius (the patri-
arch elect) the crosier or pastoral staflf, the
symbol of his ecclesiastical office ; who con-
ducted the patriarch to the gate of the sera-
glio, presented him with a horse richly ca-
parisoned, and directed the viziers and ba-
shaws to lead him to the palace which had
been allotted for his residence."*
And this degrading ceremony is con-
tinued to this day, each " oecumenical
patriarch of New Rome" receiving
solemn investiture at the hands of the
Ottoman padisha.
The fall of Constantinople render-
ed certain the success of the schisma-
tical party. The sultans detested the
name, as they feared the influence, of
the Roman pontiff; and it was plau-
sibly argued that to avow union with
him would be to insure their own de-
struction. The Catholic element, thus
reduced to silence, gradually dwin-
dled away; and the schism, though
its abjuration at Florence remains in
full force, again blighted the Greek
Church.
As to hopes of reunion at the pre-
sent day, " it is not for us to know
the times or moments which the Fa-
ther hath put in his own power." We
can only hope and pray that light
may at length dispel the darkness
which has so long hung over the
* Gibboo, Dcdint and Fall, ch. IzviiL
774
The Christ of Ausfeldi.
Eastern Church. Ottoman policy no
longer requires the prolongation of
the schism ; its only real supporter is
Russia, All the Greeks would have
to do would be to sign the act of
union of Florence. Tliey can have
no difficulty about the Council of
Trent; for they have always con-
demned the errors it condemns. Pro-
testantism has never found favor in
their eyes. If the Council of the Va-
tican do not succeed in reuniting
them, it will, it is confidently expect-
ed, at least renew the missionary spi-
rit, and inaugurate a work which, re-
specting eastern snsceptibBkies, may
l»ring the church of Athana^us, Basil,
the Gregories, Cluysostom, and so
many other great saints and doctois
out of '' darkness and the shadow of
death," and put an end to a schian
which commenced with the lawles
ambition of Fhotius, was renewed by
the Satanic pride of Cenilanus, and
has had for chief support the pedi-
dious policy, first of the degenefite
Christian emperors, then of the vic-
torious anti-Christian sultans of Con-
stantinople.
THE CHRIST OF AUSFELDT.
We live in a sceptical age that
laughs at what it calls the superstitions
of the olden time; superstitions, if
you will, but often most beautiful,
particularly when viewed through the
mists of time and change. It is a re-
lief to come upon some living legend,
so to speak, while travelling over the
hard macadamized thoroughfare of our
practical lives, and I shall never for-
get the pleasure I experienced in lis-
tening to the recital of a story of the
olden time, told me by my gracious
hostess at the village inn where I had
been stopping for a few days while
making a pedestrian tour through the
southern part of Germany.
•• Ach, mein Herr! and hast never
heard the legend of the Christ of
Ausfydt ?"
It stood, weather-beaten and worn,
just where the solid piers set their
mighty feet into the river; an old
stone crucifix that seemed to have
battled the storms of hundreds of
yeare.
WhSe pausing in my morning walk
to gaze on it with a traveller's cnri-
osity, something in the general cha-
racteristics of the figure attracted my
attention; and examining it mote
closely, I immediately saw that it dis-
played greater evidence of artistic
skill and execution than is generally
manifested in wayside images. Too
often they are but caricatures of that
semblance which is the most holy
and sacred of Christianity ; but in die
face of the Christ that looked down
upon me fix>m the stained and batter-
ed cross, I read an expression of pa-
tient suffering and God-like endurance
that would have borne noble testi-
mony to any sculptor.
Returning to the inn, a desire to
discover something of the history ra-
ther of the sculptor than of the image
prompted me to make inquiry of my
good-natured landlady, who sat in
the twilight just outside of the house
door, knitting as only a G^rnan wo-
man can.
From that ** Ach, mein Herrr I
knew a story was coming ; and know-
The Christ of Ausfeldt.
77$
ing, likewise, that Frau Gretchen was
a v^ princess in story-telling, I light-
ed my pipe, and, stretching mjrself on
the wooden bench before the door,
prepared to be either saddened,
amused, or delighted, as the case
might be.
Fran Gretchen laid down her stock-
ing for a moment, smoothed the
whitest of white aprons, and havmg
looked toward the river, and then at
the ruined castle that surmounted
the hill beyond, resumed her knit-
ting, and, heaving a gende sigH be-
gan:
" More than three hundred years
ago, and for hundreds of years before
that time, there dwelt in that old cas-
tle yonder the noble lords of Ausfeldt
They were great warriors ; mighty in
stature and strength, and for genera-
tions on generations had been feared
and hated by their vassals; for they
were wicked as they were violent, and
cruel as they were brave. Now, the
women were all fair and gentle ; for
such was the power of the lords of
Ausfeldt that it was ever given them
to wed the flowers of the land ; and it
seemed that the good God made for
them angel wives, so pure, and meek,
and pious, and charitable were the
ladies of Ausfeldt through centuries
and centuries of time.
" Now, it fell out that Berthold,
the reigning count, had been rescued
from drowning by Arnold, a wood-
carver of the town, whose skill in his
craft was well known and much sought
even from Alspach and Brauen. It
was on a Good-Friday, and the grate-
ful lord registered a vow to Heaven
that he would commemorate his pre-
servation by erecting an image of the
Saviour crucified nigh to the spot
where the waters had so nearly clos-
ed over him for ever.
" For in those days, m^n Herr^ al-
though the great and mighty, were
fierce and cruel, faith was not dead in
their hearts, as it Is in these evil times
of ours.
« Old Arnold of Ausfeldt, at his
own beseeching, was deputed to essay
his skiU upon the Christ, and so well
did he execute the task that his £mie
travdled far and wide. A large sum
of money was promised him; but
Berthold the master went ofif to the
wars, and forgot, as men often do,
his deliverer. Soon afterward old Ar-
nold died and left aU alone in the
worid his beautiftil daughter, so fair
and spodess that she was called ^ the
Lily of Ausfeldt'
" As I said before, mdn Herr^ the
dames of this haughty house were
gentle and good, and when poor Ber-
tha was left desolate, the Countess
Barbara sent for her to the castle, and
placed her among her own daughters
as a sort of companion and teacher;
for she had inherited from her mother
great dexterity in the use of the nee-
dle, and from her father not a little
artistic skill.
''For a time all went well. But
alasl to every day, however bright,
there comes an ending ; and thus the
morning of Bertha's happiness faded
and deepened into night
** There arrived fix)m a long journey
in the East the eldest son of the
house, the yoimg Rupert; none
handsomer, none wittier, none more
courdy than he. Unlike his father
and most of his progenitors, he pos-
sessed a winning tongue and beguil-
ing air ; he had loitered in ladies' bow-
ers, and they had taught him welL
•* Into the pure blue eyes of the Lily
of Ausfeldt he looked as would the
seipent into the eyes of a tremUing
dove. But the blue depths, though
they quivered, grew no darker nor
deeper; there was no guile in the
heart, and it knew not the presence
of sin. Qose to the innocent cheek
of the maiden the tempter breadied
his poisonous breath ; but the guardian
n(^
The Christ of Ausfeldt.
angel of purity folded his wings about
her, and wafted a fold of his misty
veil between that hot breath and her
unsoiled innocence, until, man of the
world though he was, Count Rupert
shrank into himself abashed, and lov-
ed for the first time in his reckless life
with a pure, deep, passionate love.
" Day after day he sought her side,
night after night they wandered to-
gether by the river ; her soul all full
of faith, and hope, and beauty ; his
racked by fears of his father's anger;
for in his heart of hearts he knew that
his father would sooner slay him with
his own hand than bend the lofty
pride of Ausfeldt to a imion with a
simple burgher maiden.
" Achy achy Herr Karl! love is a
pleasant thing, and a delicious thing,
and a holy thing; for it is heaven-
bom : but woman's faith is still more
beautiful and heavenly; and man's
fickleness and perfidy the story of
every day. It has been the same
all the world over since time began,
and so it will be to the end.
"They parted at last — war called
him away ; but he left her with a vow
upon his lips that was broken ere the
birds sang the advent of another sum-
mer. There came rumors of a mar-
riage with a great heiress of the north ;
but Bertha knew no fears, for her own
heart was pure and true, and she did
not dream that his could be faithless.
Alas ! there are many like her in the
world, mein Herr^ even in our day,
when most people are forgetting what
love means.
" Soon the castle was astir with un-
usual bustle and preparation, and then
there was no secret made of the fact
that the young Lord Rupert would
soon bring home a bride. Whether
he was weak or wicked, who can tell ?
God has judged and meted him his
portion long ere this ; but in her heart
poor Bertha never blamed him. Yet
she grew pale and thin ; but no one
noticed it; and that she q>ent long
nights of weary weeping none knew
save her guardian angeL
" It was a still, starry midnight. All
alone in her little chamber. Bertha
leaned forth firom the casement ; but
she did not weep. Suddenly, as by
an irresistible impulse, she hurried firom
the room, down the winding staics,
through the long garden, down, down
the steep hill, till she stood on the
brink of the river.
" Beneath her its waters flowed dark
and rippling, and they were cold, oh !
so cold, and her head burned and
throbbed so wildly.
" One plunge, and her woes would
be over for ever — thus whispered the
fiend beside her— one step^and the
cool leaves would receive her 1 * What
is life to thee now ? ' said a mocking
voice in her ear. * What eternity of
woe canst thou suffer more terrible
than this? There is no eternitv,
naught but oblivion. Nearer and
nearer thy faithless lover hastens with
his beautiful bride; how canst thou
bear day after day to meet him, to
dwell under the same roof with thy
rival. Have courage, plunge boldly !
the waves, more merciful than the
world, will receive thee, and to-mor-
row thou wilt float on their brood bo-
som, far away to the sea.'
"As the maiden lifted her hands
from her eyes, as though to take a last
look on the world ere she left it, some-
thing white gleamed in the moon-
light; it was the stone crucifix at
whose feet she had so often knelt in
days of happiness and innocence, the
cross her father had fashioned with
hands and heart consecrated to hea-
ven.
" Trembling in every limb, she drag-
ged her weary feet to the spot ; and
as she threw herself upon her knees
before the image, bitter sobs burst
fiom her bosom.
" The sad face of the d^ad Christ
The Christ of Ausfeldt.
777
looked down upon her with eyes of
divine compassion, and brought to
her memory and to her heart a vision
of the dear departed who had wrought
this labor of love, and of that father's
affection, and of his pure and holy
teachings, which she had so nearly for-
gotten for evermore.
" With a wild cry she clasped the
nail-pierced feet, and her whole soul
pouied itself forth in one deep, wail-
ing supplication.
" * My God, my GodT she moaned,
* why hast thou forsaken me ? Take
me out of this weary world, as I lie
here penitent and fearful, lest the evil
one come again to tempt me, and I
yield in my weakness and brokenness
of heart. The river is black and piti-
less, my Saviour; but not so black
and pitiless as the world. Save me,
oh ! save me from myself. How shall
I know that thou hast not deserted
me? How shall I hope that thou
wilt pardon, that thou wilt hear my
prayer ? *
" The moon, which had shrunk be-
hind a cloud, came softly forth and
bathed the image and the shrinking
figure at its feet in holy light ; while,
as the maiden knelt, there passed into
her stricken heart a quiet, hopeful
feeling, and, looking up half timidly,
she pushed back her loosened hair
to meet once more the sad, pitying
glance above her.
" And then she clasped her trembling
hands together, and bent her weary
head low down to the very earth ; for
around the brow of the dead Christ
there shone a heavenly halo, blood
trickled from the thorny crown and
reddened the outstretched hands, and
from the soft, compassionate eyes great
tears were falling.
• • • • •
" Twenty years afterward, the holy
Abbess of Ausfeldt lay upon her
death-bed; and the good sisters ga-
thered around her, and even the cho-
risters and littie serving-boys ; for th^
all loved her well: and there came
into her eyes a light, and to her voice
a strength, neither had known for
many a day ; and just as I tell it to
you, mein Herr^ she told them the
story of the Christ of Amfeldt, For
her name had been Bertha, and it
was her own story.
" And she begged that no Christian
might ever pass the sacred spot with-
out breatliing a prayer for her soul.
Ah ! mein Herr^ many 9. time have I
passed the holy image and almost
fancied it smiled upon me as I went"
Silentiy Frau Gretchen folded up her
knitting, and with a sigh toward the
river, and another toward the ruined
castle, stepped slowly down the gar-
den path, humming dreamily as she
walked SchiUer's song of " The Mill" :
*' The mill-wheel cesttelest turneth.
Beside the mill I know ;
But she who once did dwell there
Hath vanished long aga"
Catching her thought, I murmured
the plaintive words as I passed out
of the gateway and down the old,
shadowy street. They had " vanish-
ed long ago " — ^the great inheritors and
the noble line, the faithless lover
and the pure " Lily of Ausfeldt." But
the bright, silvery moonlight made
clear and distinct the sculptured im-
age I had come to seek. The legend
had invested it with an almost living
interest, and as I paused before it,
with as reverential a feeling as I have
ever known in the contemplation of
earth*s grandest Raphaels or Muril-
los, I said half aloud, as I lingered
for a moment near the quiet river,
'' O beautiful old German legends !
may you live in your purity and holi-
ness in the hearts of the German
people as long as the Rhine flows
through the pleasant courses and by
the fruitftil vineyards its wandering
spirit loves."
778
Mrs. Setotk
MRS. SETON*
Elizabeth Ann Bayley, the foun-
dress of the Sisterhood of Charity in
the United States, was bom in the
city of New York, on the 28th of
August, 1774. Her father. Dr. Ri-
chard Bayley, was a physician of good
family and distinguished position, a
member of the Church of England,
and %, man of many natural virtues;
but lie cared very litde about religion,
and wherever Yas daughter may have
got the pious inclinations which dis-
tinguished her in girlhood, she cer-
tainly did not get them from him.
Her mother, whose maiden name was
Charlton, died while Elizabeth was a
child. Under the care of her father,
however. Miss Bayley was well edu-
cated and trained in domestic duties.
At the age of nineteen she married
Mr. William Magee Seton, eldest son
of a prosperous New York merchant,
and descendant of an aiicient Scottish
patrician family, whose head is the
Eaii of Winton. Their married life
¥ra8 eminently happy, and for six or
seven years fortime smiled upon them.
Commercial disasters at last swept
^way their jMroperty. Dr. Bayley died
suddenly of a msJignant fever con-
tracted in the discharge of his duty
as health officer of the port ; Mr. Se-
Xovls health failed, and in 1803 the
husband and wife determined to make
a voyage to Italy. They suffered a
long and painfiU quarantine at Leg-
horn, and a wedc after their release
Mr. Seton died, leaving his wife in a
strange land with her eldest child,
a girl of nine years. Mrs. Seton
• M»m0ir^ LttUrs, amd Jomnud 0fEUsmMk St-
Uh. Editwl bf Ri^ Rev. Robert Setoo. D.D.,
Prothonotary Apost^k. a vols. 8vo, i^ aaa, 311. P.
CShea. 1869.
Lift 0/ Mrt. Slim A. Set0n. By Charles I.
White, D.D. lamo, ppw 46a. John Murphy & Co.
1853.
was not, however, without cocnibit
and protection. Two estimable Ita-
lian gendemen, Philq> and AntlKmy
i Filicchi, personal fiiends and bosincsB
correspondents of the Setons, t»ok
her to their home and treated her
with most brotheriy kindness. Under
die influence of the devout househoki
of which they were the heads, the re-
ligious sentiments of the 3roung widow
were gradually developed into a stioag
attraction toward the Catholic ChuidL
She went with the Filicchis to mast;
she visited the chi4>els; she learned
devotion to the Bles^ Virgin. Eariy
in February, 1804, about six weeks
after Mr. Seton's death, she sailed for
home. But it was not the purpose
of Providence that she should be
withdrawn so soon from assodatioiis
which were to influence remarkably
her future life. In a severe storm tlx^
vessd in which ^e had taken pas^
sage was so much injured as to be
driven back to port Before another
was ready to safl, Mrs. Seton's chiU
was taken sick. Close upon the ^^
covery of the child, followed the sick-
ness of the mother; and when, m
April, they were ready again to em-
bark, one of the Filicchi brothefs»
Anthony, ofifered to bear them com-
pany. During the long voyage of
nearly two months, Mrs» Seton made
frequent opportunities to talk with her
friend upon religion, and before the
vessel reached New Yoik she was vir-
tually a convert The last step cost
her much sufiering and perplexity. It is
a step which hardly ever is taken with-
out pain. In her case there was not
only the dread of estrangement from af-
fectionate rdatives, but she could noc
frLce with composure the inevitable
rupture with a clergyman of the Pro-
Mrs. Seion.
779
testant Episcopal Church who had ex-
ercised a great deal of influence upon
her character and her earlier life. This
was the amiable John Henry Hobart,
afterward Bishop of New Yoric, a
man who was deeply and deservedly
beloved, and for whom Mrs. Seton in
particular cherished a filial regard.
By Mr. Filicchi's advicej she exposed
her difficulties to Mr. Hobart. He
made an elaborate reply to them. He
talked with her frequently. He used
all his talent, all his scholarship, all
his personal influence to keep her in
the denomination in which she had
been bom. Between Mr. Hobart and
her family, on the one hand, and the
letters of Philip Filicchi and per-
sonal interviews with Anthony, on the
other, her perplexity became painful
to the last degree. At last,. on Ash-
Wednesday, 1805, she was received
into the church by Father O'Brien,
at St Peter's, in Barclay street Her
soul was now at peace, but her tem-
poral troubles had only begun. Old
friends and nearest relatives turned
away horrified and angry, and when
soon afterward her sister-in-law Ceci-
lia was likewise baptized a Catholic,
the indignation of the family knew
no bounds. She was without fortune,
and when she tried to earn a support
by teaching, she found the good Pro-
testants of New York afiraid to in-
trust the education of their children
to an emissary of the pope, perhaps
a female Jesuit in disguise. The kind-
ness of her excellent Italian fiiends
again came to her relie£ They charg-
ed themselves with the education of
her children, placed the two sons at
Georgetown College, gave her an al-
lowance of $400 a year, and begged
Mrs. Seton to draw upon them for
whatever money she wanted. We
believe she was not obliged, however,
to avail herself of this generous offer.
Mrs. Seton seems to have formed,
at an early period of her widowhood,
the project of devoting herself to God
in the service of a religious order,
and her first plan was to go to Canada
and join some sisterhood there. It
was a part of this scheme, however,
that her children should enter a house
of education at Montreal, where she
could still give them the maternal
care which their tender years requir-
ed. Providential obstades defeated
this design, and thus she was reserv-
ed for the establishment in her own
country of the noble institute with
which her name will always be con-
nected. We shall quote from Dr.
White's Lifi the story of how she be-
gan the great work of her career :
" Her thoughts were more practically di-
rected to it by the Rev. WUliam Valentine
Dubourg, president of St Mary's College
in Baltimore. He became acquainted with
her in the following way: Having visited
the dty of New York in the autumn of
1806, he was one morning offering up the
holy sacrifice of mass in St Peter's Church,
when a lady presented herself at the com-
munion-rail, and, bathed in tears, received
the Blessed Sacrament at his hands. He
was struck with the uncommon deportment
and piety of the communicant, and when
afterward seated at the breakfast-taWe wiUi
the Rev. Mr. Sibourd, one of the pastors
of the church, he inquired who she was,
rightly judging in his mind that it was Mrs.
Seton, of whose conversion and edifying life
he had been informed. Before Mr. Sibourd
had time to answer his question, a gentle
tap at the door was heard, and the next mo-
ment Mrs. Seton was introduced, and knelt
before the priest of God to receive his bless-
ing. Entering into conversation with her
respecting her sons and her intentions in
their regard, he learned from her the views
and wishes of Mr. Filicchi, as stated above,
and the remote expectation she had of re-
moving herself, with her daughters, to Ca-
nada. Mr. Dubourg, who was a man of
enlarged views and remarkable enterprise,
no sooner became acquainted with the de-
sign which she entertained of retiring at
some future period into a religious conunu-
nity, for the wel£ure of herself and her chil-
dren, than he suggested the practicability
of the scheme within the limits of the Unit-
ed States. Mrs. Seton inmiediately wrote
to Bishop Carroll, informing him of what
had passed between her and Mr. Dabouigc,
780
Mrs. SetofL
and requesting his advice in the matter. ' I
could not venture,' she says, ' to take a fur-
ther step in so interesting a situation with-
out your concurrence and direction, which
also, I am assured, will the more readily
obtain for me the blessing of Him whose will
alone it is my earnest desire to accomplish.* Af-
ter mentioning the particular trials she had to
contend with in New York, and assuring Dr.
Carroll that she had yielded in condescension
to her opponents every p<Mnt possible con-
sistently with her peace for the hour of death,
she continues, ' And for that hour, my dear
sir, I now beg you to consider, while you
direct me how to act for my dear little chil-
dren, who in that hour, if they remain in
their present situation, would be snatched
firom our dear £uth as from an accumiUation
of error as well as misfortune to them. For
myself, certainly the only fear I can have is
that there is too much of self-seeking in
pleading for the accomplishment of this ob-
ject, which, however, I joyfully yield to the
will of the Almighty, confident that, as he
has disposed my heart to wish above all
things to please him, it will not be disap-
pointed in the desire, whatever may be his
appointed means. The embracing a reli-
gious life has been, from the time I was in
Leghoru, so mudi my hope and consolation,
that I would at any moment have embraced
all the difficulties of again crossing the ocean
to attain it, little imagining it could be ac-
complished here. But now my children are
so circumstanced that I could not die in
peace (and you know, dear sir, we must
make every preparation) except I felt the
full conviction I had done all in my power
to shield them from it; in that case, it would
be easy to commit them to God.*
"While Mrs. Seton was consulting Bi-
shop Carroll in regard to the important ar-
rangement suggested by Mr. Dubourg, this
gentleman was conferring with the Rev.
Messrs. Matignon and Cheverus, of Boston,
upon the same subject After having weigh-
ed the matter attentively, they came to the
condusion that her Canada scheme should
be abandoned, and that it would be prefera-
ble to exert her talents in the way proposed
by Mr. Dubourg. Mr. Cheverus wrote to
her, * hoping that this project would do bet-
ter for her family, and being sure it would
be very conducive to the progress of reli-
gion in this country.' It was the opinion,
however, of these distinguished clergymen
that the execution of the design should not be
precipitate ; and they therefore advised her,
through Mr. Dubourg, * to wait the mani-
festation of the divine will — the \n\\ of a
FartieT most tender, who will not let go the
child afraid to step alone.' The wise fore-
thought of Dr. Matignon led him to bdeve
that Mrs. Seton was called, in the designs
of God's providence, to be the instrument
of some special mercies that he wished to
dispense to the church in this country. * I
have only to pray to God,' he wrote to her,
' to bless your views and his, and to give
you the grace to fulfil them for his greater
glory. You are destined^ I tkini^ fcrr seme
great good in the United States^ and here yoa
should remain in preference to any other k>-
cation. For the rest, God has his momciits,
which we must not seek to anticipate, and a
prudent delay only brings to maturity the
good desires which he awakens within vs.'
Bishop Carroll, in answer to Mrs. Seton's
inquiries, informed her that, althoa^ be
was entirely ignorant of all particulars, ^et,
to approve the plan of Mr. Dubourg, it was
enough for him to know that it had the ooe-
currence of Dr. Matignon and Bir. Qieve-
rus."
She did wait patiently nearly two
years. At the end of that time her
pecuniary affairs became so embar-
rassing, and the inconveniences of her
situation in New York pressed upon
her so severely, that she was again
driven to turn her thoughts toward
Canada, not so much as a refuge from
her own troubles, but as an asy-Ium
where her children might be saved
from the dangers which threatened
their faith in the Protestant society of
New Yoric. But about this time she
met Mr. Dubourg again, and, in an-
swer to his inquiries, gave him an ex-
act account of her situation. He con-
templated the establishment of a Ca-
tholic school for girls in Baltimore, and
invited her to come and take charge
of it. Her two boys he offered to ad-
mit into St. Mary's College, free of ex-
pense. The school was to be started
in a small way, in a two-story hired
house; and aflerward, if God pro-
spered the undertaking, a proper build-
ing for the institution was to be erect-
ed on ground belonging to the col-
lege. Of course, Mrs. Seton accepted
the proposition with joy. On the 9th
of June, 1808, she embarked for Bal-
timore in a packet, accompanied by
her three daughters. It was a voyage,
Mrs, Seton.
781
in those times, of between six and se-
ven days. She landed on the morn-
ing of the 1 6th, the feast of Corpus
Christi, and drove at once from the
wharf to St Mary's chapel to hear
mass.
It is almost impossible to describe
the happiness which beams from her
letters written in her new home to
her friends in Italy, her favorite sis-
ters-in-law, Cecilia and Harriet Seton,
(the latter of whom was, at this time,
strongly attracted toward the church,
while the other, as we have already
mentioned, was a fervent convert,)
and her spiritual advisers. United with
her children, in a comfortable little
home dose to the seminary and col-
lege, where she found in the chapel
services an unfailing source of delight,
she had all that her domestic affec-
tions and pious desires could wish.
The relatives of Mr. Dubourg and
other Catholics of the city treated her
with great cordiality, and from many
distinguished Protestant families she
received marked social attentions.
The school was opened in September,
Mrs. Seton had not thought, so far,
oi adopting any thing like a conven-
tual rule of life, except perhaps at
some remote period; but her daily
life was regulated with reference to
the consecration of all her powers to
God, and she mingled no further in
society than a regard for good breed-
ing and gratitude to her friends abso-
lutely required. The development of
her religious schemes was gradual,
and the foundation of the new sister-
hood appears, from a human point of
view, the result of accident and curi-
ous coincidence, rather than the fruit
of direct labor. The first step toward
it was the arrival at Mrs. Seton's Bal-
timore establishment of a young lady
from Philadelphia, named Cecilia
O'Conway. The Rev. Mr. Babade,
the spiritual director of the school,
found this yoimg lady on the point
of going to Europe to enter a con-
vent. He told her of Mrs. Seton's
plans, and she determined to go to
Baltimore instead. In December,
1808, Miss O'Conway accordingly
became an assistant in the school.
Mr. Filicchi had made an offering
of one thousand dollars toward the
realization of Mrs. Seton's plans; but
now came, in a most imexpected
manner, a new benefactor, whose li-
berality gave the enterprise a different
character and vastly enlarged scope.
Am.ong the students of theology at
St. Mary's Seminary, was Mr. Samuel
Cooper, a gentleman of fortune, a
Virginian, and formerly well known
in fashionable society. His conver-
sion from Protestantism and determi-
nation to study for the priesthood had
caused quite as great a sensation as
the conversion of Mrs. Seton. He
now purposed distributing his proper-
ty among the poor, (before his death,
we may here add, that he literally gave
away all he possessed,) and one morn-
ing he spoke to Mr. Dubourg about
doing something for the instruction
of poor children. He had never
spoken upon the subject with Mrs.
Seton, but he suggested at this inter-
view that possibly she might under-
take the work, if he gave the money.
It is a very remarkable fact that at
this same moment Mrs. Seton was
thinking of the same thing. That
morning after communion she felt a
strong desire arise within her to dedi-
cate herself to the care and instruc-
tion of poor girls. She went at once
to Mr. Dubourg. "This morning,"
she said, "in my communion, I
thought, 'Dearest Saviour, if you
would but give me the care of poor
littie children, no matter how poor ! '
and Mr. Cooper being directly before
me at his thanksgiving, I thought,
* He has money : if he would but give
it for the bringing up of poor little chil-
dren to know arid love you !' " The
782
iffS. S€tOU»
result of this extraordinary^ or we
oo^ rather to say, providential coin-
cidence, was, that Mr. Cooper gave
eight thousand dollars for the establish-
ment of the proposed institution, and
fixed upon Emmettsburg as the place ;
and tha:e a farm with a very small
stone house upon it was bought, in
the names of the Rev. William V. Du-
bourg, Mr. Samuel Cooper, and the
Rev. John Dubois, who was then
pastor of several congregations in
that part of Mar)dand, and director
at the same time of the small school
near Emmettsburg, out of which soon
afterward grew Mount St Mary's Col-
lege. With the college and its illus-
trious founder the fortunes of Mrs. Se-
ton's institute became intimately con-
nected.
While these arrangements were in
progress, the new commimity was gra-
dually and quietly forming at the lit-
tle house in Baltimore. A second
associate. Miss Maria Murphy, of
Philadelphia, joined Mrs. Seton in
April, 1809. In May, two more pre-
sented themselves. Miss Mary Ann
Butler, of Philadelphia, and Miss Su-
san Clossy, of New York. It was not
without a painful sense of imfitness
that, in obedience to the directions
of her bishop and spiritual advisers,
Mrs. Seton imdertook the govern-
ment of this religious household. On
the evening of the day when the task
was definitely laid upon her "she
was seixed," says Dr. White,
<* with a transport of mingled love and hu-
mility in reflecting npon the subject Being
with two or three of her sisters, and the dis-
course turning upon the probable .designs
of providence in their regard, Mother Seton
became so penetrated with the awful respon-
sibility, and sense of her own incapacity,
that she was almost inconsolable. For
some moments she wept bitterly in silence ;
then, throwing herself upon her knees, she
confessed aloud the most frail and humiliat-
ing actions of her life from her childhood
upward; alter whidi she exclaimed in the
most affecting manner, her hands and eyes
raised toward heaven and the tears godiiiiC
down her cheeks, ' My gradons God ! Yoa
know my unfitness for this task. I who by
my sins have so often crucified you« I Uash
with shame and confusioD! How can I
teach others who know so little mysdf^ and
am so miserable and imperfect V The sis-
ters who were present were overwhelmed by
the scene before them, and, falling on their
Icnees, gave vent to their tears and painfal
emotions."
On the I St of June they assumed a
religious habit, and the next day —
Corpus Christi — q)peared in it for the
first time at church. It was not a
regular nun's garb, but an imitation
of the dress which Mrs. Seton had
worn ever since the death of her hus-
band. It consisted of a black gown
with a short cape, similar to a costume
she had seen in some Italian sstcr*
hood, a white muslin cap with a
crimped border, and a black band
around the head, fastened under the
chin. A regular order of daily life
was established, and Mrs. Seton pri-
vately, in the presence of Bishop
Carroll, took the ordinary vows of
poverty, chastity, and obedience for
the period of one year. Her asso-
ciates, however, did not as yet make
any vows, nor was any special reli-
gious institute adopted for their orga-
nization. They merely styled them-
selves "Sisters of St Joseph." Mr.
Dubourg was appointed their ecclesi-
astical superior.
About this time Miss Cecilia Seton
fell dangerously ill, and was advised
by her physicians to make a visit to
Baltimore. Harriet accompanied her,
and with these two beloved relatives,
one of her daughters, and one mem-
ber of the sisterhood, Mrs. Seton re-
moved to Emmettsburg on the aist
of June, finding shelter at first in a
little log hut on the mountain, as their
own house on the farm was not yet
ready for use. Her happy union
with Cecilia and Harriet was for a
few months only. Harriet became a
^
Mrs. Sttoiu
Catholic; butin flic first fervor of her
devotion was seized with a fever, and
died on the 2 2d of December. Ce-
cilia grew better for a short time, and
even joined the community; but she
failed gradually, and died in Balti-
more in April. During the first au-
tumn and winter at Emmettsburg the
institution was httle better than a
hospital The farm-house, into which
the whole community, then number-
ing ten, moved in the course of the
summer, consisted of notiiing but two
rooms on the ground floor and two in
the attic, and these had to afiford ac-
commodations not only for the ten
sisters, but for Mrs. Seton's three
daughters, her sister-in-law Harriet,
and two pupils who followed her fi-om
Baltimore. Added to the discomfort
of their narrow quarters was a state
of poverty so extreme that they some-
times knew not where to look for
their next meal. For coffee they
substituted a beverage made of car-
rots and sweetened with molasses.
Their bread was of rye and of the
coarsest description. At Christmas
they thought themselves fortunate in
having for dinner smoked herrings
and a spoonftil of molasses apiece.
In the course of the winter, however,
a two-story log house of convenient
size was put up for their use, and now
they were able to open a day-school
and take more boarding-pupils, and
so provide at least for their daily ex-
penses. The debt inciured in making
these improvements was, nevertheless,
a severe burden for them, and at one
time it seemed inevitable that they
should sell out and disperse ; but cha-
ritable fiiends came to their relief at
the last moment, and, little by little,
with many fluctuations of fortune,
they got out of their difficulties.
When they determined, about the
time of coming to Emmettsburg, to
adopt the rule of St. Vincent of Paul,
they sent to France and begged some
of the sisters of the sociei
over and place themselves at u
of the new American comn.
The invitation was accepted ; but .
French government would not allo\
the sisters to sail, so the most that
Mrs. Seton could get was a copy of
the rules and a kind letter of encou-
ragement These rules, modified to
meet the peculiar wants of the new
institution, by permitting it to receive
pay-scholars in connection with its
labors of charity, and with special
provfeions to allow Mrs. Seton to de-
vote the necessary care to her young
children, were approved by Bishop
Carroll as the rule for the " %ters of
Charity of St. Joseph," and so the
community which has done such a
noble work in the United States came
into existence with Mrs. Seton for its
first mother superior.
