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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 




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4 



■**r>«'Z' */;>-?)*. 






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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> 




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