We have no intention of sketching
in this brief paper the rise and devel-
opment of that sisterhood. The log
house in " St. Joseph's Valley," at the
foot of Mount St. Mary, has a renown
in tfie history of the American church
upon which many able pens have en-
larged, and branch communities have
gone out fi*om it, filling remote parts
of the United States with good works
and pious example. Our purpose has
been merely to sketch the foundation
of the iUustrious community, and tell
our readers something of the trials
and sorrows under which Mrs. Seton
achieved her great work. The rest
of her life, though it was blessed with
the consolation of success in her un-
dertaking, was torn with afflictions not
less seuere than those she had suf-
fered already. Her eldest and her
youngest daughters were both taken
fix>m her as they were just entering
upon a beautiful womanhood, the eld-
est, Anna, being already a member of
the community. The deaths among
her earliest associates were many, and
she had also to mourn the less of one
784
Views of the Labor Movement.
of the excellent Italian friends who
contributed so much to the success
of her enterprise. But in all her sor-
rows she preserved the calmness of
divine resignation, the charm of her
personal presence, and the kind, im-
selfish interest in others which made
her so generally beloved. She died
on the 4th of January, 1821 ; and on
the wall of the humble chamber where
she expired, the following memento is
now shown 2
" Here, near this door, by this fireplace,
on a poor, lowly couch, died our cherished
and saintly Mother Seton, on the 4th of
January, 18a i. She died in poverty, but
rich in faith and good works. May we, her
children, walk in her footsteps and share
one day in her happiness ! Amen I"
The two works whose tides we
have placed at the head of this arti-
cle are very much alike in the gene-
ral character of their contents, having
both been prepared from the same
materials. Dr. White's Life has been
many years before the public, and
has been much commended for its
devotional spirit and appreciative
judgment of Mrs. Seton^s labois.
The larger work, just issued in two
handsome volxmies, and printed and
bound with considerable elegance,
has been prepared by Mrs. Seton's
grandson. It has apparendy been for
the editor a labor of love. He has
drawn freely from the family records
which Dr. White used before him,
and has quoted much more of Mrs.
Seton's letters than his predecessor
did, so that the woric is almost equi-
valent to an autobiography of the
foimdress of St Joseph's, ^ustiated
with abundant explanatory notes, and
with only so much narrative as seem-
ed necessary to bind the whole to-
gether. It is not only an interesting
memorial of a very interesting wo-
man, but an important contribution
to the materials which we hope the
coming historian will some day re-
duce into a comprehensive history of
the American church.
VIEWS OF THE LABOR MOVEMENT.
If we consider the existing indus-
trial nations with the eye of political
economy or of political philosophy,
we cannot help giving attention to
the deep and wide-spread disagree-
ments which have broken open be-
tween the laboring man and his
employers. In France, Swit«eriand,
GOTaany, England, and the United
States, tiie question of the relative
rights of labor and capital are pre-
sented in many ways, so as to com-
pel investigation and action. Trades-
imions, cooperative societies, industrial
congresses, and lastly, that herculean
infant, the Labor Reform Party, are
extending themsdves all over the
countries we have just named, and
particulariy over the United States.
They are daily gainmg strength and
influence. Politicians are thmtn^
how to obtain the favor of this pany,
at the least cost lo their populaiky
among other partisans, llie larger
parties already offer to compromise
with it, and to give it a i^nk in their
great platforms. It is evident that, if
the working-men were to move with
unanimity to form a labor party, it
would be a most formidable rival to
the others.
The mere fact of the advent of a
Vitws of the Labor Movuncnt.
78s
new party is not at all startling to an
American ; for since the independence
of this country, several parties have
come into existence, and have been
swept away by the advent or success
of others ; but the working-men's party
proposes to carry into our legislation
and into the administration of the
government tendencies and princi-
ples so diametrically opposite to and
destructive of any precedent course or
system of politics, that the prospect
of these tendencies being powerfully
reenforced excites vehement emotions
of anxiety or satisfaction, according to
the previous bias of the observer.
Just think of it : the question is no
longer to be only what ought to be
the policy of the nation, regarded as
an unit, toward other nations or to-
ward itself, nor what are the interests
and rights of territorial integers ; but
what ought to be the action of one
great component element upon the
other essential elements of the body
politic The people are called upon
to consider not only the questions
relative to tarifis, taxation, banks,
currency, national debt, bonds. State
rights, or the like ; but to answer the
complaint of the bone and sinew of
the country against its veins and blood.
The brain claims the right to decide ;
and it appears there is a possibility of
there being a preponderance of brain
CD the side of the complainants. The
spread of education produces aston-
ishing consequences ; and among the
rest this : science is becoming so com-
mon that the great caimot monopo-
lize it all, and much of it is going to
take service among the poor. Hence,
able and eloquent speakers and writers
are now contending that labor does
not receive its full and merited re-
ward, and that the laborer is oppressed
by his employers and the laws. Hence,
too, a great number and variety of
novd measiures and institutions are
ingeniously ccmtrived and plausibly
VOL. X. — 50
advocated for the avowed purpose of
overthrowing some of the most vene-
rated doctrines of orthodox political
economy.
As in other cases, this movement
develops every grade of opinion and
feeling. A rich philanthropist thinks
more education and better lodging-
houses, at less cost, will be a good
and sufficient remedy; while among
the poor the most violent measures
are sometimes preferred. Even agra-
rianism is proposed, and incendiarism
attempted, in order to redress whatever
wrongs the toilerreally suffers, or ima-
gines he suffers, unjustly. Between
the two, we have mild and harmless
contrivances, such as mutual aid so-
cieties, and cooperative shops and
stores, intended to diminish the causes
of pauperism or alleviate its bad ef-
fects.
All the plans, of course, differ, ac-
cording to the idea the proposers have
formed of the natiure of the causes of
the social malady. Some regard the
miseries of the laboring classes as the
accumulated effects of many mere ac-
cidents, principally personal impru-
dence and vice ; and, since they think
there is no radical cause, refuse to
hear of a radical remedy. Others
admit radical causes, such as ( i ) a bad
form of government, or (2) the selfish,
the uncharitable, the unchristian spirit
of the worid, or (3) the too rapid in-
crease and local crowding of popula-
tion, or (4) the progressive individual-
ization of capital, or (5) popular igno-
rance, or (6) the onerous obligations
of marriage and parentage, or (7)
what theyxall the slavery of woman,
or (8) the present land-ownership
system, or some other prevalent
mode of acquiring property, such as
(9) usury, (10) monopoly, (ii) rents,
(12) heirships, (13) tariff, (14) bank-
^Si ('5) speculation, and the like.
Above all these looms the fact, what-
ever may be the cause, that capital is
786
Vuws of the Labor Motfemet^.
becoming less and less in die hands of
those who produce it, and is growing
larger and larger in the hands of cun-
ning or lucky exploiters.
The variety of opinions with regard
to what the remedy should be has
produced correspondingly various in-
stitutions, parties, and laws. So we
have (i) poor laws, vagrant laws,
woric-houses and reformatory prisons,
for juvenile delinquents and others;
(2) charity hospitals, asylums for the
widows, the orphans, the deaf and
dumb, the blind, the crippled, the
aged, the infirm, or the insane ; warm-
ing-houses, lying-in hospitals, poor
mothers' cradle-houses, gratuitous
sleeping-halls, soup-houses, asylums
for unruly or destitute children of both
sexes, gratuitous dispensaries of medi-
cines, Magdalen reformatory houses,
Sisters of Charity, Brothers of Mercy,
Litde Sisters of the Poor, Chrisdan
Brothers* schools, public schools, etc. ;
(3) visiting confratemides to bring suc-
cor home to the poor, such as fuel-
giving, furnishing provisions or nurs-
ing, and prison-visiting sociedes ; (4)
organizadons to support charitable in-
stitudons by means of fairs, lotteries,
concerts, spectacles, picnics, tourna-
ments, and other amusements; (5)
labor-protective unions, workmen's
guilds and fellowships, trades-unions
and labor combinations, savings
banks, cooperative factories, coopera-
tive stores, mutual aid sociedes, burial
sociedes, labor reform party; (6)
Shaker, Rappist, Moravian, and Bal-
louite communities; (7) Owenite Jfar-
manias, CabetiieJ*amt7isferi^s,¥o\mer''
ite PhalansteriaSy women's rights so-
cieties, Mormon harems, and artistic
brothels of complex association.
Every one who reads this list wiH
find in it the mention of some institu-
tion he believes to be cither useless or
pernicious. The objections would be
curiously heterogeneous. An infidel
would suppress all those having their
root or support in rdigion. A poe-
tical economist will protest agaisBt
working-men's combinations to nJK
the price of labor. A Cbrisdan d6
plores the attempts of socialists to o-
tablish institutions from whicfa God
is excluded. A sectarian sees villi
pain the success of charities founded
by other congregations. The Romn
Catholic (as stich) must also have lu
opinions of the relative merits of the
corporations that appear to him to rae
sometimes out of the sea of sin, and
sometimes out of the waters of Hfc. We,
for ouiseWes, have some peculiar ideas,
gathered from this point of view.
It would be vain obduracy cm the
part of a Catholic to close his eyes to
the deep and wide-spread clamor of
the voices, great and small, Aat ae
now discussing " social science," and
proposing solutions of the "labor
question." These matters, in cfenr
imaginable manner, arc ob<rudiBg
themselves upon the attention of the
manufacturer, politician, and Icgida-
tor ; and must soon command that (rf
the farmer and merchant; and by
and by, even the solicitude of lh«
church. Indeed, we should not sar
" by and by ;" for aheady, while the
world is agitated by the strikes tsA
the labor congresses, while the paA*
ment of Great Britain, through its
committees, is carrying on the minu-
test investigations of the dghl-hoor
and higher wages movcmcots, ow
holy father at Rome has prononnced
public allocutions against sociaHm.
Very certainly society, the state, and
the church will soon deeply feci the ef^
fects of the agitation of mind and feeling
going on among the working peopit
The allocution of his holiness Aow5
that this consequence has not escaped
his penetrating intellect He sees dear
ly that the agitation wiU be injurious
or produce beneficial results accoid-
ing to the principles, Christian or ano-
christian, that shall prevail within it
Vuttis of the Labor Movement
78j
To avoid or prerent the iermentatioii
and its products is impossible. It
nmst take place ; and the question is,
how to make it yield clear and palat*
at4e wine. To think that the church
C3U1 ignore it, and go on as if nothing
wme shaking the body politic, and dis-
torbing the souls of the people, would
be to stultify ourselves. The issue
raised is too important, and the ten-
dency to revolution too powerfully
pressed to be disregarded and treated
with contempt. See the great num-
ber of societies the workmen have
formed in every Northern State. These
societies have already drawn a majo-
rity of the skiUed operatives, and there
is a prospect of their finally absorbing
all the working-people. The agricul-
tural laborers already give signs of
sympathy with the raovetient
Of course, we understand that it
matters not to the church what econo-
BMC or political party governs the state.
The controversies between Democrat
and Republican, free-trade and pro-
tection, labor and capital, are mere
worldly matters, and do not concern
the church ; but the coming issue has
a deeper cause than a mere question
of temporal expediency. In the
midst of the unanimous demand for
a diange the men of labor are mak-
mg, we can also perceive, not only
that the wished-for changes are funda-
mental and revolutionary, but also
that the leaders are actuated by very
different principles, and aim at dif-
ferent ultimates, and that these re-
late to the very origin, basis, and end
of private and public morality and
religion. Some move by the light of
Christianity, some by that of natural
reason as exhibited by the modem in-
fidel schools of philosophy — ^natural-
ism, rationalism, individualism, positiv-
ism, and evolutionism. Very different
motives and very different hopes move
the principal agitators, though they
now act with great unanimity. The
working multitude, who complain of
wrong, and seek a practical remedy,
have not yet looked beyond the sur-
fiace of the speeches, or into the de-;
tails of the plans of their principal
men. It suffices that these say they
have found the proper remedy. They
have gained the confidence of follow-
ers merely from evincing a knowledge
of the grounds of complaint, and
giving eloquent expression to their
sympathy. The working-men hardly
discuss the merits of the particular
methods of reform proposed ; and they
will follow one or the other class of
leaders as it happens that either sucf
ceeds in captivating them by the art^
of ambition. The difference in the
possible ccmsequences is immense;
but first the leaders, each with his fol-
lowers, will act together to break up
the customs, laws, and institutions by
which the interests of the laboring
men are injuriously affected ] and not
till they accomplish this against the
common enemy shall we know (unless
we prepare the way) whether the
counsels of infidelity or of Christianity
will be followed in the reconstruction.
The work of detennining the ten-
dency one way or the other is going
on even now. If we scrutinize socie-
ties, institutions, and parties formed
for the purpose of relieving the evils
that poverty causes among the people,
we shall find it easy to class them
under discordant heads, (i) Those
founded by Christian charity, wholly
innocent of any political purpose— p
works of disinterested mercy and bro-
therly love. (2) Those invented by
political economists and lawyers, mere-
ly as a means of favoring capitalists
and the personal accumulation of pro-
perty, or to suppress pauperism and
vagrancy, such as monopohes, poor-
houses, and the like. {3) Those con*-
trived from motives of private pru-
dence and economy only, such as mu-
tual aid societies, cooperative stores^
788
VUws of the Labor Movement
etc (4) Those proceeding on the
ground that the laboring classes will
never get their just portion of worldly
goods and enjoyments otherwise than
through political action, as, for in-
stance, the national labor reform party.
(5) The Utopias and secret societies
imagined by infidels.
It is this last-mentioned class whose
theories, acts, and progress compel
us to consider them from a reUgious
point of view. They are the ofispring
of Campanella, of Nicolas of Muns-
ter, and of Giordano Bruna From
these sprang Bolingbroke, Vdtaire,
Rousseau, D'Holbach, and a host of
mere sceptics and speculators like
them. Then came the chiefs of the
French revolution, Marat and Ro-
bespierre, Next, in 1797, Baboeuf
opposed even Robespierre as being
too backward and aristocratic, and
formed a conspiracy to massacre the
rich, and proclaim sumptuary laivs
fiom a mountain of the slain. After
him appeared Owen, trying to realize
the insane idea of conciliating atheism
with charity. He was followed by
St Simon, who sought to create an-
other contradiction, that of an aristo-
cracy of philanthropists; governors
and princes of equality, who, however,
never found any subjects. Contem-
poraneously, Fourier invented a won-
derful scheme for procuring in labor
association the most luxurious plea-
sures and licentious indulgences.
Close at his heels came Cabet, con-
tinuing Owen's method on less oflfen-
ave conditions. \js&\. of all, Noyes
is trying to conceal the wolf of beastly
promixuousness under the robe of the
puie lamb of Christian love. These
are die most notorious of those who
may be denounced as the anti-Chris-
tian agitatois of the labor question.
Socialism is the name they have in-
scribed on their banner; and hence,
since all these inventors and cham-
pions have also been unanimous in
waging war, direcdy or induecdy,
against Christianity^ their sodafian
itself should be oj^posed by afi good
Christians.
But, tmfortunately, socialism, wfaik
opposing or seeking to undennine
Christianity, succeeds in sedudag
many by the promises of sensual en-
joyments she makes. Indeed, the
rationale of every sect or paity cob-
cemed in the labcn: movement be-
gins with the main proposition whidi
makes them and even infidel social-
ism acceptable to multitudes, namely,
that society or the state is under oUt-
gation to relieve the missies of the
poor, and if possible to eradicate pau-
perism itselfl If any deny that socie-
ty or the law has done any injustice
to labor — if, for instance, the legislalor
who framed the poor laws tbou^t
the pauper had nobody but himself
to blame — ^he nevertheless adniits that
pauperism is not merely a peisooal
misfortune, but a public one; that
pauperism must be regarded as a so-
cial malady or s(»:e, which, though it
may not be radically cured, must and
ou|^ht to be treated at least with pal-
liatives, so as to prevent it from becom-
ing fatal to the body poUtic Thus,
while attempting to exonerate the
state, even the orthodox politician ad-
mits that the body politic is deqiy
afflicted by the virus of pauperism,
and theref(»e himself posits the veiy
question he would fain ignore. The
poor join issue with him, and aigue
that from the day England and North
Germany wrested the care of the poor
from the monasteries, the state assum-
ed the responsibility of their distress,
and is bound to make such laws as
will radically cure all misery. The
contest is now raging in every direc-
tion, not only on the question of
Who shall take care of the poor,
but How shall they be cared for, and
^'A<7/are the rights and remedies th^
are entitled to ?
Views of the Lobar Movement
789
The origin and object of the con-
troversy is agreed on by every one.
The dissent is upon what shall be the
principle and the method according
to which the desired relief shall be
gained. Infidelity, under the name
of socialism, would have it done with-
out God, on grounds of naked natu-
ral equity or rational j ustice. It would
act independently of religion, Chris-
tian faith and Christian charity. It
would push the church aside, and
pr^ume to finish in another name the
work our Lord Jesus Christ commenc-
ed more than eighteen centuries ago.
Hence, unless one prefers to hide
his head in the sand, with the vain
notion that the immense flood roaring
and rising roimd us does not exist,
because he does not see or hear it, it
is time for him, if he is a Catholic, to
consider fi-om the point of view of his
faidi what stand he should take, and
what is his duty toward the poor and
toward society in the crisis the strug-
gles of laborers for power in the state
win soon bring on in this country of
universal suffrage. It is not merely
a question of giving and distributing
alms and assistance that is to be solv-
ed, but great problems of social or-
ganization and rights are put before
us. We must decide, (i) what there
is in the labor movement that religion
approves and encourages; (2) what
there is in it religion condemns ; and
(3) what it contains that is merely
temporal or indififorent to the church.
It certainly has something of each
of these three elements.
In any way the matter is approach-
ed it presents a religious as well as a
political question to be solved, a re-
ligious as well as a political duty to
be performed; for it involves the
rights of the poor on us, and our
duty to them as Christians, What if
the demands of the laborws were just,
and that, notwithstanding this, we
should oppose them ? While social-
ism, as a whole, ^uld be opposed,
it is admitted that the present poor-
laws and charitable institutions are in-
sufficient, and some more thorough
system of relief must be adopted. The
working-men insist that this shall be
done, and for this purpose claim to
elect those who are to govern the
state, and make the laws. Religion
cannot neglect to interfere without
leaving multitudes of souls of the
poor to be seduced into the natiu-al-
ism, sensualism, and infidelity the so-
cialists purpose as the consummation
of the movement Nor does the ques-
tion of our religious duty toward the
poor in this crisis cease to demand
an answer upon a mere refutation of
socialistic theories. It does not suf-
fice to show that the Utopias of Ba-
bceuf, Owen, Cabet, St Simon, Fou-
rier, and Noyes are abominable, but
the just principle of economic distri-
bution must be found and applied
under penalty of eternal anarchy.
The negation of one medicine as un-
fit does not dispense fiom finding
another that will cure, when, indeed,
a disease exists; and we take it for
granted that no Christian who has
heard or read of the successive bur-
dens and hardships of the poor ope-
ratives and peasants of Europe will
say that there is no disease to be cur-
ed, or who is heartless enough to
abandon the case on the ground that
it is incurable. Certain it is that the
hard-working poor will not concede
that they suffer no ii^ustice — will not
cease to demand permanent relief;
and if religion ignores, denies, or
abandons the sick, they will resort to
philosophical quacks, who will lead
them to their moral and religious ruin.
Worse ; as foreseen by his holiness Pius
IX., they will repeat the apostasy ot
the Frendi revolution, and with the
saoie sacrilegious and de^x>tic spirit,
but with more cunning and mediod,
prohibit religion itsdC
790
Views of the Labor Movement.
Their main lever in accomplishing
this will be the labor movement, if they
succeed in controlling it. Hence,
what ttv shall do with it, is a question
of vital importance.
At the outset the Catholic must
give a negative answer to all propo-
sitions and plans for disturbing vested
rights or violently resisting the laws,
or lawful authority, under pretence of
establishing justice. This proposition
needs no argument to show its wis-
dom and conformity with divine law.
Next, the Catholic will oppose agra-
rianism, which is the forcible takmg
of all property to distribute it in equal
portions among the people. This is
forced equality ; a very diflferent thing
from associated labor.
Finally, the Catholic will also even
oppose association when she would
Organize corruption and irreligion un-
der the guise of philanthropy and fra-
ternity.
No doubt these are the features of
the labor movement his holiness Pius
IX. designated under the general title
of socialism when, on the 17th of
June last, in his allocution to the car-
dinals, he said :
* Thus, to-day we see on one side revolu-
tion, bringing in her train that socialism
which repudiates morals and religion and
denies God himself; while on the other
side we behold the ifaithful and true, who
calmly and firmly expect that good princi-
ples will resume their salutary empire, and
that the merciful designs of Deitv will be
realized. '*
The plain duty of lopping oflf so-
cialism, and of casting it aside, being
performed, there remains, (i) reform
through just legislation; (2) legal
contracts for mutual relief; (3) co-
operation or association of work-fel-
lows; and (4) the realization of i>er-
fect Christian charity.
We think we could prove that all the
puidy secular remedies — such as co-
operation, mutuality, and the like— -
are delusive, and in themsdves inade-
quate; but it is not our present pnr-
pose to examine this branch oC the
subject. A vdume would not suice.
It is only necessary to remark, tn
passant^ that there is nothing in Ac
organizations included under tiic g^
neral name of cooperation conttwy
to religion ; but at the same tine
there is nothing m coopcratioii thu
springs from religion ; it is a meic
economic contrivance. It is not »
religious solution of the problem d
social distress ; and since we ha?c n-
gued that religion must be abte to
give a temporal as well as a spmtual
answer to the complaints of the poor,
we wiH pass by all minor and tn»-
tional questions, and cowider oii^|
what the earthly Utopia of fcuthand
charity would be; and mrm wtet
method might nowbe adopted tomw-
gurate the practical reign of Cliwwn
fellowship, in which the la^'f .^
necessarily reap the reward be is ;»»'
ly entitled to. ^^
Yes, religion has also its «^
new Eden, that wiU give ^^^^
tion to the over-burdened ^^Tl
paid workman. Let^^^^^Tto
it in our imagination, ^,^Z
judge from a study of the »<^^J.
ther it would be possible to maKu
reahty. To do this, we shouMbeg
by stating the principles on wto^ ^
ideal should be funded; an^
should also mention such hiswou
facts as may serve to enlighten m
the practical application of those pi»-
The Scriptures and thechorcb J^
that there are degrees of "^^
ning with that minimum ^^^^
ness sufficient to save us from da^
tion. From that point the dqp«^
rise one above the other ^jJJ^L^
cend beyond the regions ^^f^^\Z^
and precept to the realms of ^^^
and perfection. There is the «^
who is willing to obey ^.*^j^
onlv as to refrain from vioUung ^
Views of the Labor MifvemenU
791
ten commandments. Then there are
those who, besides this, give alms and
do other works of mercy for Christ's
sake ; and finally, there are those who,
seeking for the Holy Spirit, labor for
and do works necessary to attain per-
fection.
Excuse this positing of doctrines
famihar to us all. They are stated
as parts of our argument.
Among the immediate disciples of
Christ there were not only shepherds,
mechanics, fishermen, physicians, and
farmers ; but also tradesmen, and even
lawyers and soldiers. Some were
rich, and nevertheless were regarded
as having merited heaven. Zaccheus
is an instance of this class ; to please
God, he gave as much as half of his
goods to the poor. He went only
half-way in perfection. It is clear
that if people generally refi^ained from
committing any of the offences men-
tioned in the ten commandments, jus-
tice would reign, and therefore many
social grievances of the worst kind
would disappear. True, this would
not suffice to give affirmative happi-
ness, but it would be the negation of
pK)sitive moral woe. Works of mercy
are necessary to dry all tears; and
charity has the genial warmth that
makes the smile bloom again on the
cotmtenances of those who have wept.
Now, charity is first pity and sympa-
thy ; and then it is sacrifice. It has
beautiful demonstrations of love in
words and demeanor, but it fully re-
alizes itself in sacrifices; and these
sacrifices are of every extent Some
arc small but cheerfully offered, as the
widow's mite. Some are proportion-
ately large, as the apportionment Tj3s>
cheus made ; but some are imlimited,
as the triple vow of poverty, chastity,
and obedience of the regular clergy.
Jesus said to him, If thou wilt be
PERFECT, go, sell what thou hast, and
give to the poor ; and thou shalt have
treasure in heaven : and come, and fol-
low me. (Matt. xix. 21.) Blessed
are ye (willingly) poor, for yours is
the kingdom of God. (Luke vL 20 ;
Matt V. 3.) Where thy treasure is,
there is thy heart also. (Matt vi. 2 1 . )
You cannot serve God and Mammon.
(Matt vi. 24.) He who hath left
house, etc., . . for my sake and for the
gospel, . . shall . . receive a hun-
dred times as much, now in this time ;
. , and in the world to come life
everlasting. (Mark x. 29, 30.)
From these and numerous similar
speeches of our Lord, and from a spi-
rit of gratitude, his disciples were in-
spired with the desire of attaining per-
fection. Those who remained stead-
fast notwithstanding the crucifixion,
or rather because of the crucifixion,
gathered around the apostles and pro-
nounced the vow of poverty. "All
they that believed were together, and
had all things in common." (Acts
il 44.)
This is the first instance of reat
communism that ever occurred in the
world, and it was the logical product
of the teachings of our Lord and his
apostles. That it was the logical pro-
duct, could be easily shown by argu-
ment on the language of Scripture;
but it suffices that it was approved by
Peter and the other apostles. They
knew best ; and, indeed, gave exam-
ple by becoming members of the
community. That it was the first
instance of real communism, we assert
without forgetting the Essenes, the La-
cedemonians, and the like, firom whose
systems it is easy to distinguish the
apostolic community of goods.
And here we ask particular attention
to the grand and glorious trait which
distinguishes Christian reduetionism*
from socialism, agrarianism, coopera-
tion, and all odier worldly plans of
association.
* We nuke the word from the nune the Jesuit
fiithert ffkyt to thetr estabKshtneots in IHmiguajr.
They called them XtdHcii^m,
792
Views of the Labor Movement
The object of worldly association is
merely to benefit its own members in
secular welfare. It has no outflow-
ing. It is a partnership for distribu-
tion of products, profits, pleasiure, or
knowledge among the members, con-
tributors, or cooperators only. Thus
it was with the Essenes. The princi-
ple and purpose of their community
of goods was not the extension of its
benefits to the neighbor. They had
and enjoyed their wealth among
themselves exclusively. Their asso-
ciations were just as selfish as any
individual ; the only difference being
that in one case it is a single person
and in the other a company that is
selfish, and clannishly withholds its
own fi-om the rest of the world. They
did not practise true charity, that cha-
rity which goes beyond home. The
communication of the Essenes be-
gan and ended at home. It did
not, therefore, resemble the Chris-
tian charity described by St Paul;
they had no idea of it. Modem so*
ciety has many examples of participa-
tion like that of the Essenes. The
free-masons and other mutual aid so-
cieties are of this kind.
Of course, reciprocity or coopera-
tion existed in the apostolic commu-
nity ; but this was only incidental and
secondary. One of the main elements
of charity is its universality, and there-
fore it extends far beyond mere mu-
tuality. It gives — it is not a contract
of exchange or insurance. Associa-
tions of the Christian kind do not
limit themselves to themselves. Be-
sides mutual help, they give help to
any and all men. Indeed, most fi-e-
quentiy Christian charitable institu-
tions entirely lose sight of any mutu-
ality. The members, as it were, for-
get themselves individually, think of
no restitution, and have their whole
attention and sentiments, with those
of the company, fixed beyond their
own wants and upon the alleviation
of the burdens and pains of the poor
in general. Every reader knows of
many illustrations of this difference.
We need not mention particular cases.
Indeed, the very nature of Chris-
tian charity precludes the limiting of
benefits to the members of a society.
Therefore, the moment any company
resolves to contribute or work for the
purpose of a division among its own
members exclusively, it can have no
claim to be acting on the principle of
charity. Charity ignores any such
distinction ; she tends toward all men
indiscriminately; she feels for thsm
all alike, as brethren and neighbors ;
she sympathizes with all; she is spon-
taneous, she is expansive, she radi-
ates. She loves ; and her love over-
flows : then runs in diverging rills to
every door.
Association recommends itself to
the Christian from other considera-
tions than those of economy, security
against want, multiplication of pro-
ductions, and increase of wealth. He
enters into association to increase his
power with God, to attract grace, to
set up a common defence against sin,
to have the strength of union against
Satan, to have more time and oppor^
tunity to do good, and to do it more
efliciently. The fundamental m^ve
of the Christian throughout is love
of God and man, piety and mercy.
It is the spirit of sacrifice ; it is ac-
tuated by no prospect of self-ad>*an-
tage ; or, at worst, it expects personal
advantage only through and imdcr
the universal good. This was the
absolute self-abnegation and exube-
rance of love out of which the apos-
tolic community ^>ontaneously sprang.
It is an error to suppose that the
primitive Christians abandoned their
community of things upon their first
dispersion or flight fix>m persecution.
(Acts viii. I .) It continued long after-
ward, as we learn from the fathers of
the church. Justin Martyr, (.^/^ c a,)
Vuws of the Labor Movement.
793
describing Christian society as it was
in his time, (a.d. i 50,) says,
** We who formerly delighted in adultery,
now observe the strictest chastity ; we who
used the charms of magic, have devoted our-
selves to the true God ; and we who valued
money and gain above all things, now east
ttthat we have in common, and distribute to
eifery man according to his necessities.**
The writings of other primitive fathers
contain similar passages.
It needs no argument to make a
Catholic see how the solemn vows of
pKxverty, chastity, and obedience must
be a development or consequence of
the manners and customs of the pri-
mitive Christians. Even in Justin's
time, community of goods was the
prevailing practice among Christians ;
but as the faith spread itself widely,
and as whole nations were converted,
the great majority were incapable of
that intense zeal and of those aspiring
sentiments that may achieve perfec-
tion. Those who aimed so high were
in a small minority when counted
apart from the total population ; and
they found it necessary to seek free-
dom and escape persecution by re-
sorting to solitude, or to fortify them-
selves against the general lukewarm-
ness by solemn vows„ or to resist the
influence of the world by separate as-
sociation. Hence, at first, those who
sought to attain perfection fled to the
desert, imitating the ancient prophets.
They were the Theban hermits or
anchorites. Then appeared compa-
nionship in mortification in the uni-
tal homes of the cenobites and monks.
Then, long afterward, came the com-
panies of militant charity : the Jesu-
its, Sisters of Charity, Lazarists, and
many others.
Persons who wish to rise above the
ordinary degree of piety, above the
common level of Catholic practice,
generally attempt fiill perfecticm. Ani-
mated by the spirit of self-sacrifice
and an ardent desire to imitate our
Lord, they not only devote them-
selves to poverty and obedience, but
also to chastity. They are not con-
tent with less than the three vows, the
fulness of perfection.
Just here, we wish the reader's atten-
tion to an important point, through
which we expect to arrive at a solution
of the questions propounded in the
beginning of this article. It is that,
though generally we see the " three
vows " practised together, we would
be in error if we supposed that they
are inseparable, and that Catholicity
admits only of the two extremes —
the common level or triple perfection.
On the contrary, among the wonders
and beauties of Catholicity there is
the wonder and the beauty of her
myri-multiform adaptability to the
holy wants of all dispositions, tastes,
and nationalities. The plasticity with
which Catholicity suits herself (with-
out deterioration and with always an
upward tendency) to every degree
and variety, of practical virtue, is mar-
vellous. She is, indeed, all things to
all men without ceasing to be the
spouse of Christ Hence, within her
fold there are, besides the common
law of faith and discipline, multitudes
of approved forms of devotion, giv-
ing egress and exteriority to every
peculiarity of good impulse the soul
may experience. There are saints of
every trade, occupation, habitude, and
condition to be imitated. There are
mifny kinds of confi^temities, sodali-
ties, societies, and orders — ^both lay
and clerical — ^formed to accomplish
every good work. The number of
these ways, rules, methods, forms,
and associations is so great, a descrip-
tion of them all fills volumes.
Sometimes a number of laymen com-
bine to do a charitable work without
forming any vow. Often they make
only simple vows ; but many engage
themselves by solefnn vows. In some
cases the counsel of chastity is follow-
794
Vi^ws of the Labor Movemutit.
cd without that of poverty ; the secu-
lar priesthood is an example of this
kind. Sometimes the vow of poverty
has been made without that of celi-
bacy, as in the case of Ananias and
Saphira,
St. Barnabas, in the first century;
Saints Justin, Julian, and Lucian, in
the second century; Saint Clement
of Alexandria, Tertullian, Origen, and
St. Cyprien, in the third century ; and
Amobius and Lactantius, in the fourth
century, say (Bergier, vol. L p. 380)
that between Christians all things
were in common ; but we easily gath-
er from other statements and allusions
in their works that they did not mean
a community by virtue of any positive
RIGHT or precept They meant the
generous liberality, the voluntary self-
sacrifice, that characterized the man-
ners and customs of the Christians.
None asserted conjoint ownership or
other titie to their neighbor's property,
nor did any pretend to demand au-
thoritatively, as the obligation of a
contract, a participation or use exigi-
ble by virtue of the membership of
Christ; but all, actuated by Christian
fellow-feeling, gave spontaneously and
freely, so that none were allowed to
suffer fix)m want of subsistence. The
effect was the same, or better, than if
all things were in common by virtue
of a legal obligation or contract It
was the same as if all Christians had
made a solemn vow to deprive them-
selves, in order to be able to relieve
all cases of suffering poverty they
knew of. The vow of poverty has
no other temporal object Its theory
is the doctrine of charity, not that of
any natural social right.
Gradually this unmeasured charity
appeared to diminish ; for the whole
empire being theoretically though not
practically converted to Christianity,
the Christians at heart were lost in
the immense crowd of merely nominal
bdieverii and were but partially able
to know each other and coimniuii-
cate. At the same time, so widely
and deeply corrupt were the people,
even the poor, that charity herself
was forced to be cautious. In fact, the
number of sincere Christians, and
therefore of charitable persons, had
not diminished; but was so small in
proportion to the number of the dis-
tressed, that even by bestowing their
all they could produce no sensible
diminution of the general misery.
The situation was almost identical
with that of the present time; and
the plainest remedy would have been
then, as it would be nawy a great aug-
mentation of the number of Chris-
tians imbued with the spirit of chari-
ty and disposed to self sacrifice.
The Catholic Church made many
glorious efforts to effect this cure by
increasing the number of the faithful
and true, and by organizing her cha-
ritable agencies. She gave birth to
those missions and institutions by
which the spiritual nature and inten-
tion of Christianity was preserved,
perpetuated, and disseminated, even
through barbarian conquest and feu-
dal oppression. To be able to de-
vote themselves to promoting their
own and their neighbor's salvation,
and to help the sick, the oppressed,
and the poor, the members of the
monastic and chivalric orders gene-
rally bound themselves by ''three
vows;" and if they ever omitted any
one of the three, it was the vow of
poverty. The holy knights, for in-
stance, firequendy vowed then:iselves
to chastity and obedience ; but not al-
ways to poverty. Chastity and obe-
dience are not ccHisiderably thwarted
by the possession of worldly riches ;
and they may without very serious
detriment dispense with the restraints
of poverty : but poverty is very diffi-
cidt without chastity; for the hard-
ships of pover^ axe grievously mul-
tiplied by the necessity of providing
Views of the Labor MovemetU.
795
for a family. Hence, even in the re-
motest times, the orders have added
the vow of chastity to that of po-
verty.
Doubtless there have been, since
apostolic times, many isolated instan-
ces of the vow of poverty being made
by an entire family. Among the ter-
tiary or lay brethren of the regular
orders, cases of such a combination
might easily have happened. We take
it for granted that if a husband and
wife make the vow of poverty, they
would (if otherwise correct) be ac-
cepted as a tertiary or lay brother
and sister of any regular order bound
by the three vows, such as the Fran-
ciscans, Jesuits, etc. We know, how-
ever, of only one recorded instance of
there having existed, since apostolic
times, a distinctly and duly organized
congregation, sodality, company, or
community of married Catholics liv-
ing under the obligations of a solemn
or even simple vow of poverty. The
schismatics or heretics cannot even
adduce a single instance ; for, as al-
ready noted, their societies are not
willingly poor, but the object of their
association is comfort and wealth.
The one instance I refer to is that
of the Jesuit reductions in Paraguay.
Yet, long before the beautiful re-
sults obtained by the Jesuit fathers in
Paraguay, the good such establish-
ments might do had been clearly
foreseen by excellent and learned
Catholics. That confessor of the
faith, Sir Thomas More, who was be-
headed by Henry VIH. for refusing
the oath of supremacy, wrote the first
Ufopiay founded on the idea of a com-
munity of goods among a whole peo-
ple. Since that day the idea has fer-
mented, and will not allow the worid
to rest until it is practically fulfilled
by a Christian people; fbr it is a
Christian idea, based only on Chris-
tian motives, and wholly impractica-
ble outside of the Christian religion.
It was to emulate the example set
by the Jesuits that several Christian,
though schismatic or heretical, socie-
ties have been partially successful in
realizing this idea. These are the
Moravians, Rappists, Shakers, and
Ballouists; but we are satisfied the
work of realization must be resumed
by Catholic hands, and with Catholic
motives, and on Catholic grounds, be-
fore it can be permanendy and beau-
tifully successful.
Here several questions present
themselves together :
1. What are the distinctive mo-
tives and grounds of an apostolic re-
duction to the rule of community ?
2. What essential Catholic condi-
tions should the (^ganic rule of such
an establishment embody ?
. 3. Would such establishments tend
to disseminate the faith and strengthen
the church ?
4. Are the times propitious, and do
surrounding circumstances demand
missionary attention to this matter ?
5. Is there place in the economy
of the church militant for the opera-
tion of communities of families having
property in common ?
We fear that the editor would not al-
low the space necessary for an elabo-
rate answer to these questions. We will
therefore endeavor to be very brief.
I. A socialist would say that the
only motive for association is a desire
to better our woridly condition ; that,
therefore, association b recommenda-
ble only so far as it facilitates increas-
ed production, thorough economy,
equitable distribution, and greater se-
curity; and that it is only by con-
vincing men of these tangible advan-
tages that they will be induced to give
up individualism for combinism. So
their phalansteries and fim[iili8teries
are nothing but contrivances to save
and gain time, labor, and money for
die benefit of the company, and in ri-
valry with, and excksive o^ every oth-
796
Views of the Labor Movement.
er company and the remainder of man-
kind. ' It is only the old principle of
self-interest, covetousness, greed of
gain, love of money, exercised by
partnerships or corporations instead
of single persons. Thus, some of
these companies will get very rich,
while others, though burning with
covetousness and discontent, will fall
into great poverty. But besides sel-
fish motives moving men, there are oth-
ers more powerful and certainly more
Christian. For instance, a catholic
community of goods would rest on
direcdy the opposite of self-interest,
and be induced by charity counter-
acting the excess of egoism. True,
as in the other case, association would
be only a means, and also a guaran-
tee of safety, economy, and increase ;
but how different the ulterior object I
The final causes of a catholic "re-"
duction" to community of goods
would be: (i) to live apart from the
evil example of the world ; (2) to sus-
tain and encourage one another in the
faith and its practices; (3) to secure
the rearing of children in the practice
of religion; (4) to be able to hear
mass oftener, and indulge more fre-
quently and expansively in prayer and
other sweet and consoling devotions ;
(5) to save and increase wealth in-
deed, though not for self not for the
company and its members beyond the
absolute necessities of life, but for eo^
/^A7i<z/i-^jf/7Vv— distribution among the
poor neighbors, or the establishment
of similar companies; (6) the "re-
ductionists" (We venture to generalize
the name they had in Paraguay)
would work in a spirit of self-sacrifice
to please God; (7) they would offer
up their voluntary privations as acts
oflove, penance, and prayer; (8) they
would be actuated by aspirations to
merit grace and attain perfection; (9)
be moved by a desire to display faith
before the worid, and to concentrate
its light so that it might radiate far
and wide; and finally, (10,) they
would cherish the thought that their
zeal might be efficient in strengthen-
ing the influence, facilitating the ope-
rations, and increasing the glory of
the church. What an immense dif-
ference between reductionism and so-
cialism!
2. The essential conditions of such
an association would be the vows of
poverty and obedience, under such
sanctions and guarantees and inspired
by such hopes as only the Catholic
Church can give ; and, since the society
would admit persons living in mar-
riage, and since the church teaches
the indissolubility of the marriage-tie,
the unity of the consent of husband
and wife to the acceptance of these
vows previous to admission. The vow
of poverty would be a sint qua non^
since without it the society would
be liable to the precariousness of all
secular enterprises; and since, also,
without this vow the society would
not have the mark, the trait, the es-
sential quality that distinguishes disin-
terested reductionism fix>m riches-and-
comfort-seeking socialism. The vow
of obedience to a superior authority,
such as a clerical director or a bishop,
is also indispensable. Those who have
had opportunity of observing the
interior operation of a socialist or Pro-
testant association must be fully
sensible of the importance of th^
condition. They are distracted by
divided counsels, inconsistencies of
purpose, obstinacy and pride of opi-
nions, rival ambitions, and the like.
The end is generally ruin. They
only succeed in proportion to such
modicum of humility and obedience as
they have contrived to incorporate in
their rules and intention. Sometimes
it is only the acknowledged superiori-
ty and energy of character of a found-
er or leader that preserves the organic
zation. As soon as this persona^
dies, his creature goes abo into diso-
Views of the Labor Movement.
797
hition. Hence, we say the vital condi-
tions of a "reduction" arc, (i) Chris-
tian fervor; (2) Christian humility;
(3) Christian marriage; (4) Christian
poverty, and (5) Catholic obedience.
3. We have before us an account
of the Paraguay missions, from which
we copy the following passage, (p-52),
" It sometimes happened that the number
thus collected was far too great to admit of
their being received as permanent dwellers
in the ' reduction ;' and in this case their in-
structors would furnish all that was need-
ed for t/u founding of a nrw one^ not only
suppljring com, cattle, and clothing from
their own stores, but giving what, to an In-
dian, was most difficult to bestow, their ac-
tive and personal cooperation in building a
new * reduction,* *'
This extract answers the question
whether such a company would tend
to disseminate the faith and strength-
en the church. The process of in-
crease would be in geometrical pro-
portion. Each reduction would have
several oflfepring, and these, in turn,
would also each evolve several oth-
ers. This was the -case in Paraguay.
There, in a few years, the reductions
became so numerous that they lined
the banks of the Parana and Uru-
guay, extended far into the interior,
and, in the words of an historian,
formed " a Christian republic, where,
fax from the dwellings and evil de-
signs of the colonists, the spirit of
the primitive church revived." Alas !
that this caused the envy and jea-
lousy of the world of avarice and am-
bition. In one more generation, if
the Jesuit fathers had not been ban-
ished, the Christian republic would
have been permanently establish-
ed. The glorious example they set
should not remam fruitless. There
is a possibility of similar wodc and si-
milar results in the midst of the moral
desert of civilization. It is time that
the shepherds should gather their
lambs into visible and safer folds.
The lambs should not be left to strag-
0e among the wolves of this moral
wilderness. Surely the fact of these
straggling members of the flock being
married should be no objection to
their being provided with a refuge
when the couple seek it with unity of
will, and would fain find in it the op-
portimity of serving God. Surely, the
fructification of such a work would be
wonderful; for its beneficence and
Christian spirit would be so apparent
that thousands of poor Catholics
would eagerly join it, and tens of
thousands of lost sheep would be re-
converted so as to follow the religious
and beautiful life thus made practical-
ly possible. This power of multiply-
ing themselves, this productiveness by
thirty, seventy, and a hundred fold,
is a peculiarity of this kind of as-
sociation; for, while socialistic and
cooperative societies are concentric,
a Christian association or reduction,
by virtue of its voluntary self-priva-
tion and consequent making of a dis-
posable surplus, and by virtue of its de-
sire to bestow in charity this surplus, is
evolutive and prolific
4. Surrounding circumstances in
these times not only demand the at-
tention of the chiu-ch to the subject
of association, but the world now of-
fers facilities which, though very dif-
ferent from those that existed in Pa-
raguay, are far more favorable and
congenial In Paraguay, the reve-
rend fathers found people capable of
discipline, but barbarous, ignorant, and
suspicious. In civilization to-day, in-
stead of savage ignorance, we see
foelish infidelity and moral corrup-
tion ; but, at the same time, a belief
in the benefits of association is spread-
ing itself continually. This belief
evinces itself in every direction. It
resolves and attempts a great many
forms of combination. The convic-
tion that good will flow from the in-
dustrial association of those who la-
bor is becoming more and more in-
798
Fi^ws of thM Labor Movemuni.
tense. Several secular efforts, based
on mere worldly advantage or mutu-
ality, have proved seriously successfiiL
The tendency of work and business
is toward the organization of corpo-
rations. The capitahsts have set the
example by their monster companies
' and monopolies. The plain deduc-
tion is, that this tendency affords a fa-
vorable opportunity for forming re-
ductions. To neglect it would be to
neglect making all things work toge-
ther unto good to such as, according
to God's purpose, are called to be
saints. (Rom. viii. 28.)
5. To say that there is no place
for communities of families in the eco-
nomy of the church, would be to deny
her beautiM adaptability to all grades
and varieties of virtue and good works.
That she should reject and oppose
socialism, with its cori^ge of free love,
heresy, blasphemy, covetousness, na^
turalism, and woman's diversion, let
us loudly declare; but to say that
there should be in the system of the
church a place only for such apostolic
communities as are composed of celi-
bates, would be to condemn her histo-
ry, which tells us of the community
at Jerusalem, and of the reductions of
Paraguay. We cannot suppose there
is a grade or kind of real perfection
that the church would reject, if, in-
deed, that grade or kind be in con-
formity with evangelical counsel It
is said that keeping the vow of po-
verty would be too hard for married
people, who are naturally impelled to
seek riches for the sake of their chil-
dren. It is said that parental bias,
solicitude, and duty >vould create
great obstacles, hard to be overcome.
Supposing this, still we say, all things
are possible with God, The merit of
those who, with God, could conciliate
these Vko obligations, and accomplish
both, would only be greater in the
ejres of the churdi. Certainly, no
Catholic will say that the counsels in
regard to voluntary poverty are meant
only ibf celibates, and that only cdi-
bates are entitled to gain the con-
sequent blessings ^ Blessed are the "
willingly ^ poor, for theirs is Ibe king-
dom of heaven." Certainly, a man
and wife axe entitled to earn the bene-
fits of this willing poverty as weH
as any monk or nun. The manied
poor are entided to make the same
sacrifice and take part in the same
woric to enhance the glory of the
church, and to merit the same reward.
Association makes the sacrifice and
the work possible to the cehbatc. It
creates a similar possibility ibr mar-
ried people. The wondrous powers
of combined labor and economy are
well known. The fields in that direc-
tion are wide and free, and ready for
gtfod seed. Instead of thinking that
associations of married people are in
any wise incompatible with Catholic
doctrine and discipline, a little reflec-
tion will convince us that it is, on the
contrary, the long-negltcted link that
completes the circle of good wcrics.
Infideb would fain seize the position,
and try to adapt it to naturalism and
cupidity; but their attempts have
been simply ridiculous. The reasca
is obvious : the vow of poverty and
all its consequences is possible only m
and through the motives inspired by
the Christian religion. They canaoc
exist and cannot be imitated outside.
True associaticm, that which is pro-
ductive of moral good and social
happiness, t^at which springs from
charity, belongs to Christianity, and it
is impossible to separate it firom her.
It was practised by die primitive dis-
ciples, it was praised and taught by
the iatheis of the church, it was and
still is fulfilled by the celibates in the
monasteries, it was successfully ap-
plied in the reductions to a whcje
people; and we conclude that the
place once occupied by saintly tribes
and families under the wing of the
church is still vacant and open to
their return and reestablishmenL
Tk4 Present Conditiati of Poland.
799
THE PRESENT CONDITION OF POLAND.
America owes a debt of gratitude
to the Polish nation. In the darkest
days of our struggle for independence
OMUiy brave Poles came to our assis-
tance. The name of Pulaski stands
among the most honored names of
the Revolution. To-day we are on
a most friendly footing and possess
much influence with Russia. She is
crushing Poland to the earth in a
maimer which is a disgrace to the
nineteenth century. Shall we be si-
lent when our voice might bring aid
to a noble but unfortunate people,
who generously assisted us in the
hour of need ? Justice and gratitude
both forbid.
The imprecedented and truly piti-
ful condition to which the former Po-
lish provinces have been reduced by
Muscovite tyranny makes it a duty,
which we owe likewise to our common
humanity, to direct attention to that
ill- used country, and to illustrate
somewhat in detail the intolerable re-
ligious, political, and social chaos into
which it has been precipitated. The
idea of restoring the ancient Sarma-
tian monarchy to its territorial integri-
ty might justly be deemed Utopian ;
but we have still the right to insist, in
the name of every recognized princi-
ple of moral and public law, that the
inconsequence and barbarity with
which Russian Poland, and esf^ecially
Congress Poland, is now being treat-
ed, should cease. No one capable of
appreciating the extent of the evil can
fail to perceive that such an anoma-
lous state of things as there obtains is
absolutely insufferable, and that even
Muscovite brutality cannot much lon-
ger expect to avert another revolu-
tion- The eventualities of the PoUsh
c|uestion demand, therefore, for this
reason alone, the serious and early in-
terference of the great powers.
To enable the reader to arrive at a
thorough understanding of the ques-
tion, it is necessary tliat we should
commence by casting a brief glance
at the present religious condition of
the country. It is well known that
the Roman Catholic Church, which is
professed by six sevenths of the Chris-
tian and five sevenths of the total pop-
ulation of the kingdom ->the church
which has the deepest and strongest
hold upon the social and historical
life, the customs and character of the
nation — has, during the last six years,
been systematically degraded, both ^
facto and officially, to the rank of a
mere schism. The Archbishop of Po-
land, expressly selected for the prima-
cy by the Emperor Alexander on ac-
count of his probity and virtues, was
deposed after a twelve months' in-
cumbency witliout charges, trial, or
sentence. The sole excuse for this
harsh treatment was that he presumed
to remonstrate against the extreme se-
verity with which the most trivial po-
litical offences of his countrymen were
punislied. The venerable prelate is
now a close prisoner of state in the
interior of Russia. His place in the
archiepiscopal palace is filled by a
Russian, Tschinownik, of the Greek
orthodox stamp, who wields absolute
sway over the " sectarian" churches —
as the Roman Catholic and the evange-
lic are called — and entertains a select
circle of friends with Russo-French
amateur theatricals in the apartments
in which Tijalewski and Felinski once
meditated and prayed.
The treatment meted out to the
other patriotic bishops has been mark-
ed by a similarly brutal and vindictive
8cx> The Present CondUion of Poland.
spirit Some of them are prisoners been exactly in accordance with such
in Siberia ; some, like Bishop Lubin- a theory. The United Greek Church,
ski, have died on the way out ; some previously on the most cordial terms
languish in foreign exile. Their dio- with her Roman relative and the Po-
ceses have been conferred on ecclesi- lish nationality, has been entirely es-
astics who are in the interest of Rus- tranged from Rome, and placed under
sia, and therefore execrated and de- the influence of anti-Polish, Russo*ma-
spised as traitors by their own coun- niac Ruthenians, expressly imported
trymen. All intercourse and dealings with this view from Galizia. With such
between the Catholic hierarchy in Po- spiritual guides to direct them, it was
land and the see of Rome have been expected that many would be gradually
int^dicted and rendered almost im- brought over to the Greek Church, as
possible. With a view of preserving had indeed been attempted once be-
a{^>earances, a Catholic synod has, by fore, but with rather indifierent sue-
force and threats, been convened un- cess, in Lithuania, during the reign of
der the auspices of the imperial gov- the Emperor Nicholas. But we need
emment at St Petersburg. The mem- not enlarge on this theme. WlM>le
bers of this body have been clothed volumes might be filled with accounts
with jurisdiction in all ecclesiastical of the p>ersecutions to which the na-
afiairs. The lower clergy, stripped of tional church and her servants have
their revenues and endowments, have been subjected by the Russian gov-
been made dependent on a state sub- emment. Who does not still remem-
sidy, which may be withdrawn at ber the heart-rending scenes enacted
discretion by the temporal authorities, at Warsaw during the revolutionary
Laymen, without properly defined du- years, when the Cossacks forced their
ties and powers, completely igno- way into the sanctuaries and dragged
rant of the wants and aims of the thousands of worshippers from the
church, preside over the priesthood steps of the altar to the dungeons of
and prescribe the ritual and the ecde- the citadel, or the still more recent at-
siastical discipline. The majority of tempt to compel the Catholic clergy
the convents and religious houses, as to perform divine service in the Rus-
well as the schools connected with sian language ? These specimms of
them, have been closed, and the su- Muscovite tyranny in times of peace
perintendence which the religious for- have sent a thrill of horror and loath-
meriy exercised over the education ing throughout the entire Chrisdaa
and training of youth has been entire- world, and are still too firesh in the
ly taken away. A number of the memory of the living to be forgotten.
finest Roman Catholic church edi- Passing from the spiritual adminis-
fices has been appropriated for the use tration of the kingdom to the tempo-
of the Greek Orthodox Church, which ral, we find it intrusted to a class of
has in addition been endowed out of men who are as hostile and foreign
the property and frmds of the former, to the nation as to every estaUished
The concordat with Rome has been theory of good government This b
abrogated, and though the St Peters- especially the case in the provinces,
burg cabinet denies that M. de Mey- where all the authority rests in the
endorff, its ambassador to the holy hands of Stock-Russians, nadvcs of a
see, told the supreme pontiff to his country whose pohtical and economi-
face that '* Catholicism is synonymous cal systems, whose physical and his-
with revolution," yet the treatment of torical life, whose character, customs,
the Catholic Church of Poland has laws, views, ideas, etc, are in every
TIu Present Condition of Poland.
8oi
respect the very opposite to those of
Poland. Selected almost exclusively
from among the subalterns of the
army, their profession has taught them
to laugh at civil and constitutional
guarantees, to disregard the delicate-
ly adjusted and carefully balanced
interests of the community, and it
is therefore not surprising that their
misgovemment should exceed all be-
lief. Of the wisdom, moderation, and
forbearance which the peculiar state
of affairs in Poland demands, there is
no tracer It matters very little that
Field-Marshal Count Berg, the viceroy
of the kingdom, and some of the gene-
rals who preside over certain branches
of the administration, should person-
ally be honest, conscientious, well-
meaning, and just men. The train-
ing, antecedents, principles, and ha-
bits of their subordinates are such as
unfit them for civil positions. Yet
this deplorable want of all adminis-
trative talent and experience in the
colonels, captains, and lieutenants
who are appointed to govern the pro-
vinces, does not constitute the great-
est and most serious objection to them.
Besides the very small amount of
intelligence possessed by the average
Russian subaltern, he is noted for
some far more offensive traits. This
class is proverbial for its rapacity, dis-
honesty, venality, intemperance, and
immorality; and as every Russian
looks upon himself in the light of a
conqueror among a treacherous, re-
bellious people, he naturally regards
all Poles, and especially the refined
and educated among them, as his
personal enemies, whom he only re-
firains from plundering and oppress-
ing so long as he is bribed.
Before the insurrection of 1863, the
administration of the kingdom was in
all essential features autonomic and
distinct from that of the Russian em-
pire, a privilege which Finland still
enjoys at this day. A minister for
VOL. X. — 51
Polish af&irs had a place in the St.
Petersburg cabinet, and through his
hands passed all the public business
which the conquered country trans-
acted with the imperial government
and the sovereign himself. At War-
saw sat an administrative council, a
kind of Polish ministry, over >Yhose
deliberations the viceroy presided in
person. The members of the War-
saw administration were also the chiefs
of the several public departments,
such as that of the interior, of jus-
tice, of education, of religion, etc.
Within the last four years the man-
agement of these departments has,
however, been transferred to St. Pe-
tersburg, while the niceroy, in spite
of his title as the representative of
majesty, now only retains a mere
nominal authority. Instead of the
administrative council, an administra-
tive and even legislative inquisition,
which interferes arbitrarily with the
different branches of the public ser-
vice, and completely neutralizes the
viceregal influence, has been estab-^
lished. ITiis overshadowing power,
the so-called Committee of Organiza-
tion — ^named thus because it was ori-
ginally created to arrange the differ-
ences between the landlords and serfs
which arose out of the emancipation
ukase of 1864 — has iisurped supreme
legislative, judicial, and executive
functions, so that without its coopera-
tion the viceroy is absolutely power-
less. Under the unassuming title of a
corresponding member of the commit-
tee, the celebrated Panslavist, Solow-
jeff, is the real leader of the Russian,
government at Warsaw, while Count
Berg, the viceroy, has become the
bearer of an empty dignity, and is only
saved from the unpleasant position of
a puppet by his rank as a marshal of
the empire, and commander-in-chief
of the forces in the Warsaw dbtrict..
It may well be doubted whether
the civilized world has ever seen such.
8o2
The Present Condition of Poland,
mnitanr-bumocntic anarchjr as mo-
dam Poiond nov presents. Those
who witness this state of things from
a distance most find it impossible to
Ibnn an adequate conception of the
scmi-Kirharic, semi-refined confusion
which is its chief characteristic. And
yet, all the wrong, all the injustice,
all the inconsistency of tins adminis-
trative chaos, with its long train of
social, political, and religious embar-
rassments and entanglements, is out-
done by the interference with a most
holy and inalienable right of not only
ever}' citizen, but of every human be-
ing. That right is the sacred right
of education and instruction, with
which the Rusian government has
meddled in a most unwananted and
despotic manner. The moral violence
to which it has resorted in this mat*
ter outrages every thing that the hu-
man race considers peculiarly sacred
and dear. All the atrocities commit-
ted by heathen tyrants, which history
reconls, a[)pear insignificant by the
side of the infamous system, delibe-
rate! v devised and enforced under a
monarch who advocates progress at
home, while in the affairs of Poland
he is ruled by a terroristic faction that
labors with fhnatic zeal for the moral
dismemberment, emasculation, and
degradation of the rising generation
of a vigorous, living, Christian peo-
ple, who have shared for more than
ten centuries in the blessings of west-
em culture.
I'his language may appear too
strong, but it is more than justified
by the provocation and offence. No
other government but the Russian has,
within historical times, been known
to prohibit, under severe penalties, pri-
vate instruction in the elementary
branches and religion in the national
tongue. There is no instance on re-
cord of a civilized state whose rulers
have devoted all their energies to the
suppression and reduction of the num-
ber of exbting educational estaUi^-
ments, or to the discouragement of
attendance at school by raising the
cost of tuition, the price of school-
books, and by generally resorting to
other equally disreputable expedi-
ents for the piupose of rendering the
means of education inaccessible to an
oppressed and impoverished popula-
tion.* It is only in Poland that en-
tire faculties — ^which contained many
foreign professors invited to the coun-
try with assurances of pennanent po-
sitions — ^have been suddenly ordoed
to adopt a strange language insufii-
cientiy developed for scientific pur-
poses; and no government btu die
czar's would have dared to make
non-compliance with such a prepos-
terous demand a cause for sumsiaiy
dismissal without compensation. In
no other land would the public schools
have been placed und^ the control
of individuals notoriously incompetent
in a scientific, educational, social, and
moral point of view for this grave
responsibility; men so little superior
in intellect and manners to the semi-
civilized, non-commissioned officers
under them, that they have frequently
been known to assail the professors in
the presence of their scholars with the
foulest abuse, and even with blows.
Where else, save in Russia, wouki
public functionaries have overlooked
gross breaches of discipline in the
students, for the sake of tempting
them to disgrace themselves by de-
monstrations against the land of their
birth ? Where else, save th»e, couUl
have originated the monstrous idea
*T1i;s barbarous conduct of the
ment has been once equalled and even surpassed.
We allude to tbe laws by which En^laml, after she
had been ei lightened by the Reformattoo, probtbiied
all education among the Irish people. Wc wish to
call most partknlar attention to the tet tlwt ia both
cases dst'ttctively Catholic nations knre rtimf^d
earnestly for the richt of instmctioQ whidi bhterly
anti-Catholic ones have witUwId. Yet we are dbBy
told that Catholicity is the great foe. and «Qti>Cath0>
licity the great fosterer of popular edncaiioo !— Eo.
Cath. Wosld.
Tlu Present Condition of Poland.
803
of perverting the compositions of
school children so that they appeared
to reflect the darker sides of the na-
tional character; or where else would
these juvenile emanations have been
published to the world as evidences
of the degradation of a whole people ?
What other Christian and civilized
government would have stooped to
the incredible infamy of turning the
seminaries for the education of the fu-
ture wives and daughters of the land
into schools for coquetry and places
for promiscuous intercourse between
the sexes, in the hope of thus debauch-
ing and demoralizing both the present
and the next generation ?
Yet ^1 this, and all that a fiend-
ish ingenuity could possibly invent or
suggest in the same direction, has ac-
tually been done, openly and in the
broad light of day, by the Russian
government in Poland, more espe-
cially since the middle of the present
decade. To make this tyranny still
more oppressive and hideous, the Po-
lish child is not allowed to be edu-
cated in its native tongue, but in one
instinctively repulsive to it, difficult to
acquire by reason of its peculiar cha-
racters, and far less adapted to intel-
lectual uses than the Polish. Not even
religious consolation and instruction
— though they address themselves to
the holiest feelings of our nature — are
permitted to reach the oppressed peo-
ple in any language but the abhor-
red Russian. A terrorism like this
acts with the effects of poisonous dew
upon excitable temperaments, and ex-
plains how the most exemplary piety
and the fiercest thirst for vengeance
may dwell side by side in the national
heart To crown, as it were, these
wrongs and insults, the Russian au-
thorities have lately forbidden the pu-
pils of the public schools to speak
their own language even during the
hours allotted for play. The design,
of course, is to completely Russian-
ize the young Polish gen eration. 1 1 is
for the same reason that the pupils
of the public schools are compelled
to we^r a Russian uniform, and to sa-
lute, after the fashion of private sol-
diers, every military officer whom they
may happen to encounter in-doors or
out. That no Polish father or mother
may easily evade the pernicious ef-
fects which such an education as the
public schools afford must exert upon
their offspring, the refined absolutism
of Russia has taken care to discou-
rage by all means in its power the
employment of private tutors and at-
tendance at foreign institutions of
learning. First, no government ap-
pointment, not even the most petty
and least remunerative post, can be
obtained unless the candidate under-
stands Russian; and, as there is a
great dearth of private tutors, who
are either natives of Russia or who
have mastered its language, a large
majority of the Polish children are in-
directly compelled to go to the pub-
lic schools, where the only branch
of study thoroughly cultivated is the
Russian literature and language. Then
every conceivable obstacle has been
placed in the way of the employment
of private instructors, either natives
or foreigners, even by those families
who could otherwise afford the ex-
pense. Under the reign of Nicholas,
foreign professors and teachers were
almost banished from the country,
and those who had not the official
influence necessary to evade the law,
were obliged to bring them across
the frontier in the disguise of servants
after having bribed the police and the
custom-house officials. This rule has
been made still more stringent of
late. No private instructor is allowed
to follow his calling until he has first
submitted to an examination in the
Russian language — the sole test of
proficiency and qualification — before
a government board expressly insti-
804
The Present Condition of Poland.
tuted for this purpose; and the result
is, that hundreds of foreigners have
resigned their places and left the
country. The surveillance of the
police is carried to an extent which
can hardly be credited abroad, and
their espionage makes any evasion of
the interdict difficult, if not impossible.
To keep the children of all save the
wealthiest parents from being sent
abroad for an education, the price of
passports has been raised to a figure
which virtually amounts to a total
prohibition of foreign residence and
travel.
These few unvarnished facts may
suffice to give the reader a faint con-
ception of the present state of do-
mestic and social life in Poland. The
child, bred from infancy in accor-
dance with certain specific national
customs and habits, in disposition,
spcoth» thought, sentiment, and ex-
pression, moulded in a decidedly
Polish, Roman Catholic, West-Euro-
pean fonn, is, upon its admission to
school, forceti not merely to reject all
it has imbibed with its mother's milk,
but to accept the very opposite of what
nature and duty have taught it to hold
s;u reii at home. With the Russian
si hi>ol uniform — the badge of degra-
dation and sld\*cn' — the Polish bov is
expcitcvl to put on a manner and
s|xxvh hostile to his nationality and
Tvligion; for u|X)n his doing so de-
jKMids lK>th his oven success in life
and the safety of his parents. Must
not all piety and lo)*alty, under such
an aa urscil sx'stem, all manhixxl and
mv>rahtv. Ivr dcstrovevl, and the cha-
Mcicr of the et\tire people deterio-
raio? AtUT ten ^x^a^s or more of
th;N tTAitunc and prej^amiivm, the l>oy
K\ ontcs a tnan. iS^x^ roails through
luo now ivjvn Ivfvve him : he either
cnu-rs tSc scnK^ of the state^ in
^J.;^h t mm^ holywvnK^ ^> thoroughly
Row>;^n;'<N^ i\ii hc iNwtinucs in all
<^^; TvM K\nt*m-T5 ^> Ux^ up to the
system of the school, and hardens
graduaUy into a genuine Tschinow-
nik ; or he returns home to ripen into
a conspirator and plotter. Is it then
surprising that such a course of edu-
cation should have made the number
of shipwrecked Catilinian existences
so much larger in Poland than in any
other land ? Is it strange that under
such a government the national pros-
perity, which might otherwise be sus-
ceptible of great development, should
steadily decline, and be replaced by
an augmenting wretchedness ?
Did we not know that at any time vio-
lent political catastrophes may occur
and impart to the current of things a
direction different to that which a ma-
jority of professional and non-profes-
sional politicians anticipate, we might
easily predict to what such a state of so-
ciety must inevitably lead. But irre-
spective of the possibility, even the pro-
bability, of great political compUca-
tions, which would prevent the co-
operation of the three-partite powers
hereafter, there lies, despite its weak-
nesses and faults, a vitality and capaci-
ty of resistance in the Polish nation-
ality that spurns imconditionally the
supposition of such an extermination
as the one attempted by Russia; and
this it will be well to consider in eve-
ry attempt for the reconstruction of
the country. When a nation is to
disappear and be absorbed by anoth-
er, Uiis task can only be accomplish-
ed when it is fused with a natioQ
physically and mentally its superior.
Such is, however, far from being the
case in the present instance. The Rus-
sian nationality, as its colonization
experiments in Lithuania have suffi-
ciently demonstrated, can send only
smaller, never larger masses into Po-
land, and the assimilative capacities
of the Polish nationality are, in spite
of its political subjection, so prepon-
derating, by reason of a superior cul-
ture, that the Russians will much
Friedemann Bach,
805
sooner become Poles, than the Poles
will become Russians. All the uka-
ses, all the religious and educational
tyranny and injustice, all the bayonet
rule and oppression of the latter can
never bridge the gulf between the
two peoples. The Russification of
Poland is, and must always remain, a
physical and moral impossibility which
no Murawieffs, Katkoffs, or Solowieflfe,
can hope to bring about. An imper-
fect, hastily - prepared insurrection,
commanded by inexperienced leaders,
nearly destitute of arms and resources,
defied the Russian colossus nearly a
year and a half. And even for this
tardy victory over a country of five
millions of inhabitants, who had been
for more than a decade governed by
martial law, Russia was chiefly in-
debted to the passive attitude of the
neighboring states; for, had either
Austria or Prussia abandoned their
neutrality, the insurrection would yet
be alive. The alleged right and mis-
sion of the czars to govern the Poles
are actually and morally as unfound-
ed as they are politically and legally
an insult to the age and to the law
of civilized nations.
FRIEDEMANN BACH.
PART FIRST.
On New Year's eve of the year
1736, a brilliant company was assem-
bled in the salons of the Count von
Bruhl, lord premier to the Elector of
Saxony. The mansion, opposite the
castle in Dresden, was illuminated so
brightly that the whole street in front
was light as day. In a shadow of
the castle wall stood a man wrapped
in a cloak, gazing up at the windows,
behind which could be seen the gay
confusion of guests. Presently one —
a lady splendidly dressed— came close
to one of the windows, opened it, and
stepped out upon the balcony. The
light gleamed on the jewels in her
coronet. She stood but an instant in
the air, being called back; the win-
dow was closed, and she was lost in
the throng.
The solitary watcher outside, with
a deeply-drawn sigh, turned to de-
part His hand was seized as he did
so by a passer-by — a man in the dress
of the court pages.
" Good evening !" cried a cheery
voice. " How glad I am to find you
at last ! What were you doing here ?'*
The other laughed, evading an an-
swer, and, drawing his cloak about
him, complained of the cold.
" Come to Seconda's !" cried the
page. " You will find plenty of hot
punch there."
The two walked on to the celebrat-
ed Italian restaurant near the old
market. The scene there was as bril-
liant as at the premier's. A gay com-
pany was assembled in the largest
room, where the new-comers took
seats at the table. As they threw off
their hats and cloaks, the page was
seen to be a man of about forty years
of age, with a face deeply lined with
the marks of free living. His eyes
were bright and merry, and his mouth
was liberal in smiles. His companion
was a strikingly handsome man of
twenty-five, with a pale and haughty
countenance, and a form well propor-
8o6
Friedemann Bach.
tioned and majestic His expression
was grave, and a satirical curl was in
his lip when he spoke; his large, dark
eyes were now fiercely flashing, now
dreamy and melancholy, and they
were often downcast and shaded by
long, heavy lashes.
" You are dull to-night, mon amiP^
cried the jovial page, whose name
was Von Scherbitz, " Banish your
gloom ; it is no time for it"
** Have patience with me," said
the young man in a low tone, and
with an attempt at a laugh. " I can-
not always keep even with you. I
have served but a two years' brother-
hood, you know."
"In our club, yes; yet one year
has spread your fame in music over
all Europe ! Friedemann Bach has
but one rival in renown — the admira-
ble Sebastian !"
A flush mounted to the young
man's brow.
** Call him not a rival !" he exclaim-
ed. " I have to thank my father for
all I have ever done ; and I feel my
own insignificance beside his great-
ness. I feel, toOy how unworthy I am
of his love."
" Nonsense !" cried Scherbitz.
" Your good father is strict, perhaps ;
pourqtmf he is old; you are young
and impetuous ; you have your libe-
ral ideas and your adventures, and
keep them from his knowledge, to
spare him chagrin. Where is the harm
in this ?"
Friedemann was leaning his head
on his hand, which he passed slowly
across his forehead, as if waving
away the trouble of discussing the
point The punch was placed before
them, and the tankards were filled.
The guests at the round table drank,
as they did; and others came in;
among them military officers, painters,
and musicians. As a party of distin-
guished-looking persons entered, the
page rose to greet one of them, call-
ing him " Sgnor Hasse." The gen-
tleman glanced around the company,
but declined a seat at the table, I^
treating to a distant comer. Here
he bade the waiter remove the light
firom a small table in front of him,
and bring him supper by himself.
The page called Friedemann's at-
tention to the solitude and gloom
chosen by the frimous musician. Yet
he was well known to be fond of
good company, and was universaOjr
respected.
" Is it on account of his wife ?"
asked young Bach.
" Exactly ; the brilliant Faustina
Hasse, the admired singer, the idoliz-
ed of all Dresden. They do not li\t
happily."
" You cannot help seeing," observ-
ed Friedemann, "that strength is
wanting in his character — ^it is want-
ing in his compositions. They hare
softness and melody; but how little
of manly power !"
" Yet he is the favorite composer in
the world of fashion."
More guests came in, and the
general merriment waxed loud. The
glasses were rapidly filled and emp-
tied. The conversation among the
younger part of the company was
that of jovial reveUers, intent on as
much amusement as they could ob-
tain out of a gayly-dressed officer of
the elector's guaid, and a chamber-
lain he had brought in to serve as a
butt for their jokes. Friedemann ob-
served them with haughty gravity,
stealing a glance now and then at
Signor Hasse in his comer.
The chamberlain was flippant with
tales of court scandal, at which there
were uproarious bursts of laughter.
Presently, half-drunk, he was reciting
some verses; and at the dose he
filled his glass and toasted Signoia
Hasse.
All were silent as Hasse rose and
approached the table.
Friedemann Bach.
807
** Gentlemen," he said with dignity,
" I have the honor to wish you all a
good evening, and farewell. To- mor-
row morning I leave Dresden."
" To go whither ?" asked Scherbitz.
"To Italy."
The company knew by his tone
that he meant not to return. There
was a moment's deep silence, and
then an officer asked :
** Does the signora go with you ?"
" No ; she remains in Dresden," re-
plied the composer.
Hasse then turned to Friedemann,
and grasped his hand.
"Commend me to your father.
Monsieur Bach," he said warmly.
" Tell him he shall yet hear some-
thing good of Scarlatti's disciple."
There was a faltering in his tone
as he spoke these last words, and
tumin g away, he left the room. Friede-
mann sighed deeply as he looked af-
ter him, and pushed away his glass,
which Scherbitz had just filled.
The merry company was again con-
vulsed with the sallies of the intoxi-
cated chamberlain; and loud ap-
plause, cries of " bravo !^ and toast
after toast urged him on. When he
fell back, helplessly drunk, the young
men pulled off his court dress, put
on a dark one, carried him out, and
gave him to the watch as a drunken
vagabond to be taken to the guard-
house. Then they laughed to think
of his consternation at finding him-
self in the cold cell, on New Year's
morning.
Midnight struck in the midst of
this boisterous revelry ; the last hour
of the dying year. There was a wild
storm without, and clamorous shout-
ing and singing within. The revel-
lers reeled homeward; young Bach,
the only one whose gait was steady,
though he had drunk as deeply and
as madly as the rest
When he rose on the following
morning, he saw a letter on his table,
in a well-known hand, which he qui-
etiy opened and read with deep emo-
tion. Then he began to pace up and
down the room, till the door was ab-
ruptly opened and Scherbitz came in,
wishing him the compliments of the
season. He read the letter Friede-
mann handed him in silence.
" A charming old gentleman is that
good papa of yours," he said as he
gave it back. " His heart is full of
kindness. May his life be long and
happy I But look not so woe-begone,
mon ami I How is it possible for
you to satisfy the claims of such ex-
alted, old-fashioned virtue ? The time
will come when we, madcaps as we
are, shall be pointed out as models
of propriety for our juniors. Let the
wheel of time roll on."
" To crush us in the dust 1" moaned
Friedemann.
" Look at me — a page forty years
old! I have no fear of reverse as
long as I serve my lord faithfully. I
might have stood up heroically against
the all-powerful minister, and I should
have been hailed as one of her de-
liverers by my country; but I kept
my place and pension, and remain
a page in comfortable quarters."
" You are not the first whose life is
a failure."
"Nor shall I be the last. Why
should I despair? Come, be reasona-
ble, mon ami I you are too self-con-
demnatory. Have you forgotten
Handel, whom you welcomed here
three years since ?"
" How could I forget him ?"
" Yet Handel is unlike your father.
His fantasy is more powerful, his
force more developed ; he soars like
an eagle, while Sebastian Bach sails
over the caJiti waters like a majestic
swan. Bach's activity is calm, silent —
the offspring of concentrated thought.
Handel reaches his aim amid storm
and tumult — through strife to victory.
Can you blame him for the difference ?
8o8
Friedemann Bacfi*
His path is your own. En avant,
man amiT
" Handel has had, indeed, a rest-
less and stomiy life," replied Friede-
inann; "but he has never lost him-
selfl"
" Had he been bom in the present
century, instead of the last, his views
might have been more liberal. Be-
fore he was of your age, he did as
others do. Faustina Hasse could
tell you some wild tales — ^"
"He never played the hypocrite
to his father I" said Friedemann bit-
terly.
" It was not worth while. Now,
my good fellow, do not flatter yoiu:-
self you can deceive a page forty
years old. Your so-called profligacy
and keen self-reproach have another
cause than that you choose to assign.
You dread the unmasking of what
you terra your hypocrisy less than the
discovery of another secret !*'
Friedemann started to his feet, and
his face glowed like fire. The page
laughed.
" You must govern your eyes bet-
ter, mon ami^ if you want to keep your
secret when you hear the name of
* Natalie.' I did not need to witness
your behavior last night opposite the
minister's palace, to show me the
truth !"
Friedemann was now pale as death.
With a violent effort he mastered his
feelings, and said,
" You will be silent, will you not ?"
" As the grave — assuredly ! Only
be cautious before others. No more !
I am going to the guard-house to re-
lease the victim chamberlain. Now
go to church, and afterward come to
Seconda's to breakfast. Au rtvoir /"
And Scherbitz went out*
Friedemann Bach had been organ-
ist of the church of St. Sophia since
the elector, at the solicitation of his
father that he would befriend his boy,
had given him the apppintment. He
hurried to his post, and splendidly
performed his part in the imposing
service. As the last tones of the or-
gan died along the vast arches, he
arose, closed the instrument, and de-
scended from the choir. At the door
a pair of vigorous arms were flung
around him, and, with a joyfid cry, he
embraced his father.
The old man pronounced a solemn
blessing as he pressed his son to his
heart, and warmly praised his morn-
ing's work. He had entered the
church alone, to enjoy the music of
his dearest pupnl, whom he now de-
clared his best.
"To your lodgings now, Master
Court-organist !" he cried. " Philip is
there, and unpacking. We shall stay
a week with you." He took his son's
arm, and waJked on, talking pleasant-
ly all the time.
Philip Emmanuel Bach had grown
a stately youth and a rip>e scholar in hb
art since Friedemann had left the pa-
ternal home at Leipzig, three years
before. They chatted of the oH
times, when their mother in her
snowy cap and apron smiled on their
boyish sport ; when they roasted ap-
ples on the stove of Dutch tiles, and
their young sisters chid them, and the
little Christopher laughed at them
fix)m his mother's lap. Philip had
been lonely at school, and was de-
lighted at these reminiscences. Tlie
two sons sympathized with the tri-
umph of the good Sebastian when he
told them again of his first summons
to Dresden, of the note that had come
to him fit)m the Minister von Bruhl,
on the part of the Elector Augustus
of Saxony and Poland : an invitarion
to play at the church in Dresden.
The rector in Leipzig had opposed
the departure of the organist of St.
Thomas's school; but the elector's
own carriage stood at Bach's door to
fetch him, and he saw fiiture good for
both his sons. He felt that through
Friedemann Bach.
809
them the lovers of Hasse should hear
music more sublime than the volup-
tuous melodies of Italy. Then the
reception at Dresden; the entrance
of the elector into the choir to greet
Bach; his words, **0 master! if I
might hear you play thus at the hour
of my death " — ail the scene was
lived over by the grateful old man.
Philip, then a stripling, remembered
how a beautiful lady — the famous
Faustina Hasse — ^had rushed in, and,
weeping, had kissed his father's hand ;
Hasse's greeting too, he remembered ;
and the elector's bidding to ask any
fevor at his hands.
These recollections and the conver-
sation were interrupted by the entrance
of a servant in a rich livery, who pre-
sented a note to Friedemann. The
young man blushed as he took the
note, which he opened and read has-
tily.
" I will come," he said to the ser-
vant, " at the hour named."
The man withdrew.
Sebastian smiled.
" Our court-organist," he said, " ap-
pears to have distinguished acquain-
tances."
" The livery was the lord premier's,"
remarked Philip.
" Indeed !" asked Sebastian. " You
know his excellency, my son ?"
"The note came from his niece,
the Countess Natahe," answered
Friedemann, in a confusion which he
could not conceal.
"And you visit the young coun-
tess ?"
" She is my pupil in music. She
has sent for me to arrange a concert,
which she is to give on her aunt's
birthday."
" I thought M. Hasse managed all
those matters."
" I can't well avoid the commission ;
and such things help one's reputation,"
faltered the young man. " As to M.
Hasse, he has left Dresden."
" Hasse gone — ^the excellent Hasse I"
exclaimed Sebastian.
The good, pious composer was
grieved to hear of his unhappiness.
Then, changing the subject, he began
innocently to advise his son as to the
polished manners necessary in the
house of the premier. Friedemann
pressed his hand and thanked his un-
suspecting monitor.
When the elder Bach asked what
he had done lately in music, Friede-
mann replied that what he had done
did not satisfy him. His father put
aside his plea that the highest and
best could alone avail in art
" We have not reached that," he
said ; " yet we can rejoice in the suc-
cess granted us. There is much that
I like in your Fughettm'^
From music he passed to other
questions; and asked, smiling, how
long the court-organist meant to re-
main unmarried.
" Dear father,, I need not be in
haste."
" * Early wooed has naught rued.' "
" It is a serious step, father."
" Surely, and not to be taken pre-
cipitately ; but, dear son, let it not be
long. If my first grandchild is a boy,
I will teach him music. Ay, mar-
riage is a serious matter! I have
toiled hard to give bread to my boys
and girls, and brought you all up—
have I not ? — to be good men and
skilful artists. From my great-
grandfather, all the Bachs have had
musical talent. I was once ambitious,
my boy, to write something that
might win enduring fame. Now, I
have but one wish. It is — that all the
Bachs may meet in the kingdom of
heaven, and join in singing to the
glory of God, among the hallelujahs
of the angels! Friedemann, child
of my heart, let me not miss you
there I"
With a sob of anguish, Friedemann
sank at his father's feet Sebastian
8io
Friedemann Ba€h.
laid bodi hands on his head, saying
devoudy,
" God's peace be with you, my son,
now and for ever I"
'Unable to control his agitation—
which his pious father thought a burst
of filial emotion — Friedemann lefl the
room. Closing the door softly, he
rushed through the hall, out of the.
house, and through the streets to the
open country, where he flung himself
on the fix>zen earth and wept aloud
At dinner the father conversed with
his two sons, and much was said of
the splendors of the Polish-Saxon
court under the administration of the
luxurious and prodigal Count von
Bruhl It was then time for Friede-
mann to go to the minister's palace.
He changed his dress and hastened
there.
As he passed into the hall, the door
of one of the side-rooms opened, and
the premier came out He was a
small man, with marked and expres-
sive features, and keen, clear blue
eyes. He was sumptuously dressed,
and wore a star on his breast. Friede-
mann stopped and bowed to him.
** Good day, M. Bach, and a happy
new year I" said the minister in bland,
soft tones. " My niece has sent for
you. I am pleased with your prompt-
ness. I am grateful for your readi-
ness to meet our wishes at all times,
and shall remember it The coun-
tess expects you J"
He nodded, smiled graciously, and
walked lightly out of the front door,
entering his carriage, which presently
drove away.
Friedemann looked after him ap-
prehensively.
" What does this mean ?*' he mur-
mured. " The smile of that man ever
bodes disaster. Let it be so ! What
can make me more miserable than I
am?"
Crossing the hall, he passed on
through one of the galleries.
A female servant stood at the door
pf the anteroom of the countesses
cabinet She opened the door of the
inner room, and Bach entered.
A young girl of about twenty, in a
costume coquettishly pretty, reclined
on a sofa. Her form and her face were
both beautiful ; a nose slightly aqui-
line, and well-defined eye-brows, gave
her features a character of pride and
decision, contradicted by the soft ten-
derness of the full, rosy lips, and the
languishing, violet eyes, shaded by
their long lashes. Her hair floated m
golden curls over her neck. A faint
rose-tint came to her pale cheeks as
she rose to receive Friedemann.
The young man stood still, and
did not raise his eyes. The countess
came nearer, laid her litde white hand
on his shoulder, and said, almost ten-
derly,
" What were you doing, Bach, op-
posite our house last night ?'*
One glance Friedemann darted fit>m
his flashing eyes into her own, but
made no other answer.
" I saw you plainly," said Natalie,
"as I stepped out on the balcony.
You were leaning against the casde
wall. Were you waiting for any one ?
Tell me."
The young man shivered with the
violent emotion that shook his whole
frame. After a pause, he said with
forced calmness,
"You sent for me, most gracious
countess, to honor me with your com-
mands respecting the arrangement of
a concert."
The countess turned angrily away.
" These are ray thanks, proud man,
for my trust, for my love. Out upon
ingratitude!" she cried.
The young man flushed crimson at
these reproachful words.
" What can I say ?" he answered in
a deep, hoarse voice, full of the wild
agony he was vainly striving to repress.
" Look at me, and enjoy your tri-
Friedemann Bach.
8ii
umph ! You have made me wretched
I-eave me the only consolation that
remains — the conviction that I suffer
alone !"
" Friedemann," said the countess,
shocked to see him thus, " compose
yourself, I entreat you ! Spare me !"
" I will fwt spare you !" burst forth
Friedemann, unable longer to master
his agitation. " You have torn open
my bleeding heart-wounds in cruel
sport ! I will not spare you ! I have
bought the right to speak with my
happiness here and hereafter. I gave
you all, Natalie — truth for falsehood,
pure, faithful love for frivolous, heart-
less mockery !"
" I did not mock you !" cried Na-
talie.
" Did you love me, then ?"
" I can not answer that."
" Tell me, Natalie — did you love
me?"
" What good can it do ? Are we
not parted for ever ?"
" No ; by my soul, no / Nothing
shall part us if you love me I But, I
must be convinced of that. If you
have not — if you do not — I ask you,
why did you tempt the free-hearted
youth, who lived but for his art, with
encouraging looks and flattering
words ?"
" Be silent !" cried the girl.
Friedemann's burst of grief was
convulsive, and he covered his face
ynili his hands.
At length Natalie said,
"I honored your genius — your
heart—"
" You loved me not then, and you
do not love me now. If you love me,
how can you bear to think of becom-
ing the wife of another ?"
" Alas ! you know ; my station, the
will of my uncle — "
^^ My happiness, my peace is no-
thing to you ?"
" My affection is still yours. I
shall never love another. Will not
that content you ?"
Friedemann's pale face crimsoned ;
he stamped his foot fiercely.
" Hypocrite ! liar I coward that I
am," he cried; "and all for a co-
quette !"
Natalie protested against his injus-
tice. She reminded him of her his-
tory : her noble birth and orphaned
condition; the state and splendor
with which her imcle had surrounded
her; her scorn of mere pomp and
luxury ; her isolation in the midst of
flatterers and smiling fools; her dis-
cernment of the manhood in him —
her lover.
" Then be my wife, Natalie !"
She shook her head. /
"You will not? You will marry
the creature of your uncle, whom you
regard with aversion ?"
" You know, Friedemann, I do not
take this step from interest, but a sense
of duty."
" Duty ! Toward whom ?"
" Yourself! I could never be happy,
nor make you happy, as your wife.
You are a great artist ; but you can
never rise to my sphere. And should
I sacrifice all for you, would not my
incensed uncle pursue us with his ven-
geance ? If we found shelter in soli-
tude, how long would you or I bear
this concealment ?"
Friedemann grew pale, and looked
down.
" We could not be happy," resumed
the countess. "All I can do is to
keep my heart for you. You can live
for your art and me."
" And love you in secret ?" asked
the young man bitterly.
" I would bear condemnation for
your sake."
"You shall not/ The woman for
whose sake I am miserable, for whom
I have deceived father, brother, friends,
shall never know the world's scorn.
Farewell, Natalie! We never meet
again. Be unlike your future hus-
band — ^be noble and true. Crushed
as I am, you shall yet esteem me,
8l2
Friedemann Bach,
knowing that all virtuous resolution
has not left uiy heart !"
" O Friedemann ! how I honor and
admire you»" exclaimed the weeping
girl, as she flung her arms around his
neck.
The maid entered quickly, announc-
ing the minister.
Natalie retreated to the sofiu
" Ha ! M. Bach," said the count, as
he came in. " I am delighted to see
you again."
" Is it all arranged about the con-
cert, my dear niece ?"
" I hope so, uncle," answered Na-
talie.
" Charming, charming ! Madame
von Bruhl will be enchanted, M. Bach.
You will certainly arrange all for the
best. Come very often to visit us;
very often. I assure you, my highest
esteem is yours."
Friedemann, somewhat bewildered,
bowed his thanks, and took leave.
The minister looked after him, while
he took a pinch fix)m his jewelled
snuff«box.
" He has great, very great talent,"
he said musingly; and added other
praises. Then he chatted a little on
other subjects, and, looking at his
watch, touched the white forehead of
his niece with his lips, suffered her to
kiss his hand, and retired from the
room.
Friedemann left the house with con-
fused thoughts. Suddenly M. Scher-
bitz ran round the comer, and seized
his hand.
" I am going home," said young
Bach.
" You are not I Come instantly
with me to Faustina Hasse's."
" Are you mad ?"
" Not so near it as yourself, mon
amif The blind bird will not see the
trap."
" What do you mean ?"
" Sacrk bleu ! Come to Faustina's
with me, or you are to-night on the
road to Konigstein. The lord minis-
ter knows all !"
All that afternoon Sebastian had
spent in reading the latest exercises
and compositions of his son Friede-
mann, handing sheet af^ sheet,
when he had read it, to Philip. They
called for lights as dusk came on.
At length Sebastian asked hb younger
son what he thought of his brother.
Philip knew not what to answer.
"I admire Friedemann," he said.
" His works move me. I seem at
times to be reading your music, father;
then comes something strange and
different. I feel disturbed — I can not
tell why. I like these compositions ;
but they give me not untroubled
pleasure."
"You are right, Philip," said Sebas-
tian, with a grave and thoughtful
smile. "His works have something
in them strange and paradoxical. I
find this in his sketches more than
in his elaborate compositions. But I
am not disturbed thereby : I rejoice."
Philip looked surprised.
" Your own light, glad spirit, Philip,
accords not with the earnest, oft
gloomy character of Friedenuinn's
works. He is not yet setded. There
is something great in him, hardly yet
developed ; the form of expression is
not defined. Friedemann seeks a new
path to the goal. Every strong spirit
has done so. Art ever advances, and
her temple is not yet finished. The
perfect dwells not on earth."
Philip suggested that his brother's
imagination, supplying nobler images
than his industry had produced, still
soared beyond the reach of practi-
cal achievement, and thus left him un-
satisfied.
There was a loud knock at the
• door ; two men entered, asked for the
court-organist, and, hearing that be
was expected every moment, sat down
to wait for him. Sebastian tried to
Friedemann Bach.
813
enter into conversation with them;
but their gruflf monosyllables repelled
him, and an awkward silence ensued.
In about fifteen minutes the door
was opened unceremoniously, and M.
von Scherbitz entered. He saluted
the elder Bach and looked keenly at
the two strangers. He then announc-
ed his name to the astonished Sebas-
tian, and said he was Friedemann's
friend.
"He will soon return," said the*
father; "these gentlemen, also his
friends, are waiting for him."
" Friends!" echoed the page; and
placing himself in front of the two
men, he gazed at them searchingly.
After a while he said,
" Messieurs, his excellency has lost
no time in sending you, I perceive ;
but you are too late. Give the lord
minister the compliments of the page,
M. von Scherbitz, and tell him he
will find the court-organist, M. Bach,
at the house of Signora Hasse. I
have just had the honor of leaving
him there. He will see the elector."-
The two men started up without
speaking, and hastily left the room.
The page threw himself into a chair
and laughed long and loudly. The
father and son stood in blank surprise,
not knowing what to make of the
scene.
At last Scherbitz recovered his com-
posure. He addressed Sebastian, and
said he had something to communi-
cate to him in private.
" But where is Friedemann ?" asked
both father and son.
" As I said, at the house of Signora
Hasse."
" What does he there ?" asked the
father.
" That is what I came to tell you."
PhUip was sent out of the room.
Sebastian seated himself, and with
dignity inquired what the gentieman
who called himself Friedemann's friend
had to communicate.
" I am his friend," replied the page,
" and have proved it not for the first
time to-day."
" And those two strangers — "
** Were officers sent to arrest him."
The page went on to tell his story,
the bold levity of his manner some-
what subdued before the dignity of
the excellent old man, who sat with
his clear, searching eyes fastened upon
him. He began with a preamble
about the strict manner in which Se-
bastian had brought up his sons, and
the difference between Friedemann
and his brothers. " You are too in-
nocent of knowing the world," he
continued, " to be able to shield him
against all the dangers that beset the
path of youth. Till he came to Dres-
den, your son knew nothing of life
beyond the paternal dwelling and the
church of St. Thomas. He has been
received here as the son of an illustri-
ous artist ; he has won a proud dis-
tinction for himself. Can you won-
der that applause and flattery have
tumed his head a little ? He might
have got over that; but, as ill-luck
would have it, the Countess Von
Bruhl employed him as her music-
master. He fell in love with her."
" Is the boy mad ?" exclaimed Bach,
rising from his chair.
" Friedemann's first thought after-
ward was of his father. His imion
with the girl he loved was impossible;
equally so his voluntary separation
from her society. Her uncle bade
her receive a rich and noble suitor.
Compelled to give up hope, the vic-
tim of the wildest remorse and an-
guish, Friedemann fled to dissipation
for relief. I strove in vain to help
him ; but his grief was too new, too
fierce and consuming; I looked to
time only for the cure. In wild com-
pany only could he find diversion
firom maddening thoughts, and I Rear-
ed the worst if that resource were de-
nied him. Now he has taken a pru-
8i4
Friedemann Bach,
dent step. He has broken off his
acquaintance with the countess."
" Heaven be praised !" cried the
father clasping his hands.
** But her uncle, the minister, had
discovered their intimacy. He has
sworn the destruction of vour son. I
have been fortunate enough to baffle
him. But Friedemann must instant-
ly leave Dresden."
" He shall !" cried Sebastian. « My
poor son needs comfort ; he can find
it only at home."
" Then he may come to you ?"
" Could a father repel his unhappy
child ? I know, alas I his fiery soul,
his need of sympathy. Bring him to
his loving father's arms."
Scherbitz caught the old man's hand
and warmly pressed it.
** Friedemann is saved !" he ex-
claimed.
He left the room and the house,
promising soon to return. Sebastian
sat long in a mournful reverie. Then
seating himself at the piano, he play-
ed a soft prelude, and sang a beauti-
ful melody by Paul Gerhard. The
music swelled into majestic harmony,
and many a passer-by in the street
stopped to listen, drinking in peace
and consolation fi"om the heavenly
sounds.
Faustina Hasse, the most beau-
tiful woman in Dresden, and the
greatest dramatic singer not only of
her own, but perhaps of all times,
was reclining on a sofa in a luxuri-
ously-furnished room in her palace.
Flowers stood on a table beside her,
and several costly trifles were thrown
about ; but she was simply dressed in
white muslin, with a necklace and
bracelets of pearls. Her litrie foot in
its satin slipper beat impatiently the
footstool on which it rested; there
was a tint of painful excitement on
her cheek ; and a touch of melancho-
ly about her mouth softened the
pride that usually masked her lovdy
features.
A waiting-maid had just presented
the card of a visitor on a silver
plate.
" I will see him," was the carekss
answer.
The maid retired and ushered in
the Count von Bruhl, who made a
low and courtly obeisance. The sig-
nora bent her head slighdy, and mo-
tioned the count to a seat
"You are surprised at a visit so
late in the evening, signora?" the
minister asked gently, after an embar-
rassed silence.
"I do not know its object," was
her calm reply.
"Easily explained," with a bland
smile. " I am known for a fond hus-
band; in a fortnight I shall give a
fiU for my wife's birthday. It will
surpass all other fites in splendor, if
the Signora Hasse will favor it with
her presence. May I hope that she
will do so ?"
" I do not sing, my lord minister."
"The signora has misunderstood
my humble petition. Even the elec-
tor, whose admiration of the signora's
genius is well known, would not ven-
ture to solicit such a favor."
" Will his highness be there ?"
" He promised to honor me."
" I will come."
" Signora, my gratitude is unbound-
ed !" He raised her hand to his lips,
and retired with a low bow.
Faustina sprang to her feet, her
eyes flashing fire.
" Stop, monsieur I" she cried.
The minister stood still.
" Where is Friedemann Bach ?" de-
manded the lady.
The minister started visiblv, but
suppressed all sign of emotion. With
a courtly smile he endeavored to
evade reply.
"Where is Friedemann Bach?"
still more angrily asked Faustina.
Friedemann Bach.
8iS
Something in her face warned the
count not to trifle with her.
" He is probably on his way to
Konigstein," answered the premier.
"For what offence?" asked the
lady with a smile of scorn.
" Oh ! he needs discipline. The
whole parish is disgusted at the scan-
dalous life led by their court-organist.
He edifies the devotional with his or-
gan-playing on Sunday morning; but
joins his fellow-rioters in the wild-
est orgies at Seconda's, on Sunday
night."
" What have you done with his fel-
low-rioters ?"
" They belong to high families,"
answered the count with a significant
shrug.
" And pass uncensured. Very fair,
my lord minister ! But you are mis-
taken. Bach is not on the road to
Konigstein. He has just had an in-
terview with his highness, here, in my
house. I am known to have some
influence with the elector ; and have
used it."
" What have you done, signora ?"
exclaimed the minister, shocked into
a real expression of his feelings.
"Silence!" said Faustina haughti-
ly. " His highness knows all ; knows
why you have persecuted the unhap-
py youth, why you would bring mis-
ery on the whole family — such a fa-
mily ! Heartless courtier ! What can
you know of the worth of such a
man ? Friedemann leaves Dresden ;
but you must provide him with an-
other place, and one worthy of his
genius. The elector wills it so."
She passed oat of the room. The
count walked to the window, looked
out into the dark night, and drummed
on the pane in some embarrassment.
There was a storm in his breast, but
it was necessary to suppress all agita-
tion. Presently he turned around,
and saw Friedemann Bach and the
page, Von Scherbitz, standing in the
room. The minister walked toward
them, and said in a gentle tone,
" Monsieur Bach, I am concerned
that you must leave us ; but it is ne-
cessary. You will go as soon as pos-
sible to Merseburg. The place of
organist in that cathedral is vacant,
and I have appointed you to it. I
wish you a pleasant journey."
And with a bow he retired.
^^ BravissimOy nion comte T^ cried
the page, laughing heartily. " Ros-
cius was a bungling actor to him.
Come now, nion ami^^ turning to
Friedemann — ^**to your father. He
knows all."
Friedemann followed him out with
a look of despair. It was a clear,
starry winter night. As they came to
Bach's house, they heard the hymn
Sebastian was singing. As they en-
tered the room, he rose and bade his
son welcome.
"Can you forgive me, father?"
murmured Friedemann gloomily.
" I have forgiven you ; for I trust
in your ability to amend."
" No word of reproach ?"
"Your conscience does that; my
part is to comfort you. Come home
to Leipzig."
" No," said Friedemann resolutely ;
" I will not go home till I am again
worthy to be received there."
" Are you so resolved ?"
" My life henceforward shall show
that I am true to you, father. I will
strive to overcome the anguish and
remorse that have wrecked me. If
I succeed, all will be well. If I fail
in the struggle — "
" Then come to my heart, Friede-
mann !"
" I wiU."
The son threw himself into his fa-
ther's arms.
The next morning Sebastian and
Philip returned to Leipzig, while
Friedemann set out on his journey
to Merseburg.
8i6
Friedemann Back.
FART SECOND.
Madam Anna Bach, the wife of
Sebastian, was at home in Leipzig
with her daughters and her youngest
scHi, Christian, waiting for the father
to join them after he had dismissed
his pupils for the day. Thirteen years
had elapsed since Ae occurrences re-
lated,
Johann Sebastian Bach came in
presently. He was still a stately and
handsome man, bright-eyed, and stea-
dy in his carriage; but the once
smooth forehead was furrowed with
care; his cheeks had fallen in, and
their livid hue betrayed internal dis-
ease.
He held out his hand to his wife,
as he placed himself in his arm-chair.
** You seem exhausted to-day," Ma-
dame Bach remarked. "I am glad
the lessons are over.**
Sebastian smiled.
" 1 have strength lefl," he said, " to
make good scholars ; and so long as
I con work, none shall find me re-
miss. You look so pleased ; what
have you there ? "
" A letter for you, fh>m Philip.**
" Ho ! ho !" cried Sebastian joy-
fully; "has the scapegrace at last
found time to write to his old father ?
I have sometimes thought he has for-
gotten how to write since he has been
concert-master in the service of his
Majesty of Prussia ! Well, what says
he?" And he opened and read the
letter.
It was a dutiful but rather stiflf
epistle fix>m a young man unused to
literary composition. He described
life in Berlin, and the concerts given
at court two or three times a week,
with the private musical entertain-
ments the king had in his cabinet,
where Philip Emmanuel accompanied
on the piano his majesty's perfor-
mance on the flute. The king, he
wrote, played the flute surprisingly;
but was capricious as to time, follow-
ing the notes less than his oi^n will
and pleasure.
" He always," the letter concluded,
^inquires after my esteemed father;
and oflen says, * Will not your papa
come once more to Berlin ? ' 1 can
promise that if my dear and esteemed
father will visit us, he will be received
with joy and honors by alL Be {^eaft-
ed to pardon my hasty writing ; con-
vey my best love and duty to my
most honored mother, my beloved
brothers and sisters, and make me
happy with a speedy answer.
** Your dutiful son,
" Philip Emmanuel Bach."
As Sebastian refolded the letter, his
wife asked what he thought of another
visit to Berlin.
" It would do me good," said Se-
bastian. "I would gladly see the
king once more. Twice in my life
have I believed there was something
good in me : the first time was in the
year 17 17, when my contest was ap-
pointed with M. Marchand, and he
took himself quiedy off the evening be-
fore it ; the second time was three yean
ago, when the great King of Prussia
came into the antechamber to wel-
come me, and when some rude cham-
berlains laughed at my expressions
of duty and homage, his majesty chid
them with, ^ MessUurSy voyez vous^
^€si U vUitx Bach,^ That pleased
Friedemann so much 1"
** Then you will go to Beriin ?"
" If I can get leave of absence, and
if I find a small overplus of money in
the purse. Strange, that in my old
days I should be seized with a roving
propensity ! I had nothing of it in
youth. Well, let us go in to dinner."
It was near the dose of day,
and Sebastian sat outside the door of
his dwelling, surrounded by his fami-
ly, under the stately lindens that shad-
ed the avenue leading to the old
Thomases school The mother and
Friedemann Bach.
817
her daughters were occupied in nee-
dlework and knitting; the younger
sons were listening to their father's
anecdotes of the old organist, Rei-
necken, his instructor in Hamburg.
The setting sun shone on a lovely
picture.
Caroline, who had her eyes turned
toward the comer of Cloister street
and Thomas's churchyard, suddenly
uttered a cry of joy, and sprang to
her feet
The others rose and asked what
was the matter; the venerable father
alone kept his seat. A tall figure
was seen crossing the churchyard;
and now Sebastian rose, for he recog-
nized his son Friedemann.
** Father," cried Friedemann, "I
have come to stay with you !"
The father stretched out his arms
and warmly embraced his son. The
others crowded round him, bidding
him a joyous welcome. Nearly an
hour passed in the delightful confu-
sion of such a reunion.
Later in the evening, Sebastian was
alone with his son, and asked what
had brought him home so suddenly.
Friedemann had overmastered the
sorrow that had crushed his spirit
thirteen years before. But a thou-
sand difficulties were in his way, and
the struggle preyed on his mind. He
began to despair of ever doing any
thing truly great in art. He had
wished to strike out a new path ; the
motive of his efforts was pure, and he
did not design to neglect the excel-
lent old school.
"But I have been slandered, in-
sulted !" he exclaimed bitterly. " My
aim has been ridiculed, my endeavors
have been maliciously criticised, my
merits decried."
" By whom, Friedemann ?**
Friedemann colored as he answered,
" I know I am wrong to be disturbed
by the malignity of a shallow fool ;
but I cannot help it. There is a cri-
voL. X. — 52
tic in Halle, one schoolmaster Kniffe,
who passes for a luminary in the mu-
sical horizon, and writes reviews." *
" I have seen them ; they are ab-
surd," said Sebastian. "He must
cause some sport in Halle."
"On the contrary, he is dreaded
on account of his malice; and his
base libels please the ill-natured and
envious."
"And know you not," asked his
father, "that only the base and evil
array themselves against the good?
Is there a more certain proof of ele-
vated worth than the impotent rage
and opposition of the vicious ? I ne-
ver taught you to look with pride or
arrogance on your equals or inferiors ;
but to be calm and self-possessed, and
to maintain your ground in reliance
on Him to whom alone you are ac-
countable. Do that, Friedemann, and
no stupid or malicious critic can make
you dissatisfied with yourselC"
Here Caroline came in, announc-
ing that a stranger wished to speak
with her father.
" He would not," she said, " give
his name."
Sebastian bade her bring him in.
Presently a sharp voice called out,
" Bon sotTy man cher papa I" and
the stranger entered and took the old
man's hand. " Do you not know me ?"
t Friedemann recognized him, and sa-
luted Monsieur von Scherbitz.
"Hal our ex-court-organist The
same ill-boding fix)wn between the
brows as in 1737! You are little
changed in thirteen years. And I, at
fifty-three, am grown to be a first
lieutenant"
" You proved a fiiend to my son
in his danger," said Sebastian, " and
are therefore welcome to me and
mine. To what lucky chance am I
indebted for this visit to my quiet
home ?"
"To the most imlucky, my dear
sir 1 I was so careless, at the prime
SrS
FrMemamn Back.
srs
liro>c The
15 to tread on
of his ladjr coDSOct's
beast ciied out; the
sitKfiMiio p ; and
i: fcr MT misdrH I am
tacstenxnt to Poland
rssd of his exceDencjJ
•V.
leit a honor creep over
ercxstK, misanthropic wit
i£ is risctcr, asd sought to change
cccrCTsatjja. But Schcrfaitz went
his boter waT about his
sriupcxl desdsr, coodnding with the
rzKczoscQ that he had come over
to L^^ ^^^^ to sec Papa Bach
ooce cove ia hts Kfe; for, on die
word of JL &st beotenant, he had loved
and hoQcrcd him since die fiist time
heh^ seen him thixtecn ]reaisaga
i>rLt monuDg Scherbtts walk-
ed in the litile garden bdiind Tho-
mas s schooi, bounded by its hi^
wall He saw Caroline fastening a
rme to an esfaaer^ and came to assist
her. In a conversation with her, he
learned that none of the daugfators of
Bach had anv talent for music The
charming singing he had heard early
m the morning was by Madam Bach.
Bat Caroline had a poedc taste, and
was Friedemann's favorite sister.
In taUdng with Friedemann, his
fincnd could not fail to discover the
morbid state of his mind. Scherbits
diought it came from thinking too«
deeply.
** Not the win," he said, " but ac-
tion removes mountains. We are
bat philosophers, and* the slaves of
circumstances. Had not the minister
played the spy on you and his pretty
niece, had not I stepped on the lap-
d<^s foot, we might both have been
at this moment sitting quietly in
Dresden; you beside Natalie, witch-
ing the wodd with music; I as a
merry page of fifty-three, jesting and
enduring."
«* Do you know," said Friedemann,
and as he spoke his countenance alter-
ed strangely, «I have often prayed
that I might be mad, for a time-
not fw ever !" In a quick, vehement
tone, "Oh! no— no — not for ever;
but mad enough to forget. And yet,
the memory of what I have suffered
would even then cling to me !"
He pressed his hands with a wiki
gesture over his eyes.
"You must not talk so wildly,"
said the lieut^iant soothingly. " Yoa
are yet young, and can accomplish
much."
" What can I do ?" cried Friede-
mann with harrowing laughter. ** No-
thing, nothing ! At eight and thirty
all is dead with me; I am older than
you! Ha! mark you not where
madness lurks yonder behind the
door, making ready to spring upon
my neck as I go out? He dares
not seize on me when my father is
near; he shrinks up till he is little,
and hides himself in a spider*s w^
over the window. But he shall not
get hold of me I Ha, ha, ha ! I am
cunning. I will not leave the cham-
ber without my father. Look you,
old page, I understand a f(^t as well
as you !"
*'*' Manam! man ami/ what is the
matter?" cried the lieutenant, and,
seizing his friend by the shoulders, he
shook him violently. " Friedemann
Bach ! do you not hear me ?"
Friedemann stared at him vacantly.
At length his face lost its unnatural
expression ; his eyes became like liv-
ing eyes, and he asked sofdy what
M. von Scherbitz wanted.
"What makes you such an idiot,
man? Recollect yourself!" cried
Scherbitz.
Friedemann gave a forced laugh.
"You take a jest deeply," he said.
"And you really believe that I am
sometimes mad? Not yet, fiiend!
I am more rational than ever."
" Well, man ami, it was your jest ;
but one should not paint the de\al on
Friedemann Back.
819
the wall. Sit down, and play me
something till I get over my fright.
You acted your part so naturally !"
Friedemann sat down to the instru-
ment and began to play.
" I did not dream of this," mutter-
ed the lieutenant ; while Friedemann,
after playing half an hour, suddenly
let his hands drop, sank back, and
fell fast asleep.
On the morning of the 21st of July,
1750, the church-bells were ringing a
solemn yet cheerful peal, inviting the
pious to the house of God. The sun
shone brightly; the old man's heart
was renewed in love and devotion,
and even Friedemann's gloomy breast
was penetrated with the beam of
comfort, joy, and love. He had
s|)ent a part of the night in studying
a master-piece of his father's, the
great Passion music. Full of the grand-
eur of the work, his face animated,
he was walking to and fro in his fa-
ther's chamber, pondering a similar
work which he thought of undertak-
ing.
Sebastian sat in his arm-chair, with
folded arms, dressed ready for church.
He followed with his eyes, smiling af-
fectionately, the movements of his son.
After a while, he said,
**I am glad the Passion music
pleases you so well. I have a work
of quite another kind, finished, the
first idea of which I got from your
Fughetten, And you are the first,
after me, that shall see it."
He went to his desk, opened it,
took out a sealed packet, and gave it
to his son. It was inscribed, " To my
son Friedemann."
" I meant it for you, in case of my
death before I saw you," said the old
man. " You may break the seal."
Friedemann opened the packet. It
contained that nobly conceived, ad-
mirably executed work which from
the day of its appearance has com-
manded the reverent admiration of
all the initiated — The Art of Fugues ^
by Johann Sebastian Bach.
Friedemann looked over the manu-
script with sparkling eyes.
" And my poor attempt," he cried,
"has suggested a work destined to
immortalize its author ! I have not
lived in vain. O my father ! thanks.
You have made me a noble present."
"You have rewarded me, Friede-
mann."
Sebastian went on to pour into his
son's heart the kindly words of wis-
dom.
"While you labor to deserve the
appreciation of your equals," he said,
"strive to instruct those who cannot
thus repay you. It is for man only
to show to the best that he belongs
to the best. Let your light shine —
else you lower yourself, and rebel
against your Master."
The chime of the bells, that had
ceased, now recommenced; and Ma-
dam Bach came in with her daugh*
ters, young Christian, and the lieute-
nant. All were ready for church.
Madam Bach gave her husband his
prayer-book and a bunch of flowers ;
Caroline brought his hat.
Sebastian rose, gave his arm to his
wife, and walked to the door. Turn-
ing back an instant, he glanced at
the window shaded with vine-leaves
glistening in the sunlight, and said,
" What a lovely morning !"
As he went out of the room, he
stopped suddenly, and let fall the
flowers and the prayer-book. The
women screamed with fright. The
old man struggled for a few moments,
then sank back lifeless into the arms
of his son.
Thus died Johann Sebastian Bach,
by a stroke of apoplexy.
Three years had passed. The weal-
thy Baron von Globig celebrated the
feast of the vintage at his magnificent
820
Friedemann Bach.
villa not fer from Dresden. Gflded
gondolas, with long and many-color-
ed jjennants, were gliding to and fro
over the b(Kom of the Elbe, landing
the distinguished guests. The profuse
splendor that marked all the prepara-
tioas was worthy di the favorite of
the Coimt von BruhL Nothing the
most fastidious taste could suggest
was wanting.
Few in the aristocratic company
seemed to notice the host; but his
lovely wife was the observed of all.
She was dignified and courteous, but
appeared to take httle interest in any
thing.
As twilight came on, colored lamps
were lighted io the gardens, and gor-
geous illuminations were displayed.
Bands of musicians played alternate-
ly ; stately men and beautiful women
moved in the merry dance, and gene-
ral hilarity prevailed.
WTien the company returned to the
great drawing-room, the Prussian am-
bassador presented to the lady of the
house a distinguished-looking man as
Philip Emmanuel, the second son of
the great Sebastian Bach.
The baroness colored, and gave a
fnrtive glance around her. After a
few words of conversation, she asked
Bach, in a careless tone, where was
his elder brother. ^
" We do not know," answered Phi-
lip sadly. "None of us has seen
Friedemann since the day of our fa-
ther's death, when he suddenly quitted
Leipzig."
"Have you heard nothing of
hira ?"
"Nothing — except that he had
been at rimes before subject to fits
of melancholy, which threatened his
reason. We fear the worst"
The baroness turned away in si-
lence. The baron came up, and pre-
sented a petition for a little piece of
music from the celebrated Monsieur
Bach.
• "We are to have some vaiiety,"^
he added; " a bit of fun, by way of
enhandng the effect of your divine
playing. A poor, half-crazy musicas
from the Prague choir, who plays
dances in the villages, will be permit-
ted to give us a tune in the ante-
chamber. The doors may be open-
ed; but he must not come into the
light, for his dress is shabby and d^
ordered."
The music sounded firom the ante-
room. A servant threw open the
doors, and in the imperfect light the
guests saw a meanly-dressed man sit-
ting at the piano, his back toward
them. They had expected a joke ;
the baron having told many of them
what a surprise he had in store. But
when they heard the playing — the
wonderful, entrancing melody, now
towering into passion, now sinking to
a harmonious plaint, which the poor,
unknown musician drew from the in-
strument — all were deeply touched.
The baroness and Philip stood, pale
as death, looking inquiringly yet
doubtingly upon each other. At a
bold turn in the music, the baroness
leaned toward him, whispering,
" Tis he I" and Philip exdainaed
aloud,
" It is my brother — Friedemaim !"
The musician turned, sprang up,
and rushed into Philip's arms. At
sight of the baroness, he started back
with the exclamation — ^** Natalie!"
The baroness sank back in a
swoon. Friedemann tore himself firom
Philip's arms, forced his way through
the crowd, and rushed fit>m the house.
The shock had brought on another
attack of his awful malady.
An old man, past three score and
ten, sat in a room in the upper story
of a house in one of the suburbs of
Berlin. He was reading a pile of
music that lay on the table, making
notes on the margin with a penciL
Friedemofin Bach,
821
The room was poorly furnished, and
lighted by a single lamp that flared
in the currents of air, flinging fltful
shadows on the wall. The storm
raging without shook the loose panes
in the window, and twisted the wea-
ther-cocks on the roof till they creak-
ed as they swung. The cold had
penetrated the chamber, and the fire
in the grate was scanty. It was the
last night of the year.
But all absorbed sat the old man,
and heeded iiot cold or tempest as
he read the music. His form was
tall and emaciated; his pale face
showed the ravages of age and dis-
ease. His thin, white locks fell back
from his temples ; but his large eyes
had the brightness of youthful enthu-
siasm. ,
The bell struck midnight The
sounds of festal music, singing, and
shouting came from the streets ; and
faintly on the wind came the swell
of the Te Deum chanted in a neigh-
boring church.
The old man looked up from his
reading, and listened attentively.
There was a dreamy, far-away look in
his eyes.
The door opened, and a young
man, with a pale iand melancholy
face, and a form more meagre than
the other's, came into the room.
" What hour struck ?" asked the
old man.
" Midnight You had better go to
bed."
** I do not need sleep. Look, I
have been reading this legacy of my
father. Ah! if you, poor Theodore,
could have had such a father. What
year has just begun ?"
" Eighty-four."
"Eighty-four! Forty-seven years
ago. . . . We will not speak of
that"
" Poor old friend ! Will you never
tell me Mdio you are ?"
"You did not ask me the day I
first saw you ; when I found a mad-
man just about to take his own life.
I pulled away the weapon; I bade
you live 1"
" You saved my life; but what is it
worth ? You see me old even in
youth."
" You will live many years yet."
" No. I suffer a great deal; I feel
that my horns are numbered. But
why not tell me your name ?"
"He who composed that noble
work," said the old man, pointing to
the music, " was my father."
" The name was on the first leaf,
with the tide of the music, and you
have torn it out! I do not under-
stand music, you know. Tell me,
old friend, what to call you ?"
« ' The Old Musician.' "
" So the few who know you in this
great city always caU you. But your
other name ?" ^
" I have promised to reveal it only
to an artist in music."
Then, noticing the pallid and sun-
ken cheek of his young companion,
he said,
" Has the new year brought you
nothing, Theodore ?"
Theodore took a roll of money
from his vest pocket, and threw it on
die table.
" Gold I" exclaimed the old man.
"Yes — ^when we need it no lon-
ger!"
He drew out a flask from the pock-
et of his cloak.
" Wine, too ; the best of Johannis-
berger! You have tasted no wine
lately ; drink to the new year."
The old man tinned away; for bit-
ter recollections came up, associated
with the season.
Theodore took two glasses from
the buffet, drew up a chair, sat down,
and uncorked the flask. He filled
the old ^man's glass and his own with
the wine, which diffused a rich fra-
grance.
822
Friedenumn Bach.
The old man asked, at length, how
he came by such luck.
" I sold my paintings to a lord tra-
velling through the city."
" What a pity you could not exhi
bit them !"
"Those sketches cost me seven
years of more than labor : all I have
thought, lived, suffered; the early
dreams of youth ; the stem repose
after the struggle with fate I I sacri-
ficed all. I spared not even the glim-
mering spark of life; and thought
when the work was finished the lau-
rel would deck my brow in death.
All fancies ! Wherever I offered my
work, I was repulsed. The publishers
thought the undertaking too expen-
sive. Some advised me to paint
scenes from the Seven Years' War ;
others called my sketches wild and
fantastic."
" Ay, ay !" murmured the old
man. " Lessing, who died three years
ago, said to me righdy, * All the ar-
tist accomplishes beyond the appre-
ciation of the multitude, brings him
neither profit nor honor I The high-
est must grovel with the worm.' "
" As long as I can remember, old
friend, I have had but one passion —
for my art. Yet must I degrade art
to the rabble ; must paint apish faces,
while visions of divine loveliness float
before me ; must feel the genius with-
in me comprehended by none ; must
be driven to despair of myself I With
all my gifts, I must ask myself, at
five and twenty, Wherefore have I
lived ?"
" Live on ; the answer will come."
" Has it come to you ? Had I
gained the prize, I might have been
like Raphael; you, like some great
master of your art Success was not
for us ; and we are doomed to insigni-
ficance."
" Silence 1" cried the old man ; " that
leads to madness. I know the hor*
ror of madness. Thej tdl me I vu
a long time so."
<< No fear of that, oid firieod. We
are both too near a sure haibor.
Come, fin up your glass 1 Haik to
the music and diouting in die streets.
Here we sit, like the gods on the
summit of Olympus, sq^xng nectsi,
and laughing at the fools bdovus^
Drink as I do. No more ? Wd,
yonder is your bed, and here is mine.
Good-night to you."
They retired to rest The stonn
ceased to beat on the window-panes ;
but the bell-ringing and music cootino-
ed throughout the night
The bright sunshine of mofning
flooded the chamber. The old man
arose and went to the window. It
was a clear, cold morning; the as
was keen, the sky cloudless ; the firost
had wrought delicate traceiy on the
panes.
The old man threw his cloak over
his shoulders, and stood some time at
the window. Then he went to awak-
en his young fiiend.
He touched the hand that lay out-
side the bed-covering; it was coki
and stifl*! Poor Theodore had faint-
ed in the struggle with destiny. Long
the prey of heart-disease, he had died
in the night
The old man stood as if paralyzed,
gazing on the face of his dead friend.
His last stay was broken !
Sitting down by the body, he re-
mained motionless the whole dsLj,
Late in the afternoon, the woman
who kept the house came in with a
message to Theodore, and found the
old man exhausted and shivering with
the cold. She led him into a warm
room, and gave him nourishment
When Theodore was buried, the
gold he left was given to the old
man, with whom he had lived two
years, supplying the wants of both
by his scanty earnings as a portrait-
Friedetnann Bach.
823
painter and the sale of a drawing now
and then. Now that he had no re-
source for the future, the people of
the house advised the old man to go
to the overseer of the poor-house. He
shook his head, saying, "No; I will
go to Hamburg."
" To Hamburg!" echoed the house-
keeper. " Hamburg is a long way
fix>m Beriin ; you could not bear such
a joiuney."
But the old man soon forgot his
purpose. He resumed his wander-
ings through the streets of Berlin —
his practice before he met with Theo-
dore — stopping to listen whenever he
heard music. He would sometimes
go into the houses where concerts
were given ; and all who remembered
him were glad to see " the Old Mu-
sician " once more.
One evening as he walked about
the streets, he stopped to listen to
music sounding from the windows of
an illuminated palace. He went up
the steps and was going in ; but the
porter, a Swiss, pushed him rudely
back. So he stood without in the
cold and cutting night wind, and lis-
tened, his whole soul absorbed in the
music.
A servant in livery came out, and
ran against him. " Ha !" he exclaim-
ed in surprise; "is that you. Old
Musician ? How long it is since I
have seen' you. Why do you stand
there shaking in the coid ?"
** Monsieur Swiss would not let me
pass," answered the old man.
" Monsieur Swiss is an idiot I Come
in with me, old friend ; you shall thaw
your old limbs, and have some re-
freshment. My lord gives a grand
concert" To the porter he said,
" You must always let in the Old Mu-
sician ; my lord has given orders that
it shall be so. He comes to enjoy
the music."
He led the old man to a seat near
the fire in one of the ante-rooms, and
drew a folding screen before him.
" You are out of view here," he said;
"but you can hear every thing. I
will bring you a glass of wine."
All that evening the old man lis-
tened to miisic that thrilled his inmost
heart It was late when the concert
ended. Then the man who had
brought him in, came and told him
it was time to go, offering to send a
boy home with him.
" That was admirable music," said
the old man drawing a deep breath.
" It was," replied the servant " All
you heard was composed by the same
master, who is staying with my lord at
present."
" What is his name ?"
"It is Master Naumann, chapel-
master to the Elector of Saxony."
" Let me speak with him, if he is
in the house."
" Certainly, if you want to ask any
thing."
" I want to thank him."
" Well, come to-morrow morning."
The next moming the strange visi-
tor was announced to the composer
Naumann.
" Who is the Old Musician ?" he
asked. The man could not tell. He
had been known by that name for
years in Berlin, and was thought to
be partially insane at times. But he
was said to have a thorough know-
ledge of music.
"Bring him in," said Naumann.
The old man entered the room. He
had a dignity of mien that inspired
respect, in spite of his poor apparel ;
and Naumann rose and advanced to
meet him.
" You are welcome, my good friend,
though I know not your name — wel-
come as a lover of our noble art.
Take this chair."
The old man, still standing, an-
swered, " I come to thank you, sir,
for the pleasure of hearing your con-
cert last evening. I was a listener,
fa4
Om Sl PtiiT ddivertd from Prison.
dut your
1*1.^ I »
I via mc mrcal my iuudk from jou.
I am Fnedeaum Bach."
Nil— wi stood petnfied with as-
tooisbiiieitt. * riirrhnnim Baidi !"*
at kngth ke icpeated; ''die great
soQ of the great Srhasrian. How
soon^ indeed! I saw your brother
Philip at Haaborg, oolj last year.
The exceCent old man mourns you
as deaJ."
"^ I vookl be dead to afl who knew
me m better days^" was the mdan-
choly reply. ^ It would giieve diem
to know how sad a fiuhire my life has
been. Even in Berlin none know
that Friedemann Bach yet lires ; not
eren Menddssohn, die friend of Les-
sing. Wlifle he lived, I had no fear
of starving.**
Xaomann was deeply afifected. Phi-
lip had told him his brother's history ;
his sonows, his disaq>pointments, his
ternNe suffering for yean. '^What
can I do for you Y* he asked moion-
fully.
^Nothing," answered Bach. "You
have done every thing in showing
me what I could and should have
done. You know how I failed ; how
my life was wasted; how I fdl sh(Mt
in all my bold and burning schemes.
I £aunted, and did not reap. But you
need not the warning of my history.
You walk securely and cheerfully in
the right path. I can only thank you
fr)r your magnificoit works. The
blessing of God be with you I I fed
now that I have nothing more to do
in this wcvld."
He turned away, and was gone be-
fore Naumann could recover frt>m the
emotion his words called forth. He
caUed the servant to ask where he
could be found; but no one could tdl
hiuL The boy who had escorted the
old man home had not been suffered
to go to his door. At length he met
with Moses Menddssohn, and told
him what had happened.
Mendelssohn was astonished to
learn that Friedemann Bach yet liv-
ed, and in Berlin. The only due be
had was his knowledge of Lessing's
old dwdling, where the old musician
lived some time before.
The next morning the two went
to the Friedrichstadt, and found Lei-
sing's house. The housdceeper open-
ed the door.
" Does M. Friedemann Bach Uve
here yet ?" asked Mendelssohn.
The woman shook her head, lifting
the comer of her apron at the same
time to wipe her eyes.
" Pardon me," she cried ; " but I
cannot hdp it ! Just at this time yes-
terday they carried away my poor
friend, the Old Musician. He died
three weeks after his young friend, the
painter."
Her voice was choked widi tears.
There was no need of further in-
quiry. Poor ^ach was a wanderer
no more.
ON ST. PETER DELIVERED FROM PRISON,
This is no mystery
Or juggler's play
Which here is told.
What lock can stay
Him who the key
Of heaven doth hold?
Us Wrongr 825
"ITS WRONG!"
** It's wrong I It's wrong ! " the whole day long
My hidden censor has piped the song,
Till my ears are tingling like a gong
With—" It's wrong I It's wrong I"
Out by my chamber window there,
In the mulberry-tops, in the August air.
The mock-bird sings his devil-may-care—
" It's wrong ! It's wrong 1"
Rash birdy I have you no monishing fear —
Chiding a monarch as you do here ?
I'm regal in all this little sphere !
" It's wrong ! It's wrong I"
You laying down law for the village queen,
Who from her envied height serene
Gives a code to its best, I ween !
** It's wrong ! It's wrong I"
Ha ! see, I am decking my " throat of snow"
With his costly gems, (he called it so.)
What if little Barefoot beg below ?
" It's wrong I It's wrong 1"
Look, little sage, in my bright blue eyes I
Their color was caught from the summer skies.
He says it; and ah! he is very wise.
" It's wrong I It's wrong I"
Ha! self-wise bird, I am fooling you.
My lover is not more gallant than true,
And we'll go tripping it through the dew —
« It's wrong ! It's wrong 1"
What ! wrong to go by the shiny birch
That shades the lane to the village church ?
Wrong, may be, to leave you in the lurch ?
. " It's wrong ! It's wrong 1"
O birdy! I'll be a love-m-the-mist,
In my loom-fog veil, when the bride is kissed^
Blushing through filmy folds — ah ! hist !
" It's wrong ! It's wrong !"
826 British Premiers in Relation to British Cat/iolics,
Well, welladay for the wedding-bells !
Arch-misanthrope, what is this he tells
As whistle and chime go down the dells ?
" It's wrong ! It's wrong f*
BRITISH PREMIERS IN RELATION TO BRITISH CATHOLICS
OONCLUDBIX
Every step toward emancipation,
however halting and feeble, was of
great consequence, since it establish-
ed a precedent — and precedents in
England have often the force of law.
Thus, the act fifth, George IV., chap-
ter seventy-nine, permitted persons to
hold office in the receipt of customs,
without taking any oath but that of
allegiance. This was a gain, trivial
in itself, yet, under the circumstances,
not to be despised. The same thing
was true of Mr. George Bankes's bill,
relieving English Catholics fi'om pe-
nalty of double assessment of land-tax.
It was introduced and passed in 1828.
While recording Canning's services
to the cause which Catholics had at
heart, we must not forget to show
how ready he was, on the other hand,
to combine with his colleagues when
Ireland had to be oppressed and perse-
cuted. In 1 82 5, they agreed, with one
mind, to put down the Irish Catholic As-
sociation, because they saw how pow-
erful an instrument it would become, in
0*Conneirs hands, for the attainment
of fi-eedom. The bill by which they
suppressed it was called, by the Libe-
rator, "the Algerine Bill." But in
the same year an attempt was made,
with very doubtful sincerity, to modi-
fy the maddening effect of this sup-
pression by conferences with O'Con-
nell, Sheil, and other lay Catholics of
influence, by inducing them to assent
to a proposal, made by way of com-
pensation, for the pensioning of the
Catholic clergy, and the disfiranchise-
ment of the forty-shilling freeholdos.*
These were to be " the two wings" of
a Catholic relief bill, and to this ofifer
O'Connell was induced to adhere.
The measure was introduced by Sir
Francis Burdett, in April, 1825. It
passed the Commons by a considera-
ble majority ; and was then, as might
have been expected, thrown out by
the Lords, who were fortified in their
opposition by the Duke of Y<wk.
Thus the great work of emancipation
was again postponed. Though there
had been points in Canning's conduct
which were displeasing to Catholics;
though, with strange inconsistency,
he resisted die repeal of the test and
corporation acts, which by relieving
dissenters would have relieved Catho-
lics also ; though he was sharply at-
tacked by Brougham, and charged
with pleading their cause without the
smallest idea of success, and with be-
traying those whom he appeared to
befriend, yet they listened with de-
light to his speech in behalf of their
claims a few months before his death.
They placed their confidence in him,
and looked forward to his premier-
ship as the season of their deUverance.
But as Pitt had resigned office in con*
• W. B. MacCabe, Hewunr ^ aC^mtOL Mad-
den't /V«a/ i^atM, p. a5s.
_j
British Premiers in Relation to British Catholics.
827
sequence of his attachment to the
Catholic cause, so it was Canning's
fate also to taste the bitter fruits of
befriending an oppressed and hated
communion. The frowns of royalty,
the fury of Tories, and the perfidy of
Whigs, combined with the insidious
growth of disease to bring him down
to the ^ave harassed and worn. **
A recess government followed.
Lord Goderich had been a supporter
of the Catholic claims ; but mediocri-
ty such as his could not be expected
to hold its place long at the head of
afiairs, and still less to conduct a
momentous and vital question to a
happy issue. That question, like all
others of equal magnitude, had to be
settled out of parliament before it
could be carried within its walb.
The monster meetings assembled in
Ireland at the call of O'Connell
brought the matter to a crisis, and
convinced all reasonable men that
concession could not long be delay-
ed. Yet the Duke of Wellington, who
succeeded Lord Goderich in 1828,
and Sir Robert Peel still ranged them-
selves on the side of the opponents
of emancipation. The Lords, in the
month of Tune, rejected a motion
pledging them to a favorable conside-
ration of the measure. Vesey Fitz-
gerald, however, an Irish liberal, was
made president of the Board of Trade,
and required, according to English
law, to be reelected as member of par-
liament before he could hold his of-
fice in the government. It Was a
glorious opportunity for the Irish, and
they embraced it manfully. At the sug-
gestion of Sir David Roos, an Orange-
man,* and of an intimate friend nam-
ed Fitzpatrick, 0*Connell proposed
himself as a candidate for Clare, in op-
position to the protkgjt of the govern-
ment, Mr. Vesey Fitzgerald. In such
a conflict the odds were all but des-
• MacCabe, Mtmoir of aConmU. TahUt, ^9^
May, 1847.
perate; yet O'Connell was victori-
ous, although legally ineligible. He
was declared duly returned ; and he
was the first Catholic elected by an
Irish constituency since the reign of
James II.
That election was, in effect, the tri-
umph of emancipation. It sunk deep
into the minds of the chiefs of the op-
position. The greatest statesmen had
long been wavering in secret Lord
Liverpool had been convinced some
time before his death that the time
for yielding the point was drawing
nigh, and that he would soon have to
support the Catholic claims, if not as
a premier, at least as a peer. Sir Ro-
bert Peel had, in 1825, requested
Lord Liverpool to relieve him of of-
fice on the ground that emancipation
could no longer be deferred. Three
years later, he announced to the Duke
of Wellington his resolution to sup-
port the claims he had so long resist-
ed, and declared that, in pursuit of
that ** great object," he was ready to
sacrifice " consistency and friendship."
Little did the majority, either of his
friends or foes, imagine how deep a
change his mind had really under-
gone.
It would hardly be too much to
say the same of the duke. He was
the only man in England who could
carry emancipation, and the only
man who did do it. He was that
power in the state which the circum-
stance required. He accomplished
ia England, though with far different
aims and feelings, what the lyre of
Thomas Moore effected in Irish
homes, and the eloquence of O'Con-
nell on the fields of Tara and Clon-
tarf. The test and corporation act
being repealed, his way was clear-
ed. Persons holding office under the
crown were no longer obliged to
qualify themselves by receiving the
Lord's Supper in the Established
Church. He began, therefore, by
830
British Premiers in Relation to British Catholics.
destroying the rotten boroughs, led
in the issue to the more extended
reform bill carried by the late Lord
Derby, to the extension of the suffrage
to all householders and a large propor-
tion of lodgers, and to the passage
of the Irish Church bill. During the
premierships of Lord Melbourne and
of Sir Robert Peel the questions of
free-trade and the abolition of the corn-
laws absorbed public attention, and the
Catholic topic was all but set aside.
The paltry grant to Maynooth was
made a yeariy subject of hot debate,
and a few thousands per annum were
grudgingly bestowed on an Irish col-
lege for the education of priests, while
the Protestant establishment in that is-
land continued to be the most richly
endowed in the world in proportion
to the number of its members. The
pubHc mind, however, was attracted
and agitated by a spectacle in which
parliament was not concerned, and
which in all the course of legislation
in fevor of Catholics had never been
contemplated. This was the extra-
ordinary progress of Catholic ideas,
doctrines, and practices in the Uni-
versity of Oxford, and among the
clergy of the establishment The
excitement which this produced had
reached its height when, in February,
1847, a bill intended to supplement
the emancipation of 1829 was intro-
duced by Mr. Watson, Lord John
Manners, and Mr. Escott At that
time Lord John Russell was pre-
mier, with Grey, Palmerston, Macau-
lay, and Granville among his collea-
gues. They were littie inclined to fa-
vor Catholicity, though in matters of
politics they usually adopted a liberal
line; and, considering that in 1829
there had been 2521 petitions pre-
sented to the Lords against emancipa-
tion, and only 10 14 in support of it
— 2013 to the Commons against it,
and only 955 in its favor — consider-
ing that of 238 newspapers in the
United Kingdom in 1829, though 107
had been in its favor, 87 had been
against it and 4 neutral — it was not
surprising that the relief bill of Lord
John Manners did not find as many
strong supporters as it deserved. The
country was alarmed at the spread of
"popery," and the bill in question
seemed designed to quicken its pace
and widen its conquests. It would,
if it had been carried, have removed
some remaining disabilities; but ti)e
loss of the bill did not in reality affect
in any very great degree the fi-eedom
of CathoHcs or the progress of their re-
ligion. The premier. Lord John Rus-
sell, in the same year — 1847 — when
discussing the question of national
education, stated that, if a desire were
entertained to have schools for Ca-
tholics, and for such only, he would
be in favor of it ; but he reminded
his hearers that " of all the half-mil-
lion which had been already spent
under the direction of the treasury,
and in accordance with the minutes
of the council on education, not one
shilling was given in aid of the Ro-
man Catholic schools;" and in the
issue Catholic children were exclud-
ed from all participation in the grant
of ;^ 1 00,000 a year which formed
part of the government scheme of
education brought forward by the
prime minister. This is enough to
prove how lukewarm Lord John Rus-
sell was in his wish to promote edu-
cation among Catholics; and it is
enough, also, to lessen our surprise at
that monstrous display of intolerance
and bad statesmanship with which he
signalized his ministry in 1851.
It was two months after the close
of the session in 1850, that a papal
rescript establishing a regular hier-
archy in England, and parcelling out
the country into dioceses, was pub-
lished by the Cardinal Archbishop of
Westminster, and produced a com-
motion altogether disproportioned 10
British Premiers in Relation to British Catholics.
82§
change in his future conduct in refe-
rence to emancipation. They knew
not, or they affected to forget, that
two years before Canning died, he
had expressed to Load Liverpool his
conviction that emancipation must
pass, and had offered to resign. So
long ago as 182 1, he had declared, in
reply to Plunket, that even if his own
views prevailed, "their prevalence
must be mingled with regret at the
disappointment which he knew the
success of such opinions must entail
upon a great portion of his fellow-
subjects." He should, he said, " cor-
dially rejoice if his predictions prov-
ed unfounded, and his arguments
groundless."
There were those who perceived
the current his thoughts were taking,
and among them was the Duke of Cla-
rence, afterward William IV. One
of the duke's sons told Cardinal Ac-
ton that, when he returned home one
night from a very late division in the
House of Commons, of which he was
a member, he went to his father's
dressing-room, and was asked by the
duke how the division on emancipa-
tion had gone; and when he was
told that the bill had been lost, the
duke said,
"That rascal. Peel, will adopt
emancipation, will carry it, and take
the glory from us who have fought
for it all ouf lives." ♦
No less remarkable were the words
used by the Duke of Clarence when,
at last, Wellington and Peel introduc-
ed, with all the weight of government
recommendation, the great bill for
Catholic relief. He wished, he said,
that the ministers had been as imited
in 1825 as they proved in 1829. " It
will be forty-six years next month,"
he added, "since I first sat in this
house ; and I have never given a vote
of which, thank God! I have been
*This anecdote was related to the writer by the
Bishop of Soutliwark.
ashamed; and never one with so
much pleasure as the vote I shall give
in favor of Catholic emancipation."
It would be foreign to our purpose
in this place to relate the circumstan-
ces attending the passing of the bill,
and the admission of 0*Connell into
the House of Commons. We are
concerned, not so much with these
events, as with the premiers who
brought them about. Peel did not
acquire the confidence of the Irish
whom he had emancipated. O'Con-
nell regarded him with implacable
aversion, and nothing could exceed
the hatred and distrust with which he
was treated by the Tories who had
once been his friends. It was no-
thing to them that the change of his
politics had been the result of long
and arduous study; that he had ta-
ken nothing for granted, but required
proof of every statement made by
those who sought to convert him to
their side. They had not seen what
we possess — the posthumous volumes
edited by PeeFs trustees. Lord Stan-
hope and Mr. Cardwell — and they
could not, therefore, judge of the la-
borious and conscientious search by.
which he arrived at his conclusions ;
and even if they had seen them, it is
probable that they would have re-
proached him for investigating the
subject in a hesitating frame of mind,
and for beating out for himself and
many of his followers a path of apos-
tasy.
Eighteen years passed by before any
other measure of importance affecting
Catholic interests was laid before the
houses of parliament The influence of
emancipation in a liberal direction was
felt deeply in the passing of the Reform
Bill of 1832, which but for that pre-
vious act of justice would have been
impossible. The Duke of Wellington
prepared the way for Lord Grey, just
as Grey and his colleagues, by shak-
ing the power of the aristocracy and
83*
British Premiers in Relation to British Catholics.
was not likdy, thoefore, that he would
in 185 1 belray the principles which
he hdd sacred, and aid in swelling
an insensate cry. He saw dearly
that the ecclesiastical titles bill had
the double defect of being persecu-
tive if carried into operation, and
contemptible if passed only to lie
dormant. He accordingly resisted it
widi all die more dignity because he
knew that resistance was, for the time
being, fruiUess.
Mr. Gladstone has not been con-
sistent in his polidco-religious career.
In 1838, he appeared in print as the
resolute champion of ''church and
state," recommending the exclusion
of aU persons not of the Established
Church from participadon in the ad-
vantage of subsidies granted for reli-
gious purposes. In 1839 and 1840,
he opposed the admission of Jews
into paiUament, and the assistance
afiR>rded by the state to dissenters for
the education of their children. He up-
held that unjust esublishment in Ire-
land which he has since overthrown ;
and in 1845 he resigned his place
in the cabmet in order that he might
be perfecUy free to vote as he pleas-
ed on the grants to Maynooth and
the endowment of Peel's colleges in
Ireland. When out of office, he sup-
ported both these measures, and ren-
dered himself very obnoxious to many
of his supporters at Oxford by the
growing affection he manifested for
liberal measures. The year 1847 saw
him pleading for diplomatic relations
with Rome, and complaining that the
government had not communicated
with the holy see before establishing
the queen's colleges in Ireland. In
accordance with these generous and
enlightened views, Mr. Gladstone saw
with disgust the intemperate conduct
of the premier and the parliament in
the case of the ecclesiastical titles
bill. He contended that the influ-
ence of the Protestant church in Eng-
land could never be maintained and
extended by temporal enactments;
that the papal rescript for assigning
sees and tides to Roman Catholic bi-
shops did not interfere in anyway widi
the political rights of Englishmen;
and ought not to be made the oc-
casion of a hostile, oppressive, and
impotent act of parliament.
** We, the opponents of the bill," he said,
"are a minority, insignificant in point of
numbers. We are more insignifiouit, be-
cause we have no ordinary boiid of naaott.
What is it that binds us together against
you but the conviction that we have on oar
side the principle of justice — the cooric-
tion that we shall soon have on our side the
coarse of public opinion ?"
Events have proved how complete-
ly his words were true. The ecclesi-
astical tides bill is now regarded with
scorn, and treated with ridicule. £ad
Russell has confessed his mistake,
and Catholics, whom it was intended
to humiliate, are quite indifierent to a
prohibitory measiure which was never
meant to be enforced. The reform
bill carried through both houses by
Disraeli and Lord Derby made the
disestablishment of the Irish Church
possible; the nation, freely represent-
ed, pronounced in its favor; and the
measure was passed. A sense of jus-
tice, if not a feeling of repentance,
has come over the public mind; and
a brief space of time has sufficed to
dispel prejudices that were the growth
of ages. Mr. Gladstone, as leadtf of
the liberal party, has been chiefly in-
strumental in producing this change ;
but it would be unfair not to q)ecify
Mr. Bright as another most powerful
agent in bringing about the result
So long ago as 1852, the former gcn-
tieman declared his opinion that if
Mr. Spooner's annual motion against
the Maynooth grant should ever suc-
ceed, and " the endowment were with-
drawn, the parliament which with-
drew it must be prepared to enter
British Premiers in Relation to British Catholics.
833
upon the whole sul^ect of the re*
construction of the ecclesiastical ar-
rangements in Ireland." These words
were considered remarkable at the
time, and appear even more so
when viewed by the light of recent
events. They plainly foreshadowed
that sweeping measure which we have
recently seen him triumphantly carry.
They pointed to a radical alteration in
the existing unfair and anomalous re-
relations between the church of the
many and the church of the few in the
sister isle. They left it, indeed, un-
decided whether "levelling up" or
"levelling down" should be tried;
whether the several churches, Roman,
Anglican, and Presbyterian, should be
all reduced to the voluntary systems,
as in the United States, or whether
the Roman Catholic clergy should be
raised by the state to equal privileges
and emoluments with those enjoyed
by the Protestant pastors.
In the year 1868, it became mani-
fest that the conservative and the li-
beral parties alike were agreed as to
the necessity of doing something with
the Irish Church. It also became ap)-
parent that the leading men in each
party favored respectively the two
plans just alluded to— the " levelling
up" and the "levelling down "pro-
cess. Lord Derby, with his son Lord
Stanley, Mr. Disraeli, and other con-
servatives, were inclined to make the
Catholic clergy in Ireland stipendia-
ries of the state; but they did not
boldly and honestly propose any such
measure for the consideration of p>ar-
liament. The difficulties which faced
them were greater than they could
hope to overcome. The Catholic bi-
shops of Ireland had distinctly re-
fused to close with any offer of sti-
pend for the priests. They asked for
impartial legislation, but not for pay.
This difficulty amounted almost to an
impossibility ; for of what avail was
it to vote emoluments to those who
VOL. X.— S3
would not accept them ? But there
was another obstacle of almost equal
magnitude, which consisted in the
unwillingness of the English people
to endow "popery" in any shape.
One half of the electors under the
new reform bill were persons not in
communion with the Church of Eng-
land ; and these, together with many
Anglicans, approved tlie voluntary
system in preference to national state
churches of any kind. Lord Mayo,
therefore, the Secretary of State for
Ireland, was studiedly ambiguous in
setting forth the intentions of the go-
vernment in regard to Irish ecclesias-
tical matters. They were wiUing to
establish and endow a Catholic uni-
versity in Dublin, and to do some-
thing (no one could discover exactly
what) in the way of " levelling up."
Mr. Gladstone instantly exposed the
absurdity of these crude and vague
intimations. He declared in the most
emphatic manner that the Irish Church
must cease to exist as an establish-
ment, and it soon became apparent
that the liberal party were determin-
ed to aid him to the utmost in ac-
complishing his design. It was an
extraordinary climax. The most po-
pular man in the kingdom — a Protes-
tant representing a Protestant consti-
tuency, and the premier-to-be of a
Protestant queen and a Protestant
cabinet — was willing and eager, in the
name of the people, to disestablish
and disendow that church in Ireland
which had for three centuries been
the pledge of Protestant ascendency
and the main support of English and
Protestant landlordism in that island.
His foremost opponents were the
late Lord Derby and Disraeli, each of
them prime ministers at difierent pe-
riods. Their opposition was die less
formidable because they were both men
of mixed politics. Lord Derby had
been by turns the friend and the foe of
Catholic liberty and equality. He de-
834 British Premiers in ReUUim So British Catholia,
folded the Irish establishment against
Joseph Hume in 1S34; but he sup-
ported, under the rigime of Eari Grey,
the cause of emancipation in 1832.
He aided in relieving the Irish Ca-
tholics from the payment of tithes, and
he helped to strike off the chains of
the negro by presenting a bill for their
liberation ; but, on the other hand, he
resisted with all his might the appro-
priation clause in an Irish Church
bill of 1834, and ev^i quitted office
because he would not give it his
countenance. To sequestrate any
part of the property of the Irish es-
tablishment and apply it to secular
purposes was, in his eyes, to commit
a sacrilege and to violate a common
right. To this feeling he continued to
adhere, and to the last opposed the
Irish Church bill intended to disesr
tablish and disendow the Protestant
Church in Ireland. He intimated,
however, to the peers who were of his
part3r, that he did not think it their
absolute duty to oppose the bill as he
had done. For the sake of consist-
ency he voted against it, while not
a km of them did otherwise, seeing
how many evils might arise from
their resistance to the will of the
Commons and the majority of the
electors. Yet it was he and Mr.
Disraeli who made the passing of
this bill possible and inevitable. It
was the reform bill which they intro-
duced, and which extended the suf-
frage to all householders and many
lodgers, that made the liberal party
stronger, and the abolition of the
Irish establishment necessary. It is
strange, indeed, that Lord Derby,
who offered so dogged a resistance
to free-trade and the abolition of the
corn-laws, who, with Lord George
Bentilick and Mr. Disraeli, headed Uie
forces of the protectionists, should
have been the means of developing
the democratic element in the British
constitution to a degree previously
unknown and unsought, even hf Ae
liberals. It is strange, passing strange
that he should thus have bcou^
about indirectly the measures be moit
wished to avert ; and the iact of fail
having so acted is sufficient to stanp
him as a second-rate staff^man, and
hardly worthy of a philosopher's name.
It would, we believe, be scarce^
unjust to af^ly the same remark to
Disraeli, notwithstanding his literary
fome. He is too crotchety ever to
be the great leader of a great parQ^
What WUlis said of him was true : ^ In
a great crisis, with the nation in a
tempest, Disraeli would flash aczosi
the darkness very finely ; but he will
never do for the calm right hand of a
premier." His literary reputation pre-
ceded his political celebrity, and will
outlast it His mixed politics — his
dubious radical-toryism or tory-sadi-
calism^ — ^like the plus and minus in an
equation, cancelled each other, neu-
tralized his influence, and confounded
his arguments by mutual disagree-
ment. He discarded triennial parlia-
ments and vote by l)allot, deifected
to the Tories after coquetting with the
radicals, and thus laid himself open
to O'Conneirs keenest abuse. ^ His
life," the Liberator said, " was a living
lie. There were miscreants among
the chosen people of God, and it must
certainly have been frt)m one of these
that Disraeli descended. He posses-
es just the qualities of the impenitent
thief who died upon the cross, whose
name^ I verily believe, must have
been Disraeli" Certain it is, that
even the ^ends and admirers of Mr.
Disraeli repose in him little confi-
dence. They never feel sure as to
what he really is, or what he may
become. He is an enigma and a
sphinx. He has often embraced
prindples to make himself a name,
and he has often sustained them in
q>ite of unpopularity. '* It is quite a
mistake," he said on one occasion,
British Premiers itt Relalia» to British Catholics.
835
*^ to suppose I eva: hated PeeL On
the contrary^ he is the only man un-
der whom I should like to have
flemed But I saw very clearly he
was the only man it would ^ make '
me to attack, and I attacked him.''
Here is a key to Disraeli's character.
The only premier he would like to
have served under was one whose
ruling principle was expediency ; yet
even this premier he was willing to
oppose in order to rise in the political
and social scale. So he, at the head
of "Young England," denounced
free trade in com, and applied the
system of protection to the state reli-
gion. He was, like I..ord Derby, in«
tensely opposed to the disestablish-
ment and disendowment of the Pro-
testant Church in Ireland; but he
was willing to endow Catholicity in
Irdand to a certain extent, and thus
make the state to be, like himself, an
assemblage of contradictions — a build-
er up at the same moment of Baby-
lon and of Zion.
All roads, it is said, lead to Rome ;
and in like manner it may be affirm-
ed that all English prime ministers
since the revolution have led Rome-
ward more or less. All have been
employed in rabing the valleys and
levelling the hills, that a straight path
might be made for the majestic march
of the restored and ancient faith.
Every thing has told in favor of the
gens lucifuga, the despised and per-
secuted Catholics, who shunned the
light of day. If one and the other
premier sought to oppress them anew,
as Walpole did in his day, and Lord
Jc^ Russell in our own, the un-
righteous attempt recoiled sooner or
later on its promoters, and ample re-
paration was made in the long run
by a sense of justice being awakened
in the popular mind.
The prime ministers of England,
be it remembered, have been in some
tense its kings — nay, more than kings.
The real king has often been a cir
pher; the queeur^-^as lor example^
Queen Caroline-^as been above her
lord; and the pvemier — as, for in^
stance. Sir Robert Walpoie^-has con-
trolled them both. And if this was
tiie case in the last century, mudi
more is it so now. England is in
fact a republic, though nominally a
monarchy. It is an aristocratic re^
pubHc ; and the prime minister being
responsible to parliament, and repre-
senting for the time being the voice
of parliament and the popular will in
the council chamber of the sovereign,
is himself the chief executive in the
government, and holds in his hands
more real power than any one besides
in the kingdom. The monarch be^
fore whom he bows, and to whom he
seems to defer, is in reality a puppet
of which he works the wires. King
George IV. was as nothing compared
to King Wellington, and King Wil-
ham IV. was but a middy under the
command of Earl Grey. Queen Vic*
toria at the present moment (and we
say it with sincere respect for that ex«-
cellent and sovereign lady) is but a
shadow to the substance Gladstone,
and will be but a shadow to any
prime minister who may succeed him.
It was not so entirely with her grand-
father. He was really a king. He
ruled himself, and often very unwise-
ly; but times have changed. Politi-
cal and religious emancipation has
conferred on Catholics an importance
in the state which is altogether new,
and conversions on a large scale dur-
ing a quarter of a century have been
a concurrent cause of their occupying
a high and honorable position in so-
ciety. No prime minister, therefore,
can now ignore them, much less can
he molest them. In every session
of parUament some obloquy cast on
them in former ages is removed. The
lord chancellor of Ireland is now a Ca-
tholic, and very soon the lord lieute.
836
Lucifef^s Ear.
nant of Ireland may be so too. Every
office of state, even the highest, will
in all probability be in a short time
opened to the Catholics, and the un-
just law which excludes them from
the crown, and prohibits members of
the royal family from marrying them,
will be swept away. If a Catholic
were to be made premier now, it
would not be more surprising than it
was that Wellington should emanci-
pate Catholics in 1829 or that Glad-
stone should demolish the Irish es-
tablishment in 1 869. Providence has
wrought wonderfully in behalf of the
church already in England, and what
has been done should be taken by us
as a pledge of what is yet to be.
Meanwhile, it will be well to remem-
ber gratefully, where gratitude is due,
the labors of Protestant prime minis-
ters for the removal of Catholic disa-
bilities ; and in order to do so ade-
quately, we must make every allow-
ance for the prejudices in which they
were brought. up, and the obstacles
which lay so thickly in their path.
We must not deny them all merit be-
cause they have yielded to the force
of circumstances, but believe that
they probably would not thus have
yielded if there had not been in tfaem
some noble and virtuous impulse,
some personal attachment to truth
and justice. The stronger their origi-
nal repugnance to concession, the more
deeply they felt convinced in earlier
years of the importance of maintain-
ing intact the Protestant constitudoo
in church and state, the more credit
assuredly is due to them for having
broken the spell of their youths ad-
mitted that their ideas were errone-
ous, and faced a thousand reproaches
and immeasured obloquy in their de-
termination to place the liberties of
their fellow-subjects on a broader and
better basis. The day has arrived
in England when the Protestant pre-
mier and the Catholic primate shake
hands, not merely as private friends,
but also as representative men ; and
when they were seen not long ago in
familiar intercourse at the foot of
the steps of the throne in the Hovte
of Lords, they were for the moment
living signs and symbols of that vast
and happy change which has come
over the relations between the English
government and its Catholic subjects^
PKOM TRB SPANISH.
LUCIFER'S EAR.
Fernan. Come, Uncle Romance,
tell me one of your stories.
Uncle R. But, Sefior Don Fernan,
if they are not worth the telling ?
Fernan. Never mind; you must
know that many people are pleased
with Andalusian stories, and I am told
that they write them.
Uncle R. Then what I tell your
honor is going to be printed I It
makes me laugh; for you see I
thought that those high-flying folks
who go to college liked nothing bat
Latinity. However, with the help of
God, I shall do as your woiship com-
mands, since those that give us good-
will aid us to live, and gratitude is a
duty that none but the base -bom re-
fuse to pay. I will go on tdling;
your worship will go on writing it
Lucifef's Ear.
^n
down, and leaving out mbtakes, and
shaving off the roughness of my way
of saying things, till it sounds like
piint; and your worship can write
to those yoU'Sirs^ " My journeyman
and I made this between us. If it is
good, I did it ; and my journeyman,
if it is bad." Shall it be a story of
enchantment ?
Fernan. The first that occurs to
you ; if you invent it, all the better.
Uncle R. Osefior! I can*t invent.
Those inventions are flashes of the
mind ; mine is too dull, Don Fernan ;
but ni tell you a story that I've
known ever since I cut my teeth. I've
lost them all now; so your worship
can judge what date it must bear.
Ferkan. The older the better.
Stories are like wine, age improves
their flavor.
Uncle R. Well then, seftor, there
was once a rich tradesman who was
father to a very fine son. He brought
him up like a king's child, and, be-
sides the accomplishments of a gen-
tleman, in which the boy came to
excel, had him taught in all branches
as if he had meant to make him doc-
tor of every thing. The son grew to
be a young man with a will of his
own; bearded and dashing; and for
gallantry there was not another like
him.
One day he told his father that the
place had become too narrow for
him-; he could not content himself
in it, and he wanted to go away.
" And where do you want to go ?"
asked the father.
*<To see the world," answered the
young man.
^ You are like the grasshopper that
jumps he don't know where," said
the tradesman. '^ How are you to get
along in those strange countries with-
out experience ?"
** Father, * He that has knowledge
may go where he will,' " the son re-
plied; and as the old cock had al-
lowed the young one to run so much
to wings that he couldn't hold him,
the youth took his arms, his horse of
noble stirp, and set out to see the
world.
When he had travelled three days
through wilds and thickets, he came
up with a man who was canying a
double cart-load — that is to say, a
hundred and fifty arrobas of taramee
upon his shoulders.
"Friend," said the young gentle-
man, " you carry more than a church
mule. What is your name ?"
"I am called Carry-much Carry-
more, son of The Stout Carrier," an-
swered the man.
"Would you like to come with
me?"
"If your worship is as much for
taking me as I am for going, yes."
So they went on together.
At the end of an hour they found
a man who was blowing hard enough
to burst his cheeks; sending forth
more wind than the bellows of the
forge of that Bulcan ♦ who, they say,
was a giant blacksmith, of those you
hear tell about.
" What are you doing here ?" ask-
ed the gentleman.
" Don't speak, your worship," said
the man, "for I mustn't leave off
blowing. I have to keep forty-five
mills a-going with my wind."
*• And what is your name ?"
"Blow-hard Blow-harder, son of
The Hard Blower," answered the
man.
" Will you come with me ?"
" Indeed will I !" said the man ;
" for I'm ready to collapse with blow-
ing, day in and day out, as many days
as God has put into the world."
A little fiirther on, they stumbled
upon a man who was lying in wait,
listening.
" What are you doing here ?" ask-
ed the gentleman.
•Vulcan.
838
Lucifcf^s Ear.
^ I am waiting to hear a swann of
mosquitoes rise out of the sea."
'< Why, man ! if the sea is a hun*
dred leagues off?"
"And what of that, if I hear
tiiemr
** What is your name ?"
" Hear-all Hear-every-thing, son of
The Good Hearer."
** Will you come with me ?"
''With all my heart, since your
wor^tp is so kind; the mosquitoes
will announce their approach present-
ly."
The four went along in love and
fellowship till they came in sight
of a castle so musty, lonesome, and
cloaked with gloom' that it appeared
more like sepulchre of the dead than
habitation of the living. While they
were drawing nearer, the sky was
growing each moment more threaten-
ing, and, as they readied the castle,
it burst into a torrent of rain ; for size
and sound, every drop might have
been a cascabel.
" My master's worship needn't
mind it," said Blow-hard ; '* we'll soon
see what'U become of the storm."
And he began to blow. The clouds,
thunders, and lightnings scampered
across those skies in such hurry and
confusion that the sun stood squint-
ing after them, and the moon staring
open-mouthed with astonishment.
But this was not the worst; for
when they got to the casde, they
found that it had neither gate, nor
door, nor postern, nor sign of an en
trance.
"I told your worship well," said
Hear-all, who had more fear than
shame, 'Uhat this ugly-faced castle
was only for a nest of magpies, and
fefuge of owls."
" But I am tired, and I must rest,"
said the gentleman.
" Give 3roursdf no uneasiness, your
worship," said Carry-much; and he
immediately brought a big boulder,
whkh he placed against tlie wafi of
the casde. They dtmbed tip by tUs^
and went in through ^>e wiodow. In
die halt they found tables spread with
the most famous dishes; all lands oC
hqnors, jugs of pure water, and bread
of the finest quality. When they bad
eaten till they codd stuff no longcf;
the gentleman wanted to expion
castle.
••Seftor," said HeaMll, "if
meet somebody that asks, 'Where
is this ball rolling to ?* One showid
not make free in another's house ■■-
less he is well posted."
''Who's afraid ?" said Cany-mnciL
" We are not going to do any diang
wrong; and if one draws a straig^
furrow, nobody will fi^low him with
a plough."
"Let us get away from here, my
master !" cried Hear-all, whose flesh
was creeping with fear. " Thb castle
is not in the grace of God; for I tcil
your worship that I hear noises uxMicr
ground that sound like lamentatioas^"
But the gentleman paid Hear-all no
attention. His servants followed lum,
and they went on exploring those cor-
ridors and passages that were move
intricate than if a lawyer had bnflt
them, until they came into a yaid
that was Hke an arena for bulls.
They had hardly set foot in k,
when a serpent with seven heads, eadi
one more fierce than the othcn»
seven tongues like lances, and £b«r*
teen eyes hke coab of fire, glided oot
to attack them.
Cany-much, Blow-lnml, and Hear-
all, more scared than rats found
out of the hole, ran as if they wonkl
run out of their trowsers; but the
gentieraan, who was as raHant as tiie
Cid and as strong as a Bernardo, drew
his sword, and with four strokes, and
four back-strokes, cut off the crea-
ture's seven heads in less time than
3rou conld say HUn / The-biggest of
the seven glared at the gentkaoan for
Lucifef^s EaK
ii9
an instant wkh its savage eyes that
darted fire and blood, and then gave
a bound into the middle of the yard
and disappeared through a hole which
<^>ened in the ground to receive it
At the gentleman's call, the three
who had fled canie back, and were
well astonished at their master's bra^
very.
" Be it known to you," said the
cavalier, who was looking, without
seeing bottom, down the hole the sov
peat's head had gone into, *' that we
are going now to the fields to get
hemp and palm-leaves to make a line
that will reach to the floor of this
well." They did so; and the four
sgent four years making rope. At
the end of that time they felt it touch
bottom. The master then told Hear-
all to slide down it and see what was
below there, and come back and let him
know. But Hear-all stuck to his sup-
ports, as upright as a palm-tree in a
gtiUy that no wind moves, and said
that he'd be smashed first and go down
in pieces.
Then the master told Blow-hard
to go. Blow-hard took fast hold of
the rope, and descended night and
day till he got to the bottom, where
he found himself in a palace like the
famous ones you read of, and in the
presence of the Princess of Naples,
who was lying on a bed with her face
downward, weeping tears as big as
chick-peas. She told him that Luci-
fer had fallen in love with her, and
would keep her enchanted there until
one willing and able to fight and
vanquish him should present himself.
• Here is one already who is going to
undertake the enterprise,' said Blow-
hard, and he drew in a long breath,
which was scarcely drawn when Lu-
cifer appeared in person. The sight
of him fHg^t^ied Blow-hard so that
he ran and climbed to the top of a
door. Lucifer unhinged the door
with one thwack of his big tail, and
it fell to the ground with Blow^hard,
and broke one of his legs.
We will leave him with his bitter
cud, and go back to the gentleman^
who, tired of waiting for Blow-hard
to come up, asked Hear-all what was
going on down there in the bowels
of the earth. Hear-all told him what
had passed, and that now he could
hear Blow-hard complaining of a bro-
ken leg. Then the gentleman sent
Carry-much, who assured him that
he would shoulder Lucifer and bring
him up, if he weighed more than
all the lead of the Sierra Almagrera.
But, step by step, it happened to Car-
ry-much just as it had to Blow-hard,
except that he got an arm broken in-
stead of a leg.
" I will go down m)rsdf," said the
gentleman, when Hear-all related to
him what had taken place.
When he reached the palace and
saw the Princess of Naples, he fell into
such love with her wonderful beau-
ty that he prepared himself for the en-
counter with a double ration of valor.
Christians! such a fight as there
was then between the good cavalier
and the cursed dog of a Lucifer the
world has never seen ; as, naturally, it
would not see, since Lucifer never
comes to fight above here in his own
form. But the gentleman crossed
himself, and, as every man must who
commends his cause to God, van-
quished the devil. He did more; for
he cut off one of his ears.
The state Lucifer would be in at
seeing his ear in the hands of a Chris-
tian, I leave to your consideration:
His yells had such an effect upon
Hear-all that he repeated every jerk
and ^)ring. You would have said
that he was being repeatedly stui^;
by a tarantula,
" Give me my ear I " shouted Luci-
fer in the voice of a trumpet.
" You will give me a good ransom
if you get it," answered the cavalier;
»#>
*fcrlk>vc
witn ■oicJi yen
-Oh! Toa
Dot I vam
:t spct oat
voa that I
andsbovit
the gadl;
going to
icpiied the
"What are yoor
bonu il!4)rcd, ami
low-
?-he
— The frst is. tiiat 3roQ mstandy
ictuui d>£S pnnccss to her own king-
dom and palace,'* said the cavaher.
There vas nothing for it bat to
coBoptf; so Ladfer placed the prin-
cess in her royal palace, and then said
to the cavalier, •• Girc me my ear."
-Xo," replied die cavalier; "you
mast first transport me, with my three
servants and sudi a kingly soite as
becomes yoor vanqnisber, to the comt
of Xapless and into a suitable lodg-
ing, which you will have prepared for
«* It does not suit me, little bully,
to have you diverting yourself^ and
triumphing at my expense."
* Very weB. I will publish, with
die sound of a clarion, that you have
lost an ear. We shall see then if you
can di^;uise yourself as a notary, law-
yer, agent, money-lender, or lover,
without being found out in less than
no time."
**Now,** whimpered Lucifer, after
he had placed the cavalier in Naples,
with great riches and an immense re-
tinue, " give me my ear."
^ I have it here," said the cavalier,
** and I don't want it, for it smells of
sulphur; but you have yet to fulfil
the third condition."
'* What is it, impudent upstart ?"
^ I am not quite ready to tdl it.
la the mean time, have patience,
which, if it will not serve you to gain
heaven, will be of use to you in get-
ting bock 3roar ear."
Lodia' dianged fixxn poison to
the essence of venom. " You are se-
ven times worse than I," said he to
his vanquisher. ** By the soul of Na-
poleon! there b more knavoy on
earth than in heU But you shall re-
member me ! By my horns and tail, I
swear it !" And off he went, pulling at
his remaining ear for vexation at find-
ing himsdf outwitted by a Christian.
WeQ, idien the princess saw the
cavalier so findy gotten up, and with
such a splendid following, she recog-
nized him, and told her father that he
was her saviour! and that she wi^
ed to marry him. They were mar-
ried ; and I was thert^ and saw^ amd
OMme away^ and noMng^ was said U
me ; for I sHpped in and out wOhmi
being seen ; * mindfiil of the sajring,
" Neither to wedding nor christenung
go unbidden."
But, sefior, you must know that,
after the wedding-bread was eaten,
the princess and the cavaher led a
cat-and-dog's life together; for the
woman's temper and manners had be-
come so bad and intolerable while she
remained under the power of Lucifer
that no one else could abide them.
So, when the devil appeared to beg
for his ear, the cavalier said to him,
^I am going to give it to yo«;
but you must comply with the last
condition I impose for its ransom."
" Knave ! Mountebank I You
would damn me if I were not damned
already ! And what is this last con-
dition ?"
"That you take my wife again,"
responded the cavalier ; '* for you are
like for like, Peter for John."
Th$ Vatican Council.
841
THE VATICAN COUNCIL.
NUMBER -nva
Wk intimated in our last number
our intention of presenting each
month to the readers of The Catho-
lic World an article on the pro-
gress, and, so far as we could, on the
proceedings of the Vatican Council,
now in session* We shall endeavor,
in so doing, to state facts, the accura-
cy of which we can guarantee. Mis-
statements, silly, absurd, and not un-
frequently mischievous, are sent by
" our own correspondents," to fill the
columns of hostile newspapers ; and
they may sometimes disturb the minds
and sadden the hearts of the unwary.
We wish to give such an account as
shall correct such errors and misstate-
ments, by an accurate and impartial
statement of the truth. Our form of
a monthly publication may subject us
to some delay, and to the disadvan-
tage of saying much which our rea-
ders will have already seen in the
daily and weekly press. But on the
other hand, it will secure for us fuller
and more accurate knowledge of our
subject than could be obtained at an
earlier period, and may enable us,
perhaps, to form a more mature judg-
ment on many points. Our aim is
to give a series of articles, which our
readers may preserve and refer to here-
after. In writing them, we are guid-
ed by information derived firom the
best sources.
The amount and the variety of
misstatements and of mistakes about
the council and its doings, that have
fallen even under our own eyes, would
seem incredible. The talent of fiction
seems to have attained a truly mar-
vellous development. We tried to
classify them. There were fictions to
blame, and fictions to praise, fictions
droll, fictions malicious, fictions stupid,
fictions about persons, fictions about
things, fictions about words, fictions
about the past, fictions about the pre-
sent, fictions in the shape of conjec-
tures of the future, fictions gay and
witty, fictions solemn and dull, fictions
pious, and fictions blasphemous.
But then even this stream of incor-
rect statements, the result of imagina-
tion striving to eke out a scanty know-
ledge of facts, or of prejudice look-
ing at every thing through a distorted
medium, is poured forth to satisfy, if
it can, the cravings of the public, and
is an additional evidence of the in-
tense and universal interest the Coun-
cil of the Vatican has excited. Men
may misrepresent it, they may hate
it, or fear it They cannot despise
it It seems they cannot be silent
about it
The time has not yet come to speak
of the results of the deliberations of
this venerable body. Perhaps it is
well that it is so. As yet, our minds
are still dazzled and preoccupied by
the outward splendor and the strik-
ing external aspects of the council.
Everywhere in Rome, you hear men
commenting on these points, and com-
paring the present oecumenical coun-
cil with those which the church has
celebrated in the past centuries of her
existence.
But once before in her history were
so many bishops gathered together.
In the second Lateran Council, as-
sembled by Pope Innocent III., in
1 1 39, about one thousand bishops
imited. The next largest number was
at Chalcedon in 451, where six hun-
842
Th€ Voiron. CounciL
dred and thirty b'lsbops assembled;
and next to that came the second
Council of Lyons in 1274, under Gre-
gory X., at which five hundred were
present Of the other councils, one
had over four hundred bishops, five
over three hundred, and the others all
fell below that number.
Since the day of the opening not a
few additional bishops have arrived,
and the total number now taking part
in the present council cannot fall be-
low seven hundred and fifty. The
Vatican Council stands, therefore, by
a mere count of numbers second on
the list But, as a representation of
the entire world, it far exceeds all that
have preceded it
The remarkable punctuality with
which the council was opened is a
subject of surprise and gratification,
and may well be looked on as a signal
evidence of the protection of divine
providence. It has not always hap-
pened that councils could meet at the
time and the place first indicated in
the bull for their convocation. Some-
times only a comparatively small num-
ber of bishops could assemble ; and
weeks and months, and peihaps a
year would pass by, before such a
number could gather together as to
render the opening of the council ad-
visable. The difficulties of journeying
were great Onentinies political jea-
loupes, and the wars of nations, in-
terfered to deUy and embarrass, if
they cook! hoc altogether thwart, the
meeting, as well as the action of the
coundL Someihing of this kind was
anticipated by many in the present
instance. When, in 1867, Pius IX., m
his address to the assembled bishops,
stated his purpose of holding a sacred
oecumenical council of the bishops
of the whole world, in order that, with
their imited counsels and labors, ne-
cessary and salutary remedies might,
by God's help, be applied to the many
evils under which the church sufiers.
the heart of the Catholic woild
thrilled with delight But among in-
fidels and non-Catholics, and even
lukewarm Catholics, or those of littk
faith, there was many a jest and many *
a sneer. Many a paper assured its
readers that the council would not,
could not assemble; and some^who
thought themselves well informed, de-
clared that before the day for opening
it would arrive, Garibaldi wodd be
in Rome, and Pius IX. a wanderer
and a fiigitive, far firom the Vaticao.
Plans were even then being kid to
bring this about; and, ece many
months rolled by, a well-prq>ated and
vigorous attempt was made to cany
them into effect The attempt signal-
ly fiiiled. The battle of Mentana for-
bade its renewal in that shape for some
time to come; and the stonn, at one
moment so threatening, passed hy.
The council was called, and the place
and the day of its meeting appointed.
What Garibaldi and his party hid
failed to efiect by arms, diplomacy
now attempted in another guise. The
chief mimsto: of a so-called Catholic
power professed to entertain great ap-
prdiensions of the possible results of
the council, and sent a secret areolar
to the courts of the other Catho&c
nations of Europe, urging the expe-
diency of united action in such shape
as might control the decisions of the
council. Had the plan been adopted,
and the spirit in which it was oqb-
ceived been carried out in the details^
the result would probably have beta
what the originators intended, and
what indeed some of their papers an-
nounced to the worid as already de-
termined on. The council would
have been postponed, perhaps would
not have naet at aH. But this plan
failed toa The drcular was received
coldly, and the proposal fell to the
ground. Under the guiding hand of
Providence, all was peaceftd. The
bishops (save those imder the Cj
Tke Vatican CaundL
843
of Russia) were free to travel in
peace; and they came at the voice of
the chief pastor. From the volcanic
and coral islands of the Packic, from
Hudson's Bay and Labrador and
Canada, from Brazil, La Plata, and
Chili, from the golden shores qf Cali-
ibmia, from rugged New England and
the fertile valley of the Mississippi,
firom mysterious Egypt, and the das-
sic isles of Greece, from the sacred
hills and cities of Palestine and Syria,
from the stricken remimnts of Ass3rria
and Media, firom Persia, India, Bur-
xnah, Siam, and China, bishops were
jotimeying toward the central city of
the Catholic world. The antipo-
dal Australia and New 2^ealand sent
still others. From every country of
£arope, Hungary, Bohemia, Illyria,
Austria, Prussia, Bavaria, and Wilr-
temberg, France, Spain, and Portugal,
Bngland, Holland, Belgium, Scotland,
and Ireland, the Island of Saints,
they came, not merely a few delegates,
but it seemed the entire episcopal
body en masse. Distance and difh-
culties of the journey were no obsta-
cles; even old age and infirmities
seemed to have lost the power of re-
taming these prelates at home. Among
the arrivals in Rome over a score had
passed eighty years of age, and one,
not the least vigorous among them,
had reached the mature age of ninety-
ftve. And so it came to pass, under
the blessing of Heaven, Uiat in this
nineteenth century, in which even
that profound statesman and excel>
lent Catholic, Count De Maistre, once
said it would be simply impossible to
convene a general council of the
church, all difficulties have vanished,
and without one hour's delay or post-
ponement, the Vatican Council, ex-
ceeding all others save one in its
number of prelates, and fiu* surpassing
that one in its intrinsic grandeur, was
opened in the majestic Basilica of St
B^er, on the day and the hour ori-
ginally appointed. We may trust
that the blessing of Heaven i^ill con-
tinue with it, and that its results will
be commensurate with the prayers and
hopes of the Catholic world, in pro-
moting the glory of God, in establish-
ing the kingdom of Christ our Lord
on earth, and in leading men to
Christian holiness and eternal life.
In our former article we gave an
accoimt of the grand spectacle pre-
sented at the opening session. In
the present one, we will speak of the
general congregations, or committees
of the whole, as we would term them,
in which most of the work is to be
done. The curious observer will find
here many of those old rules and
forms from which the modern and
civilized world has derived our exist-
ing codes of parliamentary rules. It
is interesting to observe the points of
agreement and of disagreement. For
of later years, in our mundane parlia-
ments, the strife of party spirit, and
sometimes the necessity of settling a
question by a given time, have brought
in various devices unknown in those
older and quieter assemblies for the
purpose of shutting off debate, or
overcoming the reluctance of a mino-
rity for a speedy vote.
An oecummiical council is, under
one point of view, a deliberative as-
sembly of the entire Catholic Church.
The sovereign pontiff, who, as succes-
sor of St. Peter, the head of the apos-
tolic college in the see of Rome, is
head of the Catholic Church and the
centre of unity, presides ex-^fficw*
As his right and his power were not
bestowed on him by the church, but
were instituted by her Divine Founder
as an essential part of her organization,
it follows that they do not cease, or
suffer suspension, on occasion of, or
during the holding of a council.
His office in reference to councils
has been recognized from the begin-
ning. A Council of Alexandria, in
«44
«o Pope Fcix IL, in the
Roee: -* We kaov that m
t^ peat Cocaci Md Nice all die
dcdxred that
be held save
Tu:: ^tti a n of the Roman
IS
pocrr:.^ asd J ulhs L, m his tet letter
appeakd
It lavs of the church, whidi
iscbade *" ihe boiding of oottndk with-
od dae knoviedge azKi assent of the
Rcouin poonfi^ because the Holj
Ro3ua Churdi heid the primaqr
Ofver all the churches." In the first
piaoe, tbexL an oeonnenical cooncil
most be smatjmmoi by the authority
of the pope. In the second place,
he presides in the coondl tx-oficw^
either peisonaDy or by soch legates
as he mar send. The First Coondl
of Nice in Bitfaynia was held in 325.
Three hundred and eighteen bishops
wcie present, all of diem (save half
a dozen) patriarchs, archbishops, and
bishops from the east Osius, a
bishop of Spain, and two priests fit>m
Rome, presided in the name of Pope
Sylvester. Meietius of Antioch, and
afterward St Gregory of Nazianzum,
presided in the name of Pope Dama-
sus in the First Council of Constan-
tinople, in 381. St Cyril of Alexan-
dria presided at the Council of Ephe-
sus in 431, in the name of Pope St
Cdestine I. St Leo the Great sent
two bishops, Pascasinus and Lucen-
dus, and two priests, Boni£u:e and
Basil, who conjoindy represented him,
and presided over the Fourth General
Council at Chalcedon, in the year 45 1.
The same right has been exercised in
every succeeding cecumenical council.
Nor could it be otherwise. The body
cannot be separated from the head
without destroying the life of the
church. The gates of hell would
then have assuredly prevailed over
her.
A third right and office of the
sovereign pontiff in rdation to oecu-
menical councils is that of confirmng
and giving force to their decrees.
His is the supreme duty and diarge
of confirming his brediren in die faith.
Pope St Damasus expressed the Ca-
tholic doctrine and practice on this
head fifteen hundred years ago, when
he wrote to the bi^ops of an African
council, ^ You well know, that to
hold councOs without the authority
and approval of the Roman see is
not according to the Catholic spirit;
nor do we meet any councils that
are held as legitimate which were
not supported by its apostolic con-
firmation.*' The words of Pope Da-
masus were then specially significant
and emphadc. Not a quarter of a
century befcHe, in 363, six hundred
bishops had assembled at Rimini,
and, under pressure from the Empe-
ror Constandus, had passed decrees
which Pope Liberius reprobated. At
once, and ever since, that CouncO of
Rimini has been held as utterly desti-
tute of authority.
An cecumenical cotmcil, therefore, to
be truly such, must be convoked by
the sovereign pontift^ or by his autho-
rity, must be presided over by him,
either in person or by his legates, and
its acts must be confirmed and sanc-
doned by him.
To say he has the duty of judging
when the necessides or dangers of the
church render it proper to summon a
general council, in order to meet or to
remedy them, implies obviously that
he will propose to the council the
matters on which he caUs for their
judgment and their codperation
with him. As president ex-^/ffido^ it
is his duty to make such arrangements
in accordance widi the spirit of reli-
gion, and the usages of former coim-
dls, as will facilitate and expedite the
acdon of the council, and allow the
bishops to return as quickly as possi-
ble to dieir flocks.
In the present instance, the sove-
The Vatican Council.
845
reign pontiff has done this chiefly by
the brief, MuUipUces inUr, and by the
labors of the five preparatory com-
missions, which have for nearly a
year and a half been studying up the
subjects which are to form a portion
of the matter to be discussed and de-
cided on by the council
We have already spoken of this
apostolic letter, Muliiplices inter. It
was dated November 27 th, and hav«
ing been printed in pamphlet form,
was delivered to the bishops on De-
cember 2d, nearly a week before the
opening of the council. There are
ten chapters in it, several of which set
forth the mode of procediure which
will be followed in the council in the
transaction of business.
Chapter ii. is as follows :
••Although the right and duty of pro-
posit^ the matters to be treated in the
Holy CEcumenical Council, and of asking
the judgments of the fathers on them, be-
longs oniy to us and this apostolic see,
yet we not only desire, but we exhort, that
if any among the fathers of the council
have any thing to propose which they
believe will tend to the general benefit,
they shall freely propose it However, as
we dearly- perceive that this, unless it be
done in proper time and mode, may serious-
ly disturb the necessary order of the busi-
ness of the council, we direct that such pro-
posals be offered in this mode, to wit : i.
Each one must be put in writing, and be
directly delivered to a special congregation
(committee) composed of several cardinals
and fathers of the council, to be appointed
by us. 2. It must regard the general wel-
fare of the church, not the special benefit of
only this or that diocese. 3. It must set
forth the reasons for which it is held useful
and opportune. 4. It must not run counter
to the constant belief of the church, and her
inviolable traditions. The said special con-
gregation shall diligently weigh the proposi-
tions delivered to it, and shall report to us
their recommendation as to the admission
or exclusion of them, in order that, after
mature deliberation, we may decide whether
or not they shall be placed before the coun-
cil for discussion."
We may say here that this special
committee has been appointed, and
is composed of twelve cardinals and
fourteen prelates. Of the cardinals
five are usually resident in Rome,
three are from sees in Italy, one is
French, one Spanish, one German,
and one (Cardinal Cullen) from Ire-
land. Of the prelates, two are patri-
archs from the East, one is French,
two Spanish, foiu* Italians, one South
American, one (Archbishop Spalding)
from the United States, one Mexican,
one English, one Belgian, and one
German. This committee is thus an
admirable synopsis, as it were, of the
entire council Their duties may here-
after be delicate and responsible. So
far, we believe, they have not been
called on to act
Chapters v. and vii. of the same
apostolic letter set forth that, for
the rapid furthering of biainess, there
shall be sbc other standing commit-
tees, the members of all of which
shall be elected by ballot, in the
council: i. On excuses for non-
attendance, or for leave of absence,
to consist of five members. 2. On
grievances and complaints, likewise
to consist of five members. 3. On
matters of faith, to consist of twenty-
four members. 4. On matters of dis-
cipline, with twenty-four members.
5. One on regular orders, with twen-
ty-four members; and 6. One on ori-
ental rites and on missions, to consist
of twenty- four members. These last
four committees, or deputations^ as
they are termed, will be presided over
each by a .cardinal, to be appointed
by the pope.
Chapter vi. appoints the officers
and attendants required in the coun-
cil. Prince John Colonna and Prince
Dominic Orsini are sergeants-at-arms.
What a change from the days, seven
centuries ago, when their ancestors
would meet only as rivals at court, or
antagonists in the field I The Rt. Rev*
Joseph Fessler, of Germany, is named
secretary of the council, with an un-
846
Tkg Vatiam CounciL
der secretary and two assistanta. Se-
ven notaries are named, and eight
sorutatoKes or teUers, for receiving and
counting the votes. Among diese
last is Monsignor Nardi, well known
to the foreign visitors to Rome. The
promotors, masters of ceremony, and
ushers are also named in this chap-
ter.
FinaUy, the sovereign pontiff, who
would preside in person only in the
solemn sessions, designated five car-
dinals who, in his name and by his
authority, would preside in the gene-
ral congregations. They were Car-
dinals De Reisach, De Luca, Bizzarri,
Bilio, and Capalti.
The apostolic letter also set forth
how the several committees of theo-
logians had prepared schemata^ or
draughts, i0 we would term them, on
various points belonging to the general
purp)Oses of the council. The Holy
Father declared that he had abstain-
ed firora giving to these draughts any
sanction of approval. They would
be placed in the hands of the bishops
for their serious study and for their
discussion, (integra integre^ fireely, and
as to every part
These arrangements were held to
be sufficient at least in the commence-
ment Should it appear during the
progress of the council that additional
measures are necessary, it is obvious
that they can, at any time, easily be
provided by the fathers.
In our account of the grand cere-
monial of opening the council, we
stated that t)ie second decree appoint-
ed a second solemn session to be held
on the festival of the Epiphany, Janu-
ary 6th. The bishops were also in-
formed diat the first general congre-
gation would be held on Friday, De-
cember loth, at nine a.ii.
On that morning, by half-past eight,
tiiousands were waiting in the grand
nave of St Peter's, to see the bishops
as they arrived and passed up its
lengdi, to reach die council hafl, in
die transept, to the right of the maia
altar. Hundreds remained to sec
them come out at the conclusion cf
the meecmg. On each of the ten
times since thei> that the tnshops have
met in general congregation, tkeie
was the crowd of Romans and of
strangers. In truth, under some re-
spects, this occasion seems almost jk
interesting as a public session. The
bishops come, not in procession, bot
singly, or in groups of two, thre^ or
four, as they may chance to arrive mt
the door of St Peter's. They aie
robed not in cope and mitre, but sim-
ply in rochet and mantelletta, and as
they gravely walk up the nave, yo«
have a full opportunity to scan thck
features and study their bearing, their
size, and to read the thousand and
one indications of character by which,
whether correcdy or incorrectly, men
will ever form some judgment of
those they look on. Most of them
bear in their hands portfolios for writ-
ing, and large quarto pamphlets whidi
have been distributed to them. They
look as if they had been studying,
and were still preoccupied with mat*
ters of importance.
They enter the door of the counci
hall, and each one passes to his num-
bered seat Some open their pam-
phletSy some are writing, some are
conversing in whispers. At nine a.m.
the main door is closed. Whoever
comes late roust enter by a side door.
Mass of the Holy Ghost is celebrated
by some one of the prelates, without
music At its conclusion, the pre-
siding cardinals take their places. All
kneel while the chief cardinal reads
the prayers prescribed for the occa-
sion. When he concludes, all rise,
are seated, and the congregation b
opened.
On December loth, only four of
the presiding cardinals were in their
places. The diief one, Cardinal De
Ti* Vatuan Council.
H7
Rekach, was absent in Swttzeriand,
whither he had gone for his health.
He has since died there. Bom in
Bftvana,in 1806, of a noble ^unily,
his rank, his talepts, and his personal
accomplishments, and the prospect of
a brilliant career before him, gather-
ed around him a circle of admirers
and hopeful friends, as, at the age of
twenty, he look his place in the court
<A King Louis. Pure and delicate
as a girl, loving piety, and dreading
the seductionsof the world, he soon
gave up all the world offered, and
withdrew to devote himself to the
sanctuary. He came to Rome, to
pursue his theological studies in the
German College, graduated with ho-
nors, was ordained priest, and soon
after, when not thirty years of age,
was appointed rector of the celebrat-
ed College of the Propaganda. His
memory is dear to all those students,
now scattered through the world, who
had the happiness of being under his
paternal care. In 1836, he was con-
secrated Bishop of Eichstadt, in his
native land, and afterward was made
Archbkhop of Munich. In both
these offices he displayed that zeal,
and wisdom, and firmness, united with
kin(kst charity, of which his earlier
years had given such promise. He
was finally made cardinal, and re-
signing the archbishopric of Munich,
came several years ago to reside again
m Rome. For some tune past his
heahh was impaired. He was presi-
dent of one of the preparatory com-
mittees of theologians and canonists
for the council, and it is thought that
his excessive labors as such contri-
buted not a little to break his health
down. In September he left Rome,
never to return. In his death, the
Vatican Council has lost one who
would have been a most able presid-
ing cardinal.
On December loth. Cardinal De
Loca, the next in rank, took his place.
and made a brief and eloquent ad-
dress to the fathers. It was of course
in Latin, the language of the coun-
cil. The bishops voted by ballot, first,
for the five members of the commit-
tee on excuses, and then, a second
time, for the five members of the
committee on complaints. As the
Others voting were over seven hun-
dred, as each one voted for ten per-
sons, and as the voting was very
scattering, it was obvious that the
ballots could not be counted then
and there. They were therefore plac-
ed in boxes, which were publicly seal-
ed; and a committee, consisting of
the senior patriarch, the senior pri-
mate, the senior archbishop, the senior
bishop, and the senior mitred abbot,
was appointed to superintend the
counting of these votes the next day,
and to superintend the counting here-
after the votes to be cast in the com-
ing elections. The ushers then de-
livered to each of the bishops a copy
of the first draught, or schema^ on doc-
trinal matters. The concluding prayer
was said, and the meeting adjoiuned.-
The prelates elected on tfie com-
mittee of excuses were, Mdchers,
Archbishop of Cologne; Monzon y
Martins, Archbishop of Granada;
Limberti, Archbishop of Florence;
Landriot, Archbishop of Rheims;
and Pedicini, Archbishop of Ban.
Those elected on the committee
of complaints were, Angelini, Arch-
bishop of C(Minth ; Mermillod, Bishop
of Geneva ; Sannibale, Bishop of Gub-
bio; Rosati, Bishop of Todi; and
Canzi, Bishop of Cyrene,
On the 14th of December, a second
general congregation was held. After
the celebration of mass and the open-
ing prayers, two documents were dis-
tributed to the bishops. The first
had special reference to the council.
It was a " constitution " on the elec-
tion of the Roman pontiff, should the
apostolic see become vacant during
646
6er fccrctary
vcn notaries
scrutatores (
counting tl
lout is Mon^
to the forci-
promotors, i.
ushers are .
tcr.
Finally, t
would pros
solemn sc^
(linAh whu
authority^ \
ml CxM^gTr
duuU lie >
1^!k\ *nil t
TV A^
V>r the >
e< • ^ ^^\
f V. » • "v -.
t- % •
k- * «
« • ■ K
• ^•' k % •
>^ ■ ■ ■
- - =r death should this couodl
■=■ s^ny a lip spoke the words,
^ — vsvai Hus Nanus. Were k
r -^ sanctity of the place, and
- , - raess of th« assembly, the low
■^: V .rds would have been loud
- -r„.:oas ringing through St. Fe-
■ = «ccnd paper did not direcdj
-r_- \i che council, and we would
. . s. --. ii of it here had it not been
- = -r ae subject of so many remarks
.« <r ziach misrepresentation in
r^ ■* srej*ur papers. It was a bull
r* \^-'^ -md Annulling many of the
r'^N.rrs^ ocd pccaitks enacted in
. 1^ **ii ^v Li^i caaon law igaiost
I .:c :;-*u^:c wH make the mat-
r- .jai r":e ^a^rcJi JLis power, and
-^ **-- > iT.-2':];:k^i it, to miict bcf
r"*^-:^ -;-: 7tfT:a-:ies on gr.iT^as
- • ::-^ >;u-t penalties, in::cii?l
^ • : rr r* 'a ^jvt]^ And to procirt *
• * -^ - -*. ::- unt!ncment of the onf::'>
:.-i :\; rrmcndy adapted t-- u-f
.- .."-<. .:lv'=i^ ^t i-Tz-e and y^^-
^ ; -fc : .-:.> miic .;e tjien into c^a-
."• *'- — -■
• a- I « JLT r: - *; m* "unir ^
- - ■ "^^ - -. • •= r rr
• • •* - * I .. ::'^ r ->
* --.^
re
cz:
.-.se
I
Tke Vatictm Council
849
Hence, for some time past, and espe-
daUy on occasion of the councO,
representations have been made in
Rome on tke subject The sovereign
pontiff, after mature consideration, and
taking advice of his counsellors, has
by this bull withdrawn and repealed
all the censures and ecclesiastical pen-
alties at any time in ages past enact-
ed by his predecessors, excepting those
of which he gives a special and defi-
nite list in the budl. These he leaves
as they were ; all others he abrogates.
At this second congregation a bal-
lot was taken for the members of the
committee or deputation on matters
of £uth. Each prelate voted for twen-
ty-four persons. There were seven
hundred and twenty-one votes cast
They were sealed up as before, in the
presence of the council, and were
afterward counted. The result was
as fbHows:
1. Most Rev. Emnimiiiid Garcia Gil, Arcb>
bishop of Sarafossa, Spain.
2. Rt Key. Louis Frands Pifc, Bishop of
Poidcrs, France.
3. Most Rev. Patrick Leahy, Archbishop
ef Cashel, Ireland.
4. Most Rev. Rto6 Fr. Regnier^ Ardi-
bi^K^ of Cambraa, France.
5. Most Rev. John Simor, Archbishop of
Gian, Hungary.
6. Most Rev. Ignatius Andrew Sdnep-
Arcfabishop di Utreciit, HolliuuL
7. Most Rev. Antonins Hassan, AriAe-
Patriarch.
S. Rt. Rev. Bartholomew D'Avanxo, Bi-
shop of Calvi.
^ Most Rev. Mieddaus Ledodtowsld,
Archbishop of Gnesen and Posen.
la Most Rev. Frands Cuginit Archbi*
shop of Modena, Italy.
II. Rt. Rev. S. D. Larangelra, Bishop
of Rio Grande, BraziL
IS. Rt Rev. Ignatius Sencstry, Bishop
of Ratisbon, Bavaria.
r3. Most Rev. Victor A. Dediamps, Arch-
bishop of Maiines, Belgium.
14. Most Rev. Martin J. Spalding, Ardi*
hiahop of Bdtimore, United States.
15. Rt Rev. Anthony Monwcaio, Btdnip
•f Jaen, Spain.
16. Rt Rev. Peter J. De Preux, Bishop
of Sod, Switzerland.
VOL. X.— 54
17. Rt Rev. Vliioent Gasser, Bnhop of
Brixen, TyroL
18. Most Rev. Raphael V. Val<£vieso,
Archbishop of Santiago, ChflL
19. Most Rev. Henry Edward Manning^
Archbishop of Westminster, England.
2a Rt Rev. Fred. M. Zinelli, Bishop of
Treviso, Lombardy.
22. Most Rev. Walter Steins, Ardibishop
of Calcutta.
23. Rt Rev. Conrad Martin, Bishop of
Paderbom, Prussia.
24. Most Rev. Joseph S. Allemany, Ardi-
bishop of San Francisco, United States.
Cardinal Bilio was appointed chairman.
This is lodced on as the most im-
portant committee of the council ; and
it is gratifying to us, and honorable
to the Catholic Church of the United
States, that two of our archbishops
riiould be placed on it
A third general congregation was
held on the 21st of December, for the
election in the same manner of twen-
ty-four prelates, to constitute the de-
putation or committee on discipline.
The number of votes given was lar-
ger than on the previous occasion.
We give the names of those elected,
arranging them here, as we did be-
fore, according to the number of suf-
frages each one received :
1. Most Rev. John McCIoskey, Arch-
bishop of New York, United States.
2. Rt. Rev. William UUathome, Fisho^
of Birmingham, England.
3. Most Rev. John McHale, Archbishop
of Tuam, Ireland.
4. Most Rev. Pelagius De Lavastida,
Archbishop of Mexico.
5. Rt Rev. Pantaleon Monserrat y Na-
v^Uto, Bishop of Barcelona, Spain. '
6. Most Rev. Anastasins Yusto, Ardi-
Inshop of Burgos, Spain.
7. Most Rev. Julius Arrigoni, Archbishop
of Lucca, Italy.
8. Most Rev. Francis Bafllargeon, Arch-
bishop of Quebec, Canada.
9. Most Rev. Paul Ballerini, Patriarch
of Alexandria.
la Rt. Rev. Oaudius PUntier, Bishop
of Nlmes, France.
11. Rt Rev. Theodore de MontpelEer,
Bishop of Liege, France.
12. Rt Rev. Stephen MarHley, BislK)p
of T^wianne, Switierlmd.
$io
The Vatican QnmciL
!> Rl Rtv. F. X« Wiinch^r>ki» Bbl¥>p
of Lemberg, Hungary.
14. Rt Rer. George Stahl, Bishop of
Wurzburg, Gennany.
15. Rl Rev. John Ambrose UuerU,
Bishop of Puno, South America.
16. RL Rev. Charie$ FUlion, Bishop of
Le Mans, France.
17. Rt Rev. John B. Zwerger, Bishop
of Segovia.
18. Rt Rtv. Nicfaobs Sergent, Bishop
of Quimper, France.
19. Rt Rev. Michael Heiss, Bishop of
La Crosse, United States.
2a Most Rev. Marianus Rlcdardi, Arch-
bishop of Reggio, Italy.
21. Rt Rev. Leo Meurb, Bishop of
AscaJon.
22. Rt Rev, John Guttadauro di Rebur-
done. Bishop of Caltanisetta, Italy.
23. Rt Rev. Marinus Marini, Bishop of
Orvieto, Italy.
24. Rt Rev. Joseph Aggirbati, Bishop
of SinigagUa, Italy.
Cardinal Caterini was afterward appointed
president of this committee.
On December 28th, another gene-
ral congregation was held, at which
the following twenty-four prelates
were elected, to constitute the com-
mittee on all questions relating to the
religious orders :
1. Most Rev. Francis Felix y Solans,
Archbishop of Tarragona, Spain.
2. Rt. Rev. Andrew Raess, Bishop of
Strasbourg, Alsace.
3. Most Rev. Godfrey St Marc, Arch-
bishop of Rennes, France.
4. Rt. Rev Ferdinand Blanco, Bishop of
Avila, Spain.
5. Rt Rev. John Derry, Bishop of Clon«
fert^ Ireland.
6. Most Rev. Joseph B. Dusmet, Arch-
bishop of Catania, Sicily.
7. Rt. Rev. Felix Cantimorri, Bishop of
Parma, Italy.
8. Most Rev. Joseph J. Checa, Arch-
bishop of Quito, South America,
9. Most Rev. Frederic de Fiirstenberg,
Archbishop of Ohniitz.
la Most Rev. Charles Pooten, Arch-
bishop of Antiwi and Soutari» in Dalma-
tia.
It. Rt Rev. Paul MicalelT, Bishop of
Citti di Castello, Italy.
iju Rt. Rev. Stephen V. Ryan, Binhop of
Bufialo, United States.
. 13. Rt Rev. Simen SpOoftios, Biabop of
Tricarico, Greece,
14. Most Rev. Alexander Angeloni,
Archbishop of Urbino, Italy.
15. Rt Rev. Ignatms M. CTdoaa, H-
flbop of Faro.
16. Rt Rev. Francis de Leonrod, Bislup
of Eichstadt, Bavana.
17. Rt Rev. Wilham L Clifibrd, Bishop
of Clifton, Eoghmd.
18. Rt Rev^ThomM IL Salmio^ Bwbof
of Tanes.
19. Rt Rev. John I. Fayet, Bishop of
Bruges, Belgium.
20. Rt Rev. M, Epiirem Garreloti, Bi-
shop of Nemest*
21. Most Rev, Aloysius Nazaii di Cala-
biano. Archbishop of Milan.
22. Most Rev. George Ebedjesn Kayatt,
Chaldean Archbishop of Amida.
23. Rt Rev. Casptf Wflli, Buhop of
Antipatroty Greece.
24. Rt Rev. John Thomas Ghilardi,
Bishop of Mondovi, Italy.
Cardinal Bizzarri was appointed pre^-
dent of this deputatioiu
This fourth congregation was one
of importance and special interest, for
at this meeting the discussion of the
schema^ or draught, on certain matters
regarding faith, given to the bishops
on December loth, was to commence.
Originally, and to the great mortifica*
tion of die architect, the noble hall
prepared for the council was found
to be unsuited for speaking. Its size,
the loftiness of the roof, and its coai-
mimication aloft with the nave and
the dome, seemed to render even
strong voices inaudible. When Ac
secretaries made announcements, they
were forced to repeat the same words
two or three times from difieieot posi«
tions, that aH might hear. To hold
discussions there seemed impossible.
Various halls in the Vatican Palace,
were measured Several churches
were examined; and at one time it
was almost decided to try a hall in
the distant Quirinal Palace. But, be-
fore doing so> the architect tried other
plans in the cotincil hall itself, aad
has finally succeeded in remed}-ing*
the evils complained of in a verjr
Tlu Vatican Council.
ill
simple maimer^ and to thf sadsfinction
of all. The hall itsdf is, as we have
said, the north wing of the transept,
divided fix>in the rest of the church
by a partition wall, rising about one
tibird of the way to the vaulted ceiling
above. Its dimensions are about two
hundred feet in length by almost one
hwKbed in breadth, and the ceiling
is over one hundred and fifty feet
high. Its southern end, toward the
church, is square. The other end is
the semi-circular apse of the transept
This apse is occupied by an elevated
platform, on which, in the middle, is
the throne of die sovereign pontiC
The caidinals are seated in lines on
either side of him, and before them
are seated the patriarchs. All this
occupies nearly one third of the hall.
For the other two thirds, lines of seats
stretch down on either side, from the
platform to the partition wall, giving
ample room for all the bishops. In
the middle, between these rows of
seats, stretches an ample space down
to the broad door. Toward the plat-
form there are here and there in it
tables and seats for the secretaries,
notaries, and other officials. Nearer
the door stands the altar, and near by
the movable pulpit The alteration
consists in this : a second partition
wall, of light materials, is thrown
across the hall, about one third of
the way from the door, cutting oflf
the altar and one half of the seats on
either side. The prelates who occu-
pied these seats arc now placed in
other temporary seats in the middle
space and on the platform. As the
Holy Father does not preside in the
congregations, his throne is removed,
and thus room is obtained in the apse
for another altar, at which the mass
is celebrated. At its conclusion, the
presiding cardinals come forward and
take their places in seats in front of
tfie altar. The pulpit stands oppo-
site, against the middle of jthe new
partition ; and the loss of voice by its
passage aloft into the church is pre^
vented by an awning overhead, stretch-
ing entirely across the hall, and ex*
tending from the partition some
twenty-five feet forward.
In a solemn session all this change
disappears. The second partition and
the awning are taken away. The
prelates occupy their old places ; the
second altar is removed ; the pope's
throne is restored ; and the services are
at the original altar. All is brought
back again for the next congregation.
A few hours suffice to put it up or
take it away.
In the congregation of December
28th, after the voting had ended, and
the ballots had been sealed up as
usual, to be afterward counted, the
presiding cardinal announced that the
discussion on the first schftna^ oc
dmught, on matters of faith, would now
commence, and that fourteen prelates
had aheady given notice of their in-
tention to speak. They would have
precedence of all others, and would
be heard in their order of rank and
seniority. Seven spoke that day, all
of course in Latin. First was Cardi-
nal Rauscher, of Vienna. The second
of the number was the learned Arch-
bishop of St Louis. The seventh
was the eloquent Archbishop Con-
nolly, of Halifax. The discussion
was continued on the 29th, when, in
addition to the seven who remained
over from the day before, a second
list of. ten additional speakers was an-
nounced. On the 3d of January,
the Bishop of Savannah spoke ; and
a thhxi list of five more speakers was
given in on die 4th. On the 8th,
still nine speakers in addition sent in
their names; all was closed at tho
sitting of January i ith. In all, thirty-
five speakers addressed the council-
Three others, who were to speak^
stated that what they intended to say
had abready been fiilly treated of hj^
SS2
TJu Vatiam
oUier speakers, and in such manner
as to render any repetition unneces*
sary. The speakers were from North
America, South America, France,
Spain, Italy, Prussia, Belgium, Aus-
tria, Hungary, Greece, Armenia, and
Chaldea. The Latin was their com-
mon language, and it was wonderful
with what correctness and readiness
all spoke it. Some of them — the
Italians and Hungarians especially—
were as fluent as if it were their
mother-tongue — as indeed it almost
is for them. The na^onality of the
speaker might generally be known at
once by the intonations of his voice
and the peculiarities of his pronuncia-
tion. But the widest diflerences heard
there did not prevent their perfectly
understanding each other. There
was no one to use the ** English"
pronunciation of Latin. Had tAat
been heard, the majority of the
bishops would have thought it some
dialect of English. As it was, the
variations seemed like the differences
of English, Irish, Scotch, and Ameri-
can orators, who all speak the same
language, each with a marked accent
and peculiar mode of pronunciation ;
yet all are perfectly intelligible to
each otlier.
But these peculiarities were forgot-
ten, as the prelates bent" forward to
catch the calm and earnest words, in
which the successive speakers brought
their intimate knowledge of the Holy
Scriptures, of the traditions of the
church, of the acute reasoning of the
scholastics, of modem philosophy, of
history, ecclesiastical and civil, and
of modem sciences in their most ad-
vanced stages, to bear on the sub-
jects before tiicm. The speakers
seemed somewhat awed by the ma-
jesty of the assemUy, but they spoke
firmly and freely ; for they were ful-
filling a sacred duty in thus expressing
their matured thoughts and earnest
•GODvktions. These wm no ttppkaa
It woald scarce comport wkk the ^
nity of the assembly. The prdata
listened in silence and attentively, and
seemed to weigh carefully Ae merits
of each argument or criticism as k
dropped from the lips of the speakcz.
All these discourses were carefoBjf
taken down by the stenographers of
the coimdly and were inunediatdy
written out At the conclusion of the
discussion, the Schema itself which had
been discussed, and all the speeches
on it, were referred to the depioa-
tion or committee on frilth, who wil
make such alterations and amend-
ments in it as a careful weighing of
tiie remarks made may show to be
adv^ble* In this amended form,
it will come again before the congre-
gation for Rirther consideration, and
ultimately for approval or rcjectioo.
In the mean time, other schewtaim or
draughts on discipline have been
placed in the hands of the prelatei^
to be studied, discussed, arnl acted oft
in a similar way.
In the congregation of January
3d, the death of Cardinal Reisach,
chief of the presiding cardinals, was
announced He had not been able to
retum from Switzerland to take Ui
seat in the counciL It was also «»-
Bounced that the holy father hid
appointed Cardinal £>e Angdis to
fill the vacant place. Cardinal de
Angelis is Bishop of Fermo, in Italy,
and is a hale old man, approAchiag
seventy years of age. He has suf-
fered not a little from the govervmest
of Victor Emanuel, and is looked on
as a confeswr like those of the earlier
ages of the church. He was in*
prisoned, maltreated, taken away from
hb see, and kept for years im dftm i
€iih cottihy under arrest, as we woukl
say, and forbidden lo go beyond cer-
tain restricted limits. He was set at
liberty about two yean ago. He is a
bishop of vMt learning, friH of xeaiand
energy, and of imshtkihir firmnow
Thi Vatican Council.
«53
His sufierings have made him the
idol of the clergy of Italy. They
hcM him a most worthy successor (k
the lamented Reisaclu
On the festival of the Epiphany of
our Lord, January 6th, the second
solemn session of the Vatican Coun-
cil was held. There was no proces-
sion. The prelates, having robed in
cope and midre in the adjoining cha-
pels, enterecf the hall singly or in
groups, and took each his proper
place. At nine o'clock, the cardinals
and sovereign pontiff entered. Car-
dinal Patrizi celebrated the high mass.
The music was by the unequalled
choir of the Sistine Chapel. The
crowd of strangers and Romans
gathered in St Peter's, though not
so large as on the day of the open-
ing, was still immense. At the con-
clusion of the mass, the book of the
gospels was reverently enthroned on
the altar, the pontiff chanted the usual
prayers, the Litany of the Saints was
intoned, and the responses swelled
and rang through the vast church as
the bishops and thousands of the
assistants sang them in unison. As
on the first day, the pontiff arose to-
ward the end of the Litany, and thrice
blessed the kneeling assembly, and
prayed the Saviour to bless, to sanc-
tify, and to preserve and protect this
holy council ; and stronger and grand-
er dian before rolled the united answer,
Te rogamtiSy audi nos. Other prayers
followed the Litany. A gospel was
chanted, and the holy father inton-
ed the Vent Creator. The choir took
up the strain, ai^d the body of prelates
responded in the alternate verses.
The usual prayer to the Holy Ghost
followed. The ti|nc for the special
business of the session had come. It
was to make the solemn profession
of faith, which, by the laws of the
church, is required in every ecclesias-
tical synod or council
The promotors, approaching the
holy father, knelt and asked that
this be now done. He assented, and
arose, and put off his mitre. All
arose, and stood uncovered. In his
own dear, ringing voice, in tones that
filled the hall, and passed out to the
multitude beyond in the church — so
clear that words could be caught far
off at the other end of the transept —
he read slowly and solenmly the pro-
fession of Catholic faith, in the form
of Pius IV., and seemed to lay special
stress on the declaration that in his
heart he held and professed this holy
faith, and would hold it, with God's
blessing, imtil death, and concluded,
**I, Pius, Bishop of the Catholic
Church, so promise, vow, and swear.
So help me God, and these holy gos-
pels,'' and kissed the book of gospels.
He was then seated. The prelates
remained standing as before, while
one of their number read, in a clear
voice, the same profession in their
name. When he had concluded, the
masters of ceremony placed a book
of the gospels on the knees of the
pontiff, and one by one the cardinals
approached, according to their rank,
and confirmed the profession, " I,
Constantine, Cardinal Patrizi, pro-
mise, vow, and swear, according to
the form just read. So help me God,
and these holy gospels," and kissed
the book. After the cardinals came
the patriarchs and primates, and then
the archbishops and bishops. It was,
in truth, a sublime evidence of the
truth and the living force of our holy
religion to behold these prelates of
the church, assembled fiom every
quarter of the globe, gradually pass^
ing down firom their seats, as their
turn came, to join the line that was
slowly passing up the centre of the
hall toward the throne of the pontiff,
that, kneeling before him, each one
might personally imite in this solemn
profession of a common faith. The
crowd seemed electrified, and at times
854
New Pubiications.
almost melted to tears as they saw
some aged prelate, with tottering step,
assisted up the steps of the platform
by the masters of ceremony, and
again carefully and gently aided, as
he came down, or a blind bishop led
on by the hand, that he might imite
with his brethren. The world was
dark to him, but his soul was illumin-
ed by the light of heaven. The pre-
lates made the profession each in the
liturgical language of his rite. Most,
of course, in Latin, some in Greek,
and Syriac, and Chaldean, and Ara-
bicy and Armenian, and Copt, and
Slavonic In the true church, aroimS
the centre of unity, there may be
many languages, there is but odc
faith. Under the banner of emx;
even if the language be bat one,
there are many religions.
Thb solemn ceremony lasted for
two hours and a hal£ When it was
concluded, the Te Dcum was intoned,
and chanted in the old and venerable
Gregorian style by trife chok, the
bishops, and the assembled thousands^
and with it closed the second public
session of the Vatican CoubqL
Rome, January 15, 1870.
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
The Poems of Thomas D'Arcy
McGee. With Introduction and Bio-
graphical Sketch by Mrs. J. Sadlier.
I vol. i2Tno, pp. xii. 612. New York:
D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1869.
That Mr. McGee was a roan of high
intellectual gifts and merit no one can
deny. His History of Ireland proves
this sufficiently, to say nothing of his
other writings in prose. As a states-
man, he was also above the common
order. In respect to his integrity and
disinterestedness, the judgments of his
countrymen are various, and he has
been at different times obnoxious to the
censures of very opposite parties, while
at the same time he has always had
many warm admirers. He was cer-
tainly led astray by revolutionary ten-
dencies at one period of his career, and
is accused of having, at a later period,
erred in a contrary direction from a de*
sire to gain political preferment From
what we know of him through his writ-
ings and the sketch of his life contained
in this volume, we are disposed to think
that he was truly a noble-hearted man,
and always intent on serving the best
interests both of his native and adopted
countries, of bis religion, and of his own
Celtic race everywhere. The faults of
his youth he made good by a subsequent
reparation which does him honor, and
we believe that in his later political life
he was governed by sincere convictions,
and never lost sight of the great object
of his youthful devotion. At the time
of his dastardly assassination, which
awoke such a lively and universal senti-
ment of sorrow, he was one of the most
valued contributors to this magazine,
and was intending, had his life been
spared, to continue his interesting ar-
ticles on topics connected with Ireland.
Mrs. Sadiier*a biographical aketch»
introduction, and notes add greatly to
the worth of the volume, and to her
already high reputation as a writer.
Like all her other literary productions,
they are full of the spirit of fervent en-
thusiasm for her religion and her race
and of the romantic love of her native
Island. The sentiments and opinions
which are interwoven with the sketch
of Mr. McGee*s life, in relation to the
welfare of Ireland and the Irish people,
make it also one of tlie most sensible
and judicious essays on this subject we
have ever met with. It is well worthy
of the frequent and attentive perusal of
every one who has the real interests of
Htw PuhticaUoHs,
855
tike Irish people at heart, and increases
the debt of gratitude which all her coun-
trymen in America owe to the accom-
plished autlioress.
We have reserved our remarks on the
poetry which fills this goodly volume to
tfae last It has its chief interest and
significance fix>m its relation to the
topics of which we have been speaking.
It was one of the instruments through
^vhich Mr. McGee gave voice to his pa-
triotic sentiments, and sought to kin-
dle the same in the hearts of his coun-
trymen. That his themes are in them-
selves the fittest possible for the most
stirring poetry, cannot be questioned.
He was endowed with a large share of
genuine poetic gifts, and the great num-
ber of really fine pieces which are con-
tained in this volume, thrown off in lei-
sure moments, in haste, and amid all his
other labors, prove that, if he had made
it his chief aim to become a poet, he
would have attained great eminence.
Some of his most perfect pieces are
truly exquisite, as a specimen of which
we may designate the one called " lona
to Erin," first published in this magazine.
We think the editress might judiciously
have omitted some of the more unfin-
ished and imperfect pieces, and others
written in the earlier part of his career,
and containing too much of that unlial-
lowed revolutionary and vengeful fire
which afterward gave place to a more
holy and Christian flame. We hope this
volume of genuine Irish poetry will be-
come a favorite book with the millions
of exiles from Erin who have made their
home in this new worfd, and that their
children also will learn from it to love
and venerate both the national and reli-
gious traditions of the country of their
forefsithers.
Creation a Recent Work of God.
By the Rector of St. Mary's Church,
New York. New York : Pott &
Amery, Cooper Union. 1870,
This is an attempt to shew that the
literal theory of creation in six days is
deducible from the observed fiicts of
geology. The author occasionally shows
some ingenuity, but on the whole the
work is not one which wiH command the
respect of scientific men, and its appear-
ance is rather to be regretted, as tending
to the spread of infidelity, by giving the
impression that religion and science
cannot well be reconciled.
The Holy Grail, and Other Poems.
By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet-
Laureate. Boston : Fields, Osgood
& Co. 1870.
All lovers of '< Tennyson's enchanted
reverie*' have here another true feast
The four Idylls, the main portion of the
volume, are fuUy equal to the first four :
as faultless, as sublime, as instructive.
We do not hesitate to say that the whole
series of these '* Idylls of the King," as
the author intends them to be read,
forms a work which, for all that is be&t
of epic and didactic, is not only unsur-
passed, but unequalled, in the poetry of
the world Besides its artistic beauty,
which out- Homer's Homer, it is emi-
nently Catholic. The poet's geniusi
could not fail to perceive that on Catho-
lic ground alone is real romance to be
found ; and, as the result of deep and
accurate study, his poem is a splendid
proof of the Catholicity of the ancient
British church. He is also the purest
of poets. None appreciates so well, on
the one hand, the dignity of love and
the sanctity of marriage; or, on the
other, the glory of virginity and the bless-
edness of divine espousals.
The rest of the volume bears the
stamp of the same master-hand as ever.
We only regret to find so few lyrics.
Of those with which he has deigned to
enrich us, that entitled **The Higher
Pantheism " is especially worthy of
note — for such, at least, as are capable
of understanding it Tennyson has the
art of extrinsicating, and shaping in
"closest words," intuitions which all
minds have in common, but mostly
without the power of analyzing them, or
even without the consciousness of their
presence. He uses ' the word ** pan-
theism " here in the sense that " God is
all,*' and not that " all is God." He In-
sists on the objectivity of tmth, and
856
N€W PMicoHoMM.
therefore diametrically opposes the sub-
jective autotheism of the day.
THe influence of the poet is the widest
and most lasting of influences; and
Tennyson's influence for good, espe-
cially on the youth of our times, is, in
our judgment, inestimable. We believe
that his influence is powerful to check
the follies and purify the tone of the age,
and we pray that this vc^ume may not be
his last
Titania's Banquet, Pictures of
Woman, and other Poems. By
George Hill. Third Edition. Re-
vised and Enlarged. New York : D.
Appleton & Ca 1870.
This volume contains many pieces
which prove the author a true poet
There are passages worthy of Moore,
and even of Byron. We regret, how-
ever, that the author should have done
such an injustice to his powers as to
show an habitual carelessness both in
diction and in versification. ^ The
Ruins of Athens," too, by far the best
long poem in the book, reflects too
patently considerable portions of the
first two cantos of ** Childe Harold,"
more especially of the second.
We congratulate the author on his
conversion to the church. Had this
taken place in his younger days, he
might have done service in the cause of
Catholicity with his talents. We hope,
however, it is not too late now.
Life of J. A. Alexander, D.D. By
H. C. Alexander. New York : Chas.
Scribner & Co. 1870.
This is an extremely well-written, in-
teresting, and, moreover, genial and en-
tertaining book, which any one, whether
he be religious or purely worldly, a be-
liever or an unbeliever in Christiani-
ty, a friend or a foe of Presbyterian
doctrine, must read with pleasure. It
is not an ordinary clerical biography,
but the life of a man who, though be-
longing to the clerical order in his own
denomkutioo, was chiefly devoted to
study and teaching, aed was oae of Ik
most eminent scholars, as well as ^
quent preachers, this country has \k>
duced. He was also a man of the h^
est order of personal attractiveness, of
exquisite taste and cultore in Uides-M-
trtSf poetry, and music, and a humorist
nearly if not quite equal to the choicest
wits of English literature. It Is impos-
sible to read his lifo without adminsg
and loving the man, and estecioing the
great scholar. He was a disciple, firiend,
and compeer of the celebrated Heng-
stenberg, whose masterly viadicatioo of
the Messianic doctrine of tiie Old Tes-
tament against Jews and neoktgists is
so well known. Professor Alexander's
greatest work is a Commentary 0m JuU"
as, written in the same spirit He was
a powerful opponent of that neological
and rationalistic school which under-
mines all religion by denying the divine
authority of its inspired records, and so
far did a great service to the cause of
Christianity. It is impossible not to
see, however, that these great Protes-
tant scholars, who produce such solid
and valuable works in defence of that
part of their doctrine which is Catholic,
fail altogether in completing their struc-
ture. They stop short at a certain
point, and their genius immediately de-
serts them.
Their exposition of the doctrine con-
cerning the person of the Messias is
admirable ; but when they come to ex*
plain the prophecies concerning the
Messianic kingdom, all vanishes into a
vague ideality or a prognostication of
some church of the future equally vain
with the Jewish expectation of a com-
ing Messias. When we consider the
lives and works of men in many re-
spects so admirable, and who might
have been bright lights in the church 0^
God, we grieve more deeply over that
deplorable schism which divides from
us so many who adore our Lord Jesos
Christ and reverence the prophets and
apostles. Dr. Alexander was, of course,
hostile to the Catholic religion, as be
must have been to be an hosest Pres-
byterian ; but there is surprisingly little
in his biography that shocks the reli-
gious sentiment of a CathoHc, and it
appears very clearly how unbounded
N€» Pmblkaiiom.
857
his admtfalfo& Ayr tke kamed Car-
ciinal Mexzo£uilL
Thb Attributes of Christ; or,
Christ the Wonderful, the
Counsellor, God the Mighty,
THE Father of the World to
comb, the Prince of Peace, By
the Rev. Father Joseph Gasparini,
Passionist Dublin : James Duffy.
This book is a medium between a
theological treatise and a series of me-
ditations. There is much learning and
a great deal of imagination in it, using
this last term in a good sense. Italians
usually combine the beautiful with the
useful,, and throw a poetic charm over
grave subjects. F. Gasparinijs no ex-
ception, and we think his treatise ought
to be popular on this account
Life of the Venerable J. B. De
La Salle.
Particular Exameh for Brothers
of the Christian Schools. By
Brother Philippe. New York : P.
O'Shea. 1870.
These are two very useful and edify-
ing books, whose contents will recom-
mend them, although no effort has been
made to give them an attractive exte-
rior.
Lange's Commentary of the Old
Testament. Vol V. New York:
Charles Scribner & Co.
This volume contains Proverbs, Ec-
detiastes, and the Song of Solomon,
commented by Dr. Otto Zdckler. The
first book is translated by Professor
Aiken, of Union College ; the second
by Professor Wells, of the same college,
with additions and a metrical version
by Professor Tayler Lewis; the third
by Professor Green, of Princeton, well
known by his excellent refutation of
Colenso on the Pentateuch. It is a
monument of erudition, to which the
American editors have contributed not
a little. The translations are valuable
critical helps to a study o£ the original
text. The poetical merit of the version
of £cclesia<ites does not appear to us
of the first order. The inevitable short-
coming of all Protestant exposition of
the Holy Scripture is most patent in the
commentary on the Canticles, the most
difficult and mysterious book in the
sacred canon. It is the divine text-
book of mystical theology, and can be
understood and expounded only by a
man deeply versed in the science of the
saints, such as St John of the Cross,
whose spuritual candcles are a most
perfect imitation and reproduction of
the inspired songs of Solomon.
EccE Femina : An Attempt to solve
THE Woman Question, etc. By
Carlos White. Boston : Lee & Sbe-
pard.
This book Is a novelty in one respect
in our recent American literature. It
is logical The style is clear, pointed,
and direct ; the author grapples man-
fully with that arch sophist, John Stuart
Mill, and wresting the dagger of his
logic from his hand, deals hin a deadly
blow, like that which Joab gave to Ab-
ner the son of Ner. It adds much to
the value of this book that the author
does not indulge in any satire on wo*
men, but treats them with that respect
which is their due so Ions: ^^ ^^^y do-
main women, and do not become A ma*
sons. We are sorry to see him apply the
coarse and libellous epithet ** bloody "
to Queen Mary of England. The less
Protestants have to say about bloodshed
in connection with English history the
better; for history is a little better
known than it used to be. Mr. White
believes in the Bible — almost as great a
novelty now a days as believing in logic.
It is very refreshing to find a man who
writes without cant, and yet asserts
fearlessly Christian principles. Imper-
fect as it is, such Christianity as Mr,
White professes is far preferable to the
immoral system which has lately given
such loathsome exhibitions of itself as
to evoke the bitter scorn and mockery
of even the secular press. Mr. White
deserves the thanks of the sensible por-
tion of the coDunouity, and we hope his
858
Nm» PiMkatiotts.
book will be extensively read and care-
fnlly reflected on by men and women
alike.
Fair Harvard. A Story of American
College Life. New York: G. P.
Putnam & Son. 1869.
This book presents a sufficiently cor-
rect view of American college life. It
is interesting, possesses considerable
literary merit, and contains some happy
sketches of Boston society.
It has, however, one fault in common
with Verdant Green, a book after which
it is evidently modelled to a considera-
ble extent It lacks a sufficiently high
tone. Getting up muscle, excessive
drinking, midnight escapades, and im-
morality, alluded to more or less openly,
are made to play entirely too prominent
a part in both stories. In Fair Har-
vard the brutal foot-ball game (now, we
believe, abolished) is depicted without
condemnation — except from a young
lady, whose judgment the reader is of
course expected, with the hero of the
story, to disregard — ^while the disgrace*
fill conduct of the students at Worces*
ter two years ago is narrated as though
it were something very " smart" When
we read such things, we involuntarily
think of what Carlyle, we believe, says
somewhere in his works — that most
young men at that age when, under the
present system of things, they are at
college, should be under barrels, A
couple of contemptuous allusions, more-
over, to the Irish people, found in this
book, are, we assure the author, to say
^e least, in exceedingly bad taste.
We think it our duty to add that we
by no means consider Harvard, or any
other non- Catholic college, a suitable
place for a Catholic young man to pur*
sue his studies. His morality will there
be endangered ; but what is perhaps of
still more importance, his faith will be
put in the greatest peril. This is true
of Harvard College now more than ever
before, since under the new r^j^ime lee*
tures are delivered before the students
on all the different systems of philoso-
phy, by eminent professors of the same ;
and in this list Posittdsm— 4n other
wordS) rank ^M^/M^-4s Included. TMb
is done in order that the yonng studest
may be enabled to choose for himself —
if he pleases, Atheism/ We have
here, however, but a logical sequence ,
of the doctrine of private judgment, and
we see to what they finadly come who
have once rejected the only infallible
criterion of truth.
The Primeval World of Hebrew
Tradition. By Frederick Henxy
Hedge. Boston: Roberts Brothtss.
1870,
The paper, type, and entire typogra-
phical and mechanical execution of this
book are so extremely good that we arc
disappointed and pained to be obliged
to add that this pretty shell contains a
worthless nut The doctrine of the es-
say is an incoherent kind of pantlieism,
together with a confused sort of semi-
rationalism. The style is dull, and the
manner of treating the topics introduced
extremely commonplace. The only re-
deeming feature which an infidel book
can have is its smartness and charm of
style. But a dull book of infidelity is
simply unbearable, and this one is al-
most as dull as the Essays and Reviews,
An American Family in Paris. With
fifty-eight Illustrations of historical
Monuments and Familiar Scenes.
New York: Hurd & Houghton. 1869.
This book is, on the whole, written in
a pleasant and interesting manner; still,
it is not fit to be put in the hands of
Catholic children. It deals not akae
with the Paris of to-day, but with tibe
Paris' of the past, and so includes not
only sight-seeing but history ; and wfe
cannot let our children get their first
ideas of history firom Protestant sources*
It gives the old story of the so-called
massacre of St Bartholomew, with all
its misrepresentations and errors ; aad
althougii the life of St Genevieve is
beautifully told, still it adds '' that tia*
true and impossible stories have beeA
told of her, and foolish honors psSd to
her, which should not be paid to an^
Ntm PuMkaiwHs.
859
Ixmban being.** Though we calinot b«-
gm too soon to teach oar chikiren truth,
it k not necessary or Well to plunge
their young minds into all the misre-
presentations, discttsaionsi and conten-
tions of the past
Wiley's Elocution and Oratory ;
GIVING A thorough TREATISE ON
THE Art OF Reading and Speak-
ing. Containing nupaerous and
dioice Selections, etc. By Charles
A- Wiley, Teacher of Elocution.
New York: Clark & Maynard, 5
Barclay street Chicago: S. C.
Griggs & Co.
This seems a practical text-book of
elocution, and contains useful hints on
vocal culture. A few typographical
errors slightly mar the appearance of
the book, and a lack of perfect taste in
the choice of pieces for declamation,
especially in the ** Humorous Selec-
tions," detracts from but does not de-
stroy its value.
X.ETTBRS OF PEREGRINE PiCKLB. By
George P. Upton. Chicago : Western
News Company.
We can safely compliment the author
on many features of his pleasant book,
but not on his selection of a nom de
flume. And this little phrase reminds
us that we are grateful to him for writ-
ing it correctly when he uses it, and for
rising superior to the ordinary news-
paper French of nomme de plume, esprit
du corps, etc. etc. At the same time
we decidedly object to his saying, (p.
104,) "Everything is so blasi^^ because
in French the person, and not the thing;
becomes blasi. Of course, it was not
Mr. Upton*s fault that the Chicago
printer had no accented i in case. En^
thused, he will permit us to remark,
is a wretched vulgarism, and we have
our doubts about a thing that ^ would
go a great ways."
Mr. Upton is right in praising Jeffer-
son's Rip van Winkle. It is a per-
sonation as deserving of praise as the
wretched dramatic version he renders is
of blame. He is also right in saying,
"The St Eimos who start off as
scoundreb always remain so — Miss
Evans to the contrary notwithstand-
ing." The chapters on the "Maiden
Aunt " and the " Tenor " are good, and
fashionable weddings, the fuhionable
minister, and petroleum and shoddy, are
well handled. The book has generally
a sound, wholesome tone, is straight-
forward in its dealing with sham and
humbug, and possesses withal a dash
of the spirit of the Potiphar Papers and
a flavor of the A utocrat of the Breakfast-
Table that make one feel as if among
old friends.
Sybaris and. Other Homes. By
Edward E. Hale. i6mo, pp. 206.
Boston : Fields, Osgood & Co.
The purpose of this little book is to
show how town and city life ought to
be arranged, how far certain experi-
ments in improved social arrangements
have succeeded, apd ' how the poor are
compelled to live and die in the crowd-
ed tenements of our great metropolises,
such as Boston and other continental
capitals. The solid chunks of wisdom
which Mr. Hale has to impart on these
subjects are conveyed in the pleasant
disguise of short stories — in the telling
of which he has very few rivals among
American authors. The narrative of
" My Visit to Sybaris " is a peculiarly
happy specimen of his aptitude for that
vraisemblance which is so important a
part of a good fiction.
Mrs. Gerald's Niece. A Novel, by
Lady Georgiana Fullerton. New
York : Appletons.
Lady Georgiana Fullerton's novels
are most of them productions of consi-
derable merit. Their great fault has
been too much intensity of passion, a
quality which has been subdued suffi-
ciently in the present novel to satisfy
our critical judgment, without detracting
from the vividness and warmth of con-
ception and style so highly appreciated
by the novel-reader. Those who want
an exciting story to read, which is full of
originahty, and which abounds both in
86o
N€W PubliaxHtms.
charming descriptions of natural scen-
ery, and masterly delineations of cha-
racter, 'while it is at the same time safe
and sound enough to satisfy^ the niost
fastidious confessor, will probably be
pleased with this one. Perhaps some of
them will skip the elaborate discussion
of Anglicanism and Catholicity; but
whatever mere story-readers may think,
we must say that they show, more than
any thing else in the book, the great
mental power and accurate knowledge
of the accomplished authoress.
The Wonders of Pompeii. By Marc
Monnier. Translated from the origi*
nal French. Illustrated.
Ramesis the Great ; or, Egypt
3300 Years Ago. Translated from
the French of F. de Lanoye. Illus-
trated. New York : Charles Scribner
& Co. 1870.
Two very interesting volumes, beau-
tifully illustrated with wood-cuts of the
most important places and things de-
scribed in the text
The Frontier Series. Planting
THE Wilderness; or. The Pio-
neer Boys. A Story of Frontier Life,
By James D. McCabe, Jr. Boston ;
Lee & Shepard. 1870.
The Cabin on the Prairie. By
Rev. C. H. Pearson, author of
"Scenes in the West," etc Illus-
trated. Boston : Lee & Shepard.
1870.
Pleasant and useful books for boys,
full of the excitement they like so well,
and giving them at the same time a
knowledge of the early settlements of
the country that every American boy
should have.
The Sunset Land ; or. The Great
Pacific Slope. By Rev. John Todd,
D.D. Boston : Lee & Shepard. 1S70.
An interesting acconnt of the climate,
soil, and natural productions of Califor-
nia ; of its mines and mining, and of
the wonders and beanties of its natural
scenery.
Elm Island Stories. Thb
Farmers of Elm Isxjind.
Rev. Elijah KeUogg, author of •^
tacus to the Gladiators,*^ *^ Good
Times," etic Boston: Lee &
ard. 1870.
A delightful story for boys.
The ^mphlet in F, O'Flahertfs
which was scyerely censured in our
number, is, we are rejoiced to see, d<
ed in a circular signed by erery priest ia|
good standing in the diocese of RochcBter j
as a scandalous forgery.
BOOKS RSCXIVBOW
From Anion D. F, Randolph & Ca, 770 Brmdvi?.
New York : Evenings with die Seoed ^octs : \ \
Scries of Quiet TaUu about theSi^cnaw! cfacs
Songs. By the author of ** Fntival o£ Soc«."
** Salad for Uie SoUtary," ** Mowcs,** etc 1870^
From J. B. Ford ft Co., y^ Fuk Rov, Kew TerfK :
Tbe Overture of Angeb. ByUeoryW^i
1870. The Sermons of Henry Ward Becdier mj
Plymouth Church, Brooklyn ; from v^f^tim B»J
porta. By T. J. EUmwood. "PlyaKwth Pulpit*/
•ecood series: March to September* 1869^
From D. ft J. Sadlibs ft Ca, 31 Barclay
New York : Converutioos 00 Liberalism and
Church. By O. A. Brownaoa, LL.D.
From Jambs Millbb, 647 Broadway, New York:
History of American SoHaliwns. By John Him-
phrey Noyes.
From Cmauss Soubmbii ft Ca, New York :
tical Composttioo ; with numerous Models and Ex-
ercises. By Mrs. Mary J. Harper, Packer Colle-
giate iRstitulc, Brooklyn, N. Y. 187a.
From D. Arn^STON ft Co., 90, 9a, and 94 Grand
street, New York : The Pursnit of Hoiineas ; a
sequel to *' Thoughts on Personal Religion.'* By
Edward Meyrick Gonlbum, D.D.. Dcm of N^^r*
wich. and formeriy one of Her Mjgesty's Ch a p la Vn s
in Ordinary. 1870.
From J. B. LirnMCOTT ft Ca, Philadelphia : Bibto
Gems ; or. Manual of Scripture Lessons. By R.
£. Kremer. 1870.
L« Canada tt les Zouaves Pontificanz. Memoirs
sor Torigine, Tenrftlement et rexpMition dn cootiw-
gent Canadieo k Rome, pendant ramite 186& Co»
piM par erdre du Comic^ Caoaditt des Zouaves Po«*
tificaux, par £. Lef. de BellefeuiHe, membre du Comi-
tl Montr^ : Typographie do journal Le Nmrwmm
M0mdt, No. as Ru« St. Yinoeat, fSM^ En venin :
A r£v8ch< de Montreal et chex tous ka Lihrairaa
Catboliqoea de la Province de Qt^bec
From T. W. SntOMO^ New York: The King*a
Daughters: An Alkgbry. By Madeleine Vere.
FiftcMOh Annual Report of the Superintandent of
Public Instruction of the Stite of New York. Alba-
■y: Tba Argus Company, Printara. iiH>
r-t
is-'
